One of the sad things about the recession and modern chav Britain is that standards are deteriorating. Whether it's people getting their flaps out for Dr Christian for cheap TV, bank managers being all of 12 years old and calling you 'mate' or Northerners going out in pyjamas, society nowadays is shite. See, even my language has deteriorated. I long for the Britain of yesteryear, when air travel was a luxury for the privileged and not a need for the underclass of Barnsley to hop on a Ryanair bus to Amsterdam. I loved it when people dressed to fly, when airports were classy places and when the Mediterranean was a retreat for the hard-working, not a birthright for benefit babies. Even the trolley dollies aren't what they were- once mandatory to be fluent in several languages, nowadays they struggle with standard English, speaking like basically like in text language like, yaknowwhatimean? Some of them even have the audacity to say 'flight attendants are here to save your arse, not kiss it'! Do they not know what a role in Customer Service means? Have they not read the job description? Sadly, even the calibre of pilots is going downhill. Don't panic, they're still safe to fly with, it's the additional extras they are becoming complacent in. Let me educate you.
1. Uniform standards. Everyone knows a true PILF wears his uniform and doesn't let his uniform wear him. We all know Ryanair looks like something from Ann Summers' erotic arseless chaps range, FlyDubai looks like My First Pilot Uniform and Jet2 looks like Man at C&A. However, the true aviators that work for these airlines carry their uniforms with pride and wear their stripes well. Puff your chest out like a randy feral pigeon, back straight and shoulders back and exude confidence, repeating the phrase 'to fly, to serve, to seduce'. That is how you wear your uniform. And if your airline is too tight to pay for a bespoke uniform, every immigrant area of every city in the world has cheap tailors who will take your keks up for about £3. Swallow your pride and pay a professional to take your uniform in. It's a small price to pay for the respect you will gain from the public, and more importantly, the pussy you will pull. Under any circumstance, do not wear your tie loose and your coat over your shoulder, unless you're in Dubai or somewhere hot. If you do this in Liverpool John Lennon, you will look like an extra from The Inbetweeners and people will think you're a naughty local schoolboy coming to nick the wheels off a shuttle bus. True aviators carry a proper flight bag too, not one of these rucksack jobs. Got your PE kit and textbooks in there too have you? Not only does it look childish, it creases your blazer, oh sorry, I mean uniform. If you follow these tips, you will also need a shitty stick with your uniform to beat the flange off with.
2. Language. We all use slang words and we all have some sort of an accent. It's when people use an extreme of regional slang and a regional accent and it all goes pear-shaped, making so-called professionals sound like an extra from Brassed Off. Do these young cadets honestly think they look like international men of mystery when they ask for a 'brew'? Do they think they sound like some sort of plastic gangster when they cough, splutter and 'erm' down the PA? It's also embarrassing if you let 'definately', 'alot' and 'should of' creep into your poorly-maintained vocabulary. Do you want people to confuse you with bus drivers? Please refrain from describing things as 'epic' too, unless it's a film or a ship crashing into an iceberg.
3. Authority. Command some respect. Be a team player but not too much, if you catch my drift. You will one day be responsible for an airliner and the way some of these cadets behave, I wouldn't entrust them with a hamster. No, I don't mean they'd shove it up their arse and do a Richard Gere, but they have no sense of responsibility. Stop snivelling behind your captain, stop sucking up to 18 year old cabin crew from the estate because you think they'll make you look hard. Stop calling the dispatcher 'mate'. One error on that load sheet could mean a newsworthy catastrophe. Man up. Half-a-man cadets and young FOs are the pilot equivalent of those schoolteachers who get trodden all over by kids. You are killing the profession's reputation. If you want to be a yes-man, go work in a call centre.
4. Pussy. Everyone knows pilots are fit and the uniform is to women what flies are to excrement. However, some pilots don't manage to pull. For some, it's because they've had their arse wiped for so long and while their mates were fingerbanging birds behind the bike sheds, they were grappling with Airfix kits. While their student mates had traffic cones on their heads and pulling birds in Wetherspoons, they were snowed under with a busy flight school schedule. Yes, they have missed many milestones in seduction and are making up for lost time by watching American Pie, trying to learn technique from Stifler and co. Let me tell you, true PILFs take their seduction tips from old-school British comedy like the Carry On movies. Be slightly womanising, be a man's man and add a dash of James Bond into the mix. Be suave, hold doors open, pay on the first couple of dates. Don't ask your mates to come along on the date, you're not a student. Don't be scared of getting your uniform soiled with bodily fluids, that's part of the fun. Girls aren't snobs about cars, but if you have a Mini Cooper, please put it on Autotrader and get a taxi. They scream CUNTY AIR HOST and are essentially a young girl's car. Would Pierce Brosnan drive one? No. Would Mr Bean? Yes.
Sunday 30 December 2012
Monday 10 December 2012
Xmas parties
The festive season is upon us and so is that event we love to hate, the office party. Yes, airlines have them too, but sadly there is no arse photocopying. Despite the fact that airline life can be raunchy, what with gay air hosts getting their starfish raided in Gatwick and skinny dipping in the Ramada Jarvis, the office party is a rather boring affair. From my experience, the only scandal I ever witnessed was someone drinking too much and vomiting (wow!) and a supposedly straight First Officer ramming his tongue down the throat of an Air Host. This mishap was seen as sordid as the Jimmy Savile incident and was hushed up- gays don't exist, right?
One thing airline crew are thankful for is the lack of shitty activities what poor office staff have to endure, like writing a card to everyone who works there and being the beneficiary of a 1997 pack of Body Shop Fuzzy Peach in Secret Fucking Santa. Drinking is strictly forbidden in work so there's no fake smiley team trip to the pub in your dinner hour and the fact you might be suffering jet lag/working on Xmas day/ in an airport in the middle of nowhere means less forced socialising. Yippee! You might even be lucky enough to work nights and miss the office party!
