We all have different attitudes to what counts as an acceptable amount of time to leave when you’re setting off for the airport, railway station, car park or port.
It’s one of those hazards of coupledom – on a par with having different internal thermostats and being unable to agree on the volume for the television.
But if, like me, you travel with somebody who always needs to leave ridiculously early, you will learn that however early you set off, it is never early enough.
Because crise de gare, as my boyfriend calls his condition, is not really about how many hours in advance you leave, but some weird mental wiring that causes him to fret about being late even if we’re sitting in an almost empty Gatwick Airport.
It’s an unshakable conviction that something will happen at some stage to foil our plans. The length of the security queue, the chaotic line to nab a sandwich at Pret, the slow movement of passport control and the check-in desk. Every other passenger is seen as a potential hazard to him making the flight.
It’s not as if I’m super-casual myself – I leave for long journeys well before the hour most would choose. I know others who can’t bear to board a plane unless it’s the last call over the tannoy; they feel getting there any earlier is an imposition on their precious time. But compared to David, my most frequent travelling companion, my attitude to time is cavalier in the extreme.
There is a point on every journey when I vow we will never travel together again. We will make our own way to the point of departure and greet each other calmly in our seats, having avoided the tense recriminations. But then, just like childbirth, we forget the pain and travel in tandem, hoping it will be different. Which it never is.
Zara’s ad – and a fuss about nothing
Throughout the London Underground there are ads for the Advertising Standards Authority urging passengers to report anything untrue or offensive in an advertisement. Last week, we learned that Zara had been reported to the ASA for two fashion images on its website that supposedly showed an unhealthily skinny model. Despite there being only one registered objection, the pictures were banned by the ASA and removed by Zara.
I imagine most people, like me, came across these allegedly offensive images only when reading the story about the ban. The model looked fine to me, dressed in a white shirt, trousers and a mini-dress. But Zara’s loss is the ASA advertising department’s gain – all the fuss is presumably drumming up more business for the regulator.
Christmas comes early for Aimee Lou
Clever old M&S has signed Aimee Lou Wood to be the face of its Christmas campaign. She was wildly appealing as Chelsea, the lovable hippy-dippy chick in the last season of White Lotus, which provided the springboard to the widespread recognition that M&S clearly thinks she has.
It’s also interesting that Aimee Lou is now so bankable, given that the streaming series – although popular – will have been watched only by the relatively small proportion of the population who have access to Sky Atlantic. Though perhaps it was less her turn as Chelsea and more the rumours about a fallout with her co-star Walton Goggins that brought Aimee worldwide fame.
Were Oasis staff in the wrong areas?
Oasis’s fantastic London concerts were tarnished by the death of a member of the audience who fell from one of the top tiers of Wembley. I was there the night before the news broke. Looking back, perhaps it could have been avoided if security was tighter around those high levels.
There is no shortage of staff encouraging concert-goers to spend big at the bars and food stalls. So keen is Wembley to ensure that nobody brings in their own food and drink that my companion and I were interrogated about a glucose bar he keeps in his pocket to combat low blood sugar. At first, the security guard refused to let him in without seeing a letter from his doctor (try finding a letter on a smartphone with the 4G available in a stadium of 90,000 people and a long queue behind you).
Fortunately, his superior took pity on us and let us through, along with the forbidden food. But what a waste of manpower that could have been diverted towards safety during the gig.
How the roof caved in on convertibles
During my 20s I had a boyfriend who owned an open-top Morgan car. It was his pride and joy and although I would have preferred a less Mr Toad-like, more modern convertible – a Mercedes, say – it was the height of glamour to be driving along with the roof down.
But now convertibles are becoming extinct, with 70 per cent of carmakers no longer including them in their range. And even more bafflingly, they’ve been replaced by hideous, space-guzzling SUVs.
Everything that made driving desirable is being eroded. Cars are no longer elegant havens of independence, but nagging nannies with impenetrable control panels and screens filled with unnecessary information. Come back, Mr Toad, all is forgiven.
The negative side of electric car owners
On the subject of cars, a new etiquette dilemma has been thrown up by the growing number of electric vehicles. Do you let visitors charge their cars on your driveway using the electricity from your home? As the driver, do you offer to cover the cost?
A Tesla owner told me of staying with a wealthy friend when their car was low on charge. They were directed to the nearest village to find a charging point, rather than being allowed to use the power supply at the huge house. Mean behaviour – and possibly why the Scrooge in question had become so rich.