Xmas parties usually consist of Flight Deck Floozies squeezing their size 16 'figures' into a Lipsy dress they've seen on their idol Tulisa, rehearsing chat up lines what they're going to pull the married pilots with. The old pilots will be sitting in the corner either wearing a novelty jumper, a BHS double breasted suit with a novelty tie and novelty socks seductively peeking out or some tweed monstrosity. The young FOs will be in tight tops or Ben Sherman, dressed in the style of a 17 year old from Scunthorpe trying to get in to Wetherspoons for the first time. The foreign pilots will either look like a fucking penguin in a dicky bow or think they're auditioning to be a kids TV presenter and wear a Helly Hansen/ North Face/ C&A own brand polar fleece combined with a sweater in primary colours and fucking moccasins. Sorry about my language by the way, but I'm on a roll. I want to get my frustration across, the Grumpy Old Men have nothing on me! The base management will sit on a table in the corner, scrutinising clothes, behaviour and being pedantic jobsworths. They always wear black like they're at a wake. Female base managers always wear long dresses, kitten heels and ooze 1992. They try to be a confidante for the old drunk pilots whose wives don't understand them, seizing the opportunity to have a bit of a tryst. There is always some sort of boring corporate speech at these events, a great time for a toilet break.
At the crew parties I've been to, the food has always been shite and the music awful for the first 3 hours, probably hoping for people to go home early. Some of the fag hags will request overplayed, outdated bollocks like I'm Every Woman and We Are Family. Then it gets a bit exciting. The drink starts flowing, the beer goggles come on and even ugly hosties manage to get fingerbanged by ageing PILFs under the prawn ring. The stereotypical playlist of Cabin Crew Songs comes on, I Believe I Can Fly, Wind Beneath My Wings and Theme from Mahogany all make an appearance. This time, the pilots have a playlist too! When La Bamba comes on and they get to the Soy Capitan bit, the chubby captains put their hands on their hips, wink and click their finger, lip synching. Rocket Man is as cringeworthy as it sounds. She packed my bags last night? She emptied your sack last night more like.
1999 was the best year though as it's when Savage Garden sang To The Moon and Back which has the fabulous, innuendo-laden line 'She's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come.' All over her face. Nowadays we have Rihanna and Kelly Rowland providing the innuendo. 'Tonight I'll let you be the captain' grunts the chubby stewardesses from Stockport at the Viagra induced former PILFs. 'I'll be your commander' they croon back.
This is the only night of the year they will enjoy any flight deck flirting as the rest of the time, both pairs of beer goggles will be firmly off and it'll be back to her spitting in his coffee and him ignoring the Northern slags.
The gay air hosts normally leave early and take the party back to someone's house which usually culminates in a sweaty, poppers-induced re-enactment of the Human Centipede but come the next day, return to their anal (no pun intended) ways of bitching about girls' hairstyles not meeting uniform standards. The straight air hosts are the real winners at these parties though, they manage to pull some fit stewardesses by acting all caring when they get upset at seeing their much loved PILFs chatting to the base manager and dad dancing to Status Quo.
Merry fucking Xmas!
To summarise:
1. If your flight is delayed in the first two weeks of December, chances are the crew are hungover
2. If you're a popstar, sing a song with a flying reference. The royalties from air crew are immense.
3. First Officers from foreign shores are probably dressed by their mums or have one of those weird 'dress like a baby' fetishes
One thing airline crew are thankful for is the lack of shitty activities what poor office staff have to endure, like writing a card to everyone who works there and being the beneficiary of a 1997 pack of Body Shop Fuzzy Peach in Secret Fucking Santa. Drinking is strictly forbidden in work so there's no fake smiley team trip to the pub in your dinner hour and the fact you might be suffering jet lag/working on Xmas day/ in an airport in the middle of nowhere means less forced socialising. Yippee! You might even be lucky enough to work nights and miss the office party!
Xmas parties usually consist of Flight Deck Floozies squeezing their size 16 'figures' into a Lipsy dress they've seen on their idol Tulisa, rehearsing chat up lines what they're going to pull the married pilots with. The old pilots will be sitting in the corner either wearing a novelty jumper, a BHS double breasted suit with a novelty tie and novelty socks seductively peeking out or some tweed monstrosity. The young FOs will be in tight tops or Ben Sherman, dressed in the style of a 17 year old from Scunthorpe trying to get in to Wetherspoons for the first time. The foreign pilots will either look like a fucking penguin in a dicky bow or think they're auditioning to be a kids TV presenter and wear a Helly Hansen/ North Face/ C&A own brand polar fleece combined with a sweater in primary colours and fucking moccasins. Sorry about my language by the way, but I'm on a roll. I want to get my frustration across, the Grumpy Old Men have nothing on me! The base management will sit on a table in the corner, scrutinising clothes, behaviour and being pedantic jobsworths. They always wear black like they're at a wake. Female base managers always wear long dresses, kitten heels and ooze 1992. They try to be a confidante for the old drunk pilots whose wives don't understand them, seizing the opportunity to have a bit of a tryst. There is always some sort of boring corporate speech at these events, a great time for a toilet break.
At the crew parties I've been to, the food has always been shite and the music awful for the first 3 hours, probably hoping for people to go home early. Some of the fag hags will request overplayed, outdated bollocks like I'm Every Woman and We Are Family. Then it gets a bit exciting. The drink starts flowing, the beer goggles come on and even ugly hosties manage to get fingerbanged by ageing PILFs under the prawn ring. The stereotypical playlist of Cabin Crew Songs comes on, I Believe I Can Fly, Wind Beneath My Wings and Theme from Mahogany all make an appearance. This time, the pilots have a playlist too! When La Bamba comes on and they get to the Soy Capitan bit, the chubby captains put their hands on their hips, wink and click their finger, lip synching. Rocket Man is as cringeworthy as it sounds. She packed my bags last night? She emptied your sack last night more like.
1999 was the best year though as it's when Savage Garden sang To The Moon and Back which has the fabulous, innuendo-laden line 'She's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come.' All over her face. Nowadays we have Rihanna and Kelly Rowland providing the innuendo. 'Tonight I'll let you be the captain' grunts the chubby stewardesses from Stockport at the Viagra induced former PILFs. 'I'll be your commander' they croon back.
This is the only night of the year they will enjoy any flight deck flirting as the rest of the time, both pairs of beer goggles will be firmly off and it'll be back to her spitting in his coffee and him ignoring the Northern slags.
The gay air hosts normally leave early and take the party back to someone's house which usually culminates in a sweaty, poppers-induced re-enactment of the Human Centipede but come the next day, return to their anal (no pun intended) ways of bitching about girls' hairstyles not meeting uniform standards. The straight air hosts are the real winners at these parties though, they manage to pull some fit stewardesses by acting all caring when they get upset at seeing their much loved PILFs chatting to the base manager and dad dancing to Status Quo.
Merry fucking Xmas!
To summarise:
1. If your flight is delayed in the first two weeks of December, chances are the crew are hungover
2. If you're a popstar, sing a song with a flying reference. The royalties from air crew are immense.
3. First Officers from foreign shores are probably dressed by their mums or have one of those weird 'dress like a baby' fetishes
Saturday 8 December 2012
Flight Deck Floozie's Duty Free Trolley
I've entered the world of fashion designers and set up an online shop! Is there an annoying crewmember you'd like to get a Secret Santa present for? Are you a PILF and want everyone to know it without wearing your uniform? Get shopping!
I have even created a range of Hi Viz which will probably get banned by your airline- I challenge you to wear one to wind up that 20 yr old 'senior' who can't even wipe his own arse!
My shop
I have even created a range of Hi Viz which will probably get banned by your airline- I challenge you to wear one to wind up that 20 yr old 'senior' who can't even wipe his own arse!
My shop
Saturday 1 December 2012
Social networking etiquette for Cabin Crew
I get a lot of tweets from my Passengers (Cheryl Cole has soldiers, I have passengers, ok?) laughing at cliched shite they see on the Facebook pages of airline staff. Some people have no imagination whatsoever when it comes to social networking and tweet/facebook in a style of a 10 year old writing an essay on what they did in the summer holidays. Some even state the effing obvious, like in summer they will write 'flights full of Benidorm chavs', 'it's too hot here', 'going for a swim'...you get the drift. Here are the dos and don'ts of what to write on Twitter and Facebook:
Twitter bio- yawn. If I see hostess with the mostest, tart with a cart, international jetsetter and the like one more time, I'm going to throw my laptop through the nearest window. That's like the Twitter version of when you were a kid and the teacher used to give you a bollocking for starting every story with 'once upon a time'. Unless you fly VIP, you're not a hostess, especially if you work for Ryanair. You can only get away with Tart with a Cart if you're fit, not a middle aged single mum of 3 flogging Pringles on Jet2. International jetsetter is fine if you're a celebrity or working for a longhaul carrier, but it sounds a bit daft when you're working for BMI Regional going to Norwich on an Embraer 135. I know Norwich might look like a different country at times, what with them all inbreeding in that part of the country, but trust me, it's not international.
The Disclaimer- you know what I mean. That shitty phrase that novice hosties put on to make them look like Piers Morgan or someone of equal weight in the media. 'Views are my own and not my employer'. Yeah right. Tweeting that the weather is hot or you want Matt Cardle to win the X Factor is really that scandalous, that your budget airline employer would have no option but to rip up your fixed term contract. It doesn't make you look important, it makes you look ridiculous. Plus, if you want to slag off your company, make racist comments or call your passengers 'chavs', either get a fake profile or rethink your career. Customer service obviously isn't for you, get back on benefits.
Location, 38,000 ft- yawn. You don't live in the plane for god's sake. Just because you're embarrassed to say you're from Doncaster or somewhere. Most hosties go on Twitter to pull, so it's a bit better in their eyes not to mention that they're from an estate.
Facebook statuses- I am knackered. I am on days off. I'm on standby. I had shit passengers today. Listen, most of the population work, it's nothing new. Yes, being a hostie is a fun job but it's not like you're splitting the atom is it? you're not performing pioneering life saving surgery? You want people to take cabin crew seriously? Act it then.
Photos- Please. I started crewing 10 yrs ago and believe me, there's nothing original about 90% of the pics you upload. Even my non-crew Twitter Passengers have commented about how repetitive the pics are. Shoving two Pringles in your gob to create a duck's beak is no longer funny. It just shows you work for a crap airline that thinks Pringles constitute a nutritious meal. The one pretending to open the door inflight- wow you're really scaring me! Oh no, you'd be a menace to fly with! The one where you grab a gay Air Host and pretend to enrol in the Mile High Club- yawn. You're not teasing anyone, there's plenty of proper airline porn on Xhamster. The one where you've picked up the interphone- are you trying to copy Gordon Gekko in Wall St or are you trying to show off 'look at me, I'm messing with the plane's equipment!' Do you take pics of yourself on the intercom in your flat as well? The one with you getting in the locker is as old as the hills. Unless you're about 30 stone and you're trapped in there, then it's not funny!
The more serious crew don't take these photos, they have another genre of Facebook photography that leaves David Bailey seething with jealousy. They take nondescript photos of clouds with the oh-so-original caption 'view from my office', usually accompanied by a series of emoticons. It's not your office, honey. Do you think coal miners take pics of their pit and say 'my office'? Even worse, they'll take an arty pic of the fuselage through Instagram, because a bright orange Easyjet looks so much classier in sepia, right?
The employment section on Facebook- If you're not working for the SAS, MI5 or flying VIPs around the globe, then chances are it's no big secret who you work for. Some of the twats on my Facebook put their employment is 'an airline', 'at 38000 ft', 'a big metal tube', 'the world's favourite airline', 'a great Orange airline', 'Jet To', 'Airline in the sandpit'. Why the fake secrecy? You don't get people working for Tesco saying they work for 'Every Little Helps' or office personnel saying 'a shitty 1960s prefab on an industrial estate' do you? The only time it's worth being vague about your employer is if you work for Ryanair.
Nightstops- The quality of cabin crew nowadays isn't what it was. Employers are being less fussy and recruiting estate rats, illiterates and pond scum. Some of the crew probably haven't even stayed at a hotel before. Don't show yourselves up by tagging yourself in the Holiday Inn. Everybody knows you don't go to a Holiday Inn out of choice and there's nothing holidayish about the place. Don't take photos of the minibar, but telling you that is like telling you not to take pics of your fridge at home, you sad cunts do it anyway. Please refrain from taking pics of the sachets of Nescafe and the complimentary Elizabeth Shaw mints. They are not complimentary, the extortionate hotel rates cover the cost of said 'luxury' item. Finally, do not take pics of the breakfast buffet. All hotels, even the shit boarding houses that charge hourly rates have these. Only take a pic if there is a naked pilot with grapes covering his manhood on the buffet.
To summarise:
1. Instagram doesn't make you David Bailey
2. Airlines employ lots of chavs these days
3. Your Facebook friends may be laughing at and not with you
Twitter bio- yawn. If I see hostess with the mostest, tart with a cart, international jetsetter and the like one more time, I'm going to throw my laptop through the nearest window. That's like the Twitter version of when you were a kid and the teacher used to give you a bollocking for starting every story with 'once upon a time'. Unless you fly VIP, you're not a hostess, especially if you work for Ryanair. You can only get away with Tart with a Cart if you're fit, not a middle aged single mum of 3 flogging Pringles on Jet2. International jetsetter is fine if you're a celebrity or working for a longhaul carrier, but it sounds a bit daft when you're working for BMI Regional going to Norwich on an Embraer 135. I know Norwich might look like a different country at times, what with them all inbreeding in that part of the country, but trust me, it's not international.
The Disclaimer- you know what I mean. That shitty phrase that novice hosties put on to make them look like Piers Morgan or someone of equal weight in the media. 'Views are my own and not my employer'. Yeah right. Tweeting that the weather is hot or you want Matt Cardle to win the X Factor is really that scandalous, that your budget airline employer would have no option but to rip up your fixed term contract. It doesn't make you look important, it makes you look ridiculous. Plus, if you want to slag off your company, make racist comments or call your passengers 'chavs', either get a fake profile or rethink your career. Customer service obviously isn't for you, get back on benefits.
Location, 38,000 ft- yawn. You don't live in the plane for god's sake. Just because you're embarrassed to say you're from Doncaster or somewhere. Most hosties go on Twitter to pull, so it's a bit better in their eyes not to mention that they're from an estate.
Facebook statuses- I am knackered. I am on days off. I'm on standby. I had shit passengers today. Listen, most of the population work, it's nothing new. Yes, being a hostie is a fun job but it's not like you're splitting the atom is it? you're not performing pioneering life saving surgery? You want people to take cabin crew seriously? Act it then.
Photos- Please. I started crewing 10 yrs ago and believe me, there's nothing original about 90% of the pics you upload. Even my non-crew Twitter Passengers have commented about how repetitive the pics are. Shoving two Pringles in your gob to create a duck's beak is no longer funny. It just shows you work for a crap airline that thinks Pringles constitute a nutritious meal. The one pretending to open the door inflight- wow you're really scaring me! Oh no, you'd be a menace to fly with! The one where you grab a gay Air Host and pretend to enrol in the Mile High Club- yawn. You're not teasing anyone, there's plenty of proper airline porn on Xhamster. The one where you've picked up the interphone- are you trying to copy Gordon Gekko in Wall St or are you trying to show off 'look at me, I'm messing with the plane's equipment!' Do you take pics of yourself on the intercom in your flat as well? The one with you getting in the locker is as old as the hills. Unless you're about 30 stone and you're trapped in there, then it's not funny!
The more serious crew don't take these photos, they have another genre of Facebook photography that leaves David Bailey seething with jealousy. They take nondescript photos of clouds with the oh-so-original caption 'view from my office', usually accompanied by a series of emoticons. It's not your office, honey. Do you think coal miners take pics of their pit and say 'my office'? Even worse, they'll take an arty pic of the fuselage through Instagram, because a bright orange Easyjet looks so much classier in sepia, right?
The employment section on Facebook- If you're not working for the SAS, MI5 or flying VIPs around the globe, then chances are it's no big secret who you work for. Some of the twats on my Facebook put their employment is 'an airline', 'at 38000 ft', 'a big metal tube', 'the world's favourite airline', 'a great Orange airline', 'Jet To', 'Airline in the sandpit'. Why the fake secrecy? You don't get people working for Tesco saying they work for 'Every Little Helps' or office personnel saying 'a shitty 1960s prefab on an industrial estate' do you? The only time it's worth being vague about your employer is if you work for Ryanair.
Nightstops- The quality of cabin crew nowadays isn't what it was. Employers are being less fussy and recruiting estate rats, illiterates and pond scum. Some of the crew probably haven't even stayed at a hotel before. Don't show yourselves up by tagging yourself in the Holiday Inn. Everybody knows you don't go to a Holiday Inn out of choice and there's nothing holidayish about the place. Don't take photos of the minibar, but telling you that is like telling you not to take pics of your fridge at home, you sad cunts do it anyway. Please refrain from taking pics of the sachets of Nescafe and the complimentary Elizabeth Shaw mints. They are not complimentary, the extortionate hotel rates cover the cost of said 'luxury' item. Finally, do not take pics of the breakfast buffet. All hotels, even the shit boarding houses that charge hourly rates have these. Only take a pic if there is a naked pilot with grapes covering his manhood on the buffet.
To summarise:
1. Instagram doesn't make you David Bailey
2. Airlines employ lots of chavs these days
3. Your Facebook friends may be laughing at and not with you
Wednesday 21 November 2012
Can't pull at home? Go abroad!
What do you do when you suddenly find yourself middle-aged, single and with your moobs/boobs down by your ankles? Desperate times call for desperate measures when you can't even go to Wetherspoon's and pull a roughian from Eccles. It's time to sell all your Elizabeth Duke at CashConverters and book a flight to a poor, corrupt country and throw yourself at the local totty!
Us aircrew don't just ogle and analyse our colleagues. Our days are so long and boring at times, we like to give the passengers a good psychoanalysis. On some long flights, we find ourselves making up stories about them; guessing what do they work as, how old they are, what their private life is like. Remember that series from 2000 or so called Clocking Off about the private lives of factory workers? I'd love to do an airline equivalent of it. Anyway, I'm digressing. What I'm trying to say is not all the passengers on your Brussels flight for example are going to a business meeting at the EU headquarters, nor are all Alicante bound pax going to watch Sticky Vicky shoving lightbulbs up her womanhood. I was in Manchester airport one day and felt rather uncomfortable. The smell of ageing, newly revived testosterone was in the air but the 'talent' on offer had a creepy look about them. I felt I was backstage in a BBC dressing room scenario in the 1970s if you know what I mean, they all had a bit of a noncey look about them. Then I looked at the departures board and a flight to Bangkok was due out. The penny dropped. These old men were all travelling alone just to get their end away! Bless their souls. A lot of these poor dudes used to travel to Eastern Europe to empty their sacks, but for some reason they can't figure out, when Latvia, Poland and co joined the EU, the ladies lost interest in marrying old codgers from Macclesfield.
It's the 21st century and the ladies are shagging their way through the world now as well. If you are an avid reader of Take A Break magazine, work at a registry office or tune in to UK Border Force, you can't fail to notice the amount of great-grandmothers seducing 21 year old Turkish barmen. Tunisia, Gambia and Egypt are other popular destinations for a bit of foreign toyboy action, but Turkey seems to have the leading edge in this meat market. It might be the fact that they can use the chat-up line 'I'll be your Turkish Delight' and the other nationalities haven't got a cheesy line to their disposal. The female studs who bang these Turks are usually from Wales, former mill towns in Lancashire, rough seaside resorts and former mining towns. Us trolley dollies love to spot these classy birds- you never get them on the Istanbul or the Ankara flight as the Turks who live in the capital and the second city tend to be wealthy and have decent looking birds of their own, not needing the financial assistance, oh sorry I mean affection, of a 60 yr old on DLA from Cleethorpes. Dalaman and Izmir are the hotspots of these wannabe GGILFs. They all get on to the plane dressed like Rihanna at Primark, the tightness of their leggings making us stewardesses debate whether it is a camel toe or a Tena Lady we can see down there. The PILFs will always make some snide comments to us like 'Deeeirrdree!' (after Coronation St's 1994 storyline where Deirdre shagged a Moroccan) or 'how many camels is she worth?'. On a Turkey, Shirley Valentine will be quoted at length, especially if the Turk Slags are Scousers. 'I bet she's made fuck in someone's boat', we would say as yet another GGILF high on HRT attempted to board the plane.
It's hard getting the cabin secure when there are Turk Slags on board. Bags (Tena?) falling out of the locker, Katie Price books everywhere, back issues of Take A Break serve as the unofficial Turk Shagging for Dummies. The Duty Free will be opened for a quick pre-takeoff drink as most Turk Slags have only just stopped caravanning it to Filey and aren't used to flying. The plane is mostly women, it's like a hen night sequel to Cocoon. Some birds are on their maiden voyage to pull a Turk, displaying the nerves of an 18 year old school leaver visiting Spearmint Rhino. You can tell a seasoned one as she usually has presents- cash, clothes from Top Man and Ed Hardy aftershave. There will usually be a token gift- a fragrance from the house of Britney Spears for his mum (who usually turns out to be his wife). A big WA-HEY rings through the cabin on take off. 5 hours of hell.
When we're pushing the trolley, we hear the same snatches of conversation, day in, day out. Mustafa is a barman in Marmaris. Mustafa has a sister who is really ill. Mustafa wants to come to the UK, but not for visa, he will put up with cold country for me. Mustafa likes curvy women, my cellulite ripples like the ocean. Mustafa has seen you coming, we giggle in the galley. Turk slags can be bitchy though. If anyone dares point out to them that sending £20,000 to someone they have just met who doesn't speak English is a bad idea, that means you're a very jealous person. Don't dare contradict one, as you can take the Turk slag out of the estate, but you can't take the estate out of them.
When the plane finally lands and the Turkish dispatcher comes up the steps, I fear for his life and that he'll get gangbanged by the congregation of Mecca bingo. God help these women if Turkey ever does get in the EU as I have a feeling this lucrative trade will go pop and Mustafa won't be interested anymore.
To summarise:
1. It is easy to pull in Turkey
2. Old women can be slags too
3. Don't wear leggings and Tena, they clash
4. Your crew watch you all!!!
Wednesday 3 October 2012
The Office vs The Sky
Back in 2010, something happened to me. A new chapter in my life that people had spoken about, a chapter that sometimes drives former cabin crew back to mile high life again.
I got a job in an office.
You're probably sat there thinking what's so unusual about that? Isn't that what most of the working population does anyway? Don't get me wrong, I'm no stranger to hard work and without sounding snobby, I wanted a more challenging role than air crew, else I wouldn't have gone to uni. It's not the work that frightened me, it's the whole new set of guidelines, politics and other horrific add-ons that come with office life.
I started office work in November, the right time of year for a phenomenon my mum had spoken about at length and I'd read about in countless mags. That's right, I'm talking about Secret Fucking Santa. Us cabin crew tend to work with different people every day and the fact that we work crazy shifts mean that you're not together with a particular group of people long enough to make such a hideous commitment as to indulge in Secret Santa together. For those not in the know, Secret Santa is a shite game which supposedly encourages team bonding where you pick a colleague's name out of a hat and buy a present for a set amount. Even though it's secret, it doesn't matter who is buying for you, it's usually someone who can't stand you or doesn't know you, so you end up getting something shite like bath bombs that smell of Febreze or worse still, the present that the giver received last year. I was hoping for the Viz annual or some smellies, but I got some bottle green eyeshadow which made me look like Aeroflot crew.
Along with Secret Fucking Santa comes the Office Cunting Party and its evil twin, the Office Fucking Buffet. The advantage of the Party is that booze is allowed so you can numb the pain. The advantage of the Buffet is that it takes place in work time so you don's have to sacrifice your personal time for it. I want to spend my spare time with people I like, not people you've been stuck with all day going on about their bratty kids and their crappy all inclusive holidays to Benidorm. These two events are the highlight of the Office Worker's year and beware if you're a newbie, you'll be made to feel like a social outcast if you don't laugh at their shite jokes. At least in flying world, office parties were few and far between and if there was one, there was always at least one specimen of eye candy. Even the tools of the airline would laugh at themselves, dancing to I Believe I Can Fly and the bit in La Bamba where they say 'soy capitan, soy capitan'.
Once Christmas was out of the way, the next shitefest would come along in the shape of Comic Relief. Fat lasses dressed as naughty nurses in the biggest size Ann Summers could offer pushing sponsor forms in your face, charity muff dives, sorry I mean sky dives and other ridiculous suggestions to force you to part with your cash were thrust upon you. At least at the airline, the only charity muggings that went on were those sickbags you could put obsolete currencies like Escudos and Drachma in.
Charity muggings also involved two other hideous aspects- Toast Morning and Cake Sale. It did what it said on the tin- a bunch of do-gooders would sell toast at extortionate prices (2 slices of Happy Shopper brand with a layer of Stork for 50p) and the Cake Sale would usually be homemade produce from fat Catwomen who let cats roam around their kitchen while baking and were often seen not washing their hands after a dump. I would only buy from the Cake Sale if I fancied a sick day. Even airline food was better than this.
The final aspect of office life was the bullshit lingo that they used. Don't get me wrong, airlines use their fair share of bull, but offices are 10 times worse. Full of idiots in their early 20s getting promoted to Team Leader before they've even left home and still have their tea made for them by their mum. They love all that corporate twaddle because, to quote one of their favourite sayings, they haven't yet mastered the ability to 'think outside the box'. I've learnt the best way to handle these tools is when they say 'there is no I in team' to answer by saying' yes, but there is a U in cunt'.
So, to summarise:
-Fat cunts work in offices and love cake
-Cabin crew will never understand the joy of photocopying one's arse at a works do
-Secret Santa is not much of a secret, and Santa is a chubby, middle aged woman with a fascination for bathcubes.
I got a job in an office.
You're probably sat there thinking what's so unusual about that? Isn't that what most of the working population does anyway? Don't get me wrong, I'm no stranger to hard work and without sounding snobby, I wanted a more challenging role than air crew, else I wouldn't have gone to uni. It's not the work that frightened me, it's the whole new set of guidelines, politics and other horrific add-ons that come with office life.
I started office work in November, the right time of year for a phenomenon my mum had spoken about at length and I'd read about in countless mags. That's right, I'm talking about Secret Fucking Santa. Us cabin crew tend to work with different people every day and the fact that we work crazy shifts mean that you're not together with a particular group of people long enough to make such a hideous commitment as to indulge in Secret Santa together. For those not in the know, Secret Santa is a shite game which supposedly encourages team bonding where you pick a colleague's name out of a hat and buy a present for a set amount. Even though it's secret, it doesn't matter who is buying for you, it's usually someone who can't stand you or doesn't know you, so you end up getting something shite like bath bombs that smell of Febreze or worse still, the present that the giver received last year. I was hoping for the Viz annual or some smellies, but I got some bottle green eyeshadow which made me look like Aeroflot crew.
Along with Secret Fucking Santa comes the Office Cunting Party and its evil twin, the Office Fucking Buffet. The advantage of the Party is that booze is allowed so you can numb the pain. The advantage of the Buffet is that it takes place in work time so you don's have to sacrifice your personal time for it. I want to spend my spare time with people I like, not people you've been stuck with all day going on about their bratty kids and their crappy all inclusive holidays to Benidorm. These two events are the highlight of the Office Worker's year and beware if you're a newbie, you'll be made to feel like a social outcast if you don't laugh at their shite jokes. At least in flying world, office parties were few and far between and if there was one, there was always at least one specimen of eye candy. Even the tools of the airline would laugh at themselves, dancing to I Believe I Can Fly and the bit in La Bamba where they say 'soy capitan, soy capitan'.
Once Christmas was out of the way, the next shitefest would come along in the shape of Comic Relief. Fat lasses dressed as naughty nurses in the biggest size Ann Summers could offer pushing sponsor forms in your face, charity muff dives, sorry I mean sky dives and other ridiculous suggestions to force you to part with your cash were thrust upon you. At least at the airline, the only charity muggings that went on were those sickbags you could put obsolete currencies like Escudos and Drachma in.
Charity muggings also involved two other hideous aspects- Toast Morning and Cake Sale. It did what it said on the tin- a bunch of do-gooders would sell toast at extortionate prices (2 slices of Happy Shopper brand with a layer of Stork for 50p) and the Cake Sale would usually be homemade produce from fat Catwomen who let cats roam around their kitchen while baking and were often seen not washing their hands after a dump. I would only buy from the Cake Sale if I fancied a sick day. Even airline food was better than this.
The final aspect of office life was the bullshit lingo that they used. Don't get me wrong, airlines use their fair share of bull, but offices are 10 times worse. Full of idiots in their early 20s getting promoted to Team Leader before they've even left home and still have their tea made for them by their mum. They love all that corporate twaddle because, to quote one of their favourite sayings, they haven't yet mastered the ability to 'think outside the box'. I've learnt the best way to handle these tools is when they say 'there is no I in team' to answer by saying' yes, but there is a U in cunt'.
So, to summarise:
-Fat cunts work in offices and love cake
-Cabin crew will never understand the joy of photocopying one's arse at a works do
-Secret Santa is not much of a secret, and Santa is a chubby, middle aged woman with a fascination for bathcubes.
Sunday 19 August 2012
Embarrassing Bodies for Aircrew
Anyone who says they've never watched Embarrassing Bodies is obviously lying. How can you not be curious to watch some virgin from Macclesfield getting his foreskin rolled back and smegma being surgically removed, or some clappy slapper from Luton displaying her genital warts? Dr Christian often says that some of the ailments he sees are caused by factors that you can control yourself like hygiene, or even atmospheric factors like working conditions, weather etc. Us aircrew experience a host of embarrassing illnesses ourselves and beneath the uniforms, a lot of us have pretty embarrassing bodies worthy of a burka! Here is the ultimate guide to embarrassing aircrew bodies- if Ann Summers are reading this, I don't think they'll make another saucy stewardess or fit PILF uniform ever again!
THRUSH
This word makes me cringe but when people describe it as a yeast infection, that just puts me off eating bread ever again. Thrush often inflicts itself on unsuspecting trainee stewardesses at that useless swimming session that airlines include in their mandatory training. For those who don't know, it involves jumping in a scabby council estate, cockroach ridden baths with a lifejacket, treading water and pretending to save your mate's life. Yeah, like you're really going to be wearing a bikini when you crash land in the Atlantic and have time to pick a pal to buddy up with. Anyway, back to thrush. The swimming sesh is usually in a heavily chlorinated cesspit and the little Hitler Youth wannabes who 'train' you don't really allow you time for a proper shower, hence the onset of THRUSH! Also, the sweaty combo of nylon tights and sweaty cabin of the plane also provide a perfect breeding ground for candida.
IMPOTENCE
Floppy cocks. Erectile dysfunction. Brewer's droop. Dress it up how you want, but there's no denying that some pilots suffer from impotence. Some even carry blueys in their nightstop kits. The long hours, fatigue and job stress have a negative impact on the most essential tool of a pilot's career. That's the penis, not the centre console of the plane.
BAGPEEL
Have you ever been sat on a bus for a long period of time in the height of summer and when you've got off, thought 'God, my bollocks aren't half sweaty' and have practically had to scrape them off your inner thigh? Multiply that by 10 and imagine how pilots feel, stuck in a cockpit for 10 hours a day. This phenomenon is known as Bagpeel, but would love it if Dr Christian could enlighten me on the medical term.
PERIODS
Ladies, your periods will go haywire when you are up in the air. Never mind that Bodyform ad from the 1990s with that Lycra-clad bird jumping out of planes on Dolmio Day, the absolute pain and discomfort will drive you to open the doors and try it yourself. They will go out of sync, the pain can feel somewhat worse due to the bloating of the womb. Some months you may be lucky and not have any at all, but one month you may get 2 of the buggers! Sometimes the blob will come when you don't even expect it. Oh, and PMT will be worse than ever, especially when faced with demanding passengers and older dragon cabin crew whose periods are a distant memory.
STRETCHMARKS
The diet of flying means your weight will be up and down like a plane flown by a woman pilot. This, combined with the bloating that flying causes, causes your skin to stretch and of course, you'll get some beautiful stretchmarks! If you don't drink copious amounts of water, you'll also get some attractive cellulite which means when you'll get to your layover destination, you'll want to wear a burka to the pool instead of your PILF-pulling monokini.
CROWS FEET
If you don't keep up your water and soak your face in a thick moisturiser like Eight Hour Cream or Cream E45, you will be more prone to crows feet and a wrinkly face in general. Flying has been proven to age the skin, hence the more vintage crew looking like AA roadmaps. Whoever said flying was glamourous probably said that back in the 1950s when crew probably flew one sector weeks.
STDs
Yes, of course. There are loads of seedy, promiscuous, dirty cunts in aviation and some do this job just to get laid. Whether you've bummed half of Canal St or are an ugly moose off an estate who can't pull unless you wear your uniform, promiscuity and all the cauliflower shaped warts that go with it are an ever present threat in the airline industry. Some of the sordid activity even takes place on board, so always bag it up lads!
SNOT AND STUFF
Colds are a frequent occurrence for crew- some build up immunity early on but with more and more scum from third world countries outstaying their visas, boarding our planes, they bring more and more horrid diseases with them and pass them on to us. Even some of our own citizens are bringing disgusting illnesses on with them too- it appears it is normal in some parts of the UK to sneeze on to each other and leave your snotty hankies in the seat pocket in front of you. The ground based managers for the airline always say don't fly with a cold, but at the same time, they give you a bollocking for having three periods of absence in six months. It's ok for them, they're in their clean little office, they don't have to touch flu ridden Ukrainians in double denim. Sometimes the snot and stuff can get very nasty, causing a blockage in the Eustachian tube (that's the tubes between nose and ears), causing immense pain on landing and in some cases, bursting eardrums.
THRUSH
This word makes me cringe but when people describe it as a yeast infection, that just puts me off eating bread ever again. Thrush often inflicts itself on unsuspecting trainee stewardesses at that useless swimming session that airlines include in their mandatory training. For those who don't know, it involves jumping in a scabby council estate, cockroach ridden baths with a lifejacket, treading water and pretending to save your mate's life. Yeah, like you're really going to be wearing a bikini when you crash land in the Atlantic and have time to pick a pal to buddy up with. Anyway, back to thrush. The swimming sesh is usually in a heavily chlorinated cesspit and the little Hitler Youth wannabes who 'train' you don't really allow you time for a proper shower, hence the onset of THRUSH! Also, the sweaty combo of nylon tights and sweaty cabin of the plane also provide a perfect breeding ground for candida.
IMPOTENCE
Floppy cocks. Erectile dysfunction. Brewer's droop. Dress it up how you want, but there's no denying that some pilots suffer from impotence. Some even carry blueys in their nightstop kits. The long hours, fatigue and job stress have a negative impact on the most essential tool of a pilot's career. That's the penis, not the centre console of the plane.
BAGPEEL
Have you ever been sat on a bus for a long period of time in the height of summer and when you've got off, thought 'God, my bollocks aren't half sweaty' and have practically had to scrape them off your inner thigh? Multiply that by 10 and imagine how pilots feel, stuck in a cockpit for 10 hours a day. This phenomenon is known as Bagpeel, but would love it if Dr Christian could enlighten me on the medical term.
PERIODS
Ladies, your periods will go haywire when you are up in the air. Never mind that Bodyform ad from the 1990s with that Lycra-clad bird jumping out of planes on Dolmio Day, the absolute pain and discomfort will drive you to open the doors and try it yourself. They will go out of sync, the pain can feel somewhat worse due to the bloating of the womb. Some months you may be lucky and not have any at all, but one month you may get 2 of the buggers! Sometimes the blob will come when you don't even expect it. Oh, and PMT will be worse than ever, especially when faced with demanding passengers and older dragon cabin crew whose periods are a distant memory.
STRETCHMARKS
The diet of flying means your weight will be up and down like a plane flown by a woman pilot. This, combined with the bloating that flying causes, causes your skin to stretch and of course, you'll get some beautiful stretchmarks! If you don't drink copious amounts of water, you'll also get some attractive cellulite which means when you'll get to your layover destination, you'll want to wear a burka to the pool instead of your PILF-pulling monokini.
CROWS FEET
If you don't keep up your water and soak your face in a thick moisturiser like Eight Hour Cream or Cream E45, you will be more prone to crows feet and a wrinkly face in general. Flying has been proven to age the skin, hence the more vintage crew looking like AA roadmaps. Whoever said flying was glamourous probably said that back in the 1950s when crew probably flew one sector weeks.
STDs
Yes, of course. There are loads of seedy, promiscuous, dirty cunts in aviation and some do this job just to get laid. Whether you've bummed half of Canal St or are an ugly moose off an estate who can't pull unless you wear your uniform, promiscuity and all the cauliflower shaped warts that go with it are an ever present threat in the airline industry. Some of the sordid activity even takes place on board, so always bag it up lads!
SNOT AND STUFF
Colds are a frequent occurrence for crew- some build up immunity early on but with more and more scum from third world countries outstaying their visas, boarding our planes, they bring more and more horrid diseases with them and pass them on to us. Even some of our own citizens are bringing disgusting illnesses on with them too- it appears it is normal in some parts of the UK to sneeze on to each other and leave your snotty hankies in the seat pocket in front of you. The ground based managers for the airline always say don't fly with a cold, but at the same time, they give you a bollocking for having three periods of absence in six months. It's ok for them, they're in their clean little office, they don't have to touch flu ridden Ukrainians in double denim. Sometimes the snot and stuff can get very nasty, causing a blockage in the Eustachian tube (that's the tubes between nose and ears), causing immense pain on landing and in some cases, bursting eardrums.
Saturday 4 August 2012
The Ryanair Porn!
If you were based in the Stansted area around 2006 and you had Bluetooth on your phone, chances are you were an unfortunate recipient of Ryanair's own blue movie. If you worked elsewhere or weren't even in the airline industry, let me enlighten you.
The Ryanair Porn was a horrific piece of cinematography that made the Human Centipede look like a romantic comedy, its ugly images imprinted on my brain which make a Google image search of Blue Waffle look like scenes of woodland and green pastures. It's not that anything illegal and wrong took place, it was just normal intercourse (sorry to sound clinical, we are talking about a no-frills airline here) with a solitary cumshot, it's the mere fact that it was with two ugly people who work for the most unerotic airline since United. Lads, does that polyester blue uniform in a size 16, coupled with flat granny shoes do it for you? Unless you're Wayne Rooney, the answer is probably no. Girls, do malnourished looking lads from the Midlands wearing what looks like a Man at C&A suit with a couple of stripes stitched on give you a wide-on? No, me neither. So this is what makes the RyanPorn have all the arousal capability of a David Attenborough documentary on seabirds.
I've searched high and low on IMDB, Twitter and various other forums, but I can't seem to find the actors' names. However, when I was bluetoothed the movie, the file name was JuicyLucyxxx. I have established that the female is either Czech, Slovakian or Italian which means in reality, she is probably Polish, and the pilot is from that nondescript arsehole of England that is neither North nor South and speaks commonposh. The girl is a bit of a fatty and has a classically unusual physiognomy, which translates as looking like one of those freaks from channel 5 documentaries about incestuous couples and cousin marriage. He is pasty and suffers from premature ejaculation- either that, or he can time his cumshot to fit neatly into a 2 minute bluetoothable clip. The film climaxes (excuse the pun) by the fat lass saying to the skinny pilot 'are you making me breakfast now'? How desperate must you be to admit that you're such a fat, greedy mare, you would get creampied off a pilot while being filmed on a Nokia cameraphone just for a free meal? What would she do on camera if it were a free selection box? Bukakke? Or scat for a Nando's?
If any of the stars of this film are reading this, I'd love to know how your careers are going. Please get in touch xxxx
PS Please note that Ryanair has nothing to do with the production of this movie, it just happened that its stars worked for them. It doesn't mean that O'Leary hasn't wanked over it though.
The Ryanair Porn was a horrific piece of cinematography that made the Human Centipede look like a romantic comedy, its ugly images imprinted on my brain which make a Google image search of Blue Waffle look like scenes of woodland and green pastures. It's not that anything illegal and wrong took place, it was just normal intercourse (sorry to sound clinical, we are talking about a no-frills airline here) with a solitary cumshot, it's the mere fact that it was with two ugly people who work for the most unerotic airline since United. Lads, does that polyester blue uniform in a size 16, coupled with flat granny shoes do it for you? Unless you're Wayne Rooney, the answer is probably no. Girls, do malnourished looking lads from the Midlands wearing what looks like a Man at C&A suit with a couple of stripes stitched on give you a wide-on? No, me neither. So this is what makes the RyanPorn have all the arousal capability of a David Attenborough documentary on seabirds.
I've searched high and low on IMDB, Twitter and various other forums, but I can't seem to find the actors' names. However, when I was bluetoothed the movie, the file name was JuicyLucyxxx. I have established that the female is either Czech, Slovakian or Italian which means in reality, she is probably Polish, and the pilot is from that nondescript arsehole of England that is neither North nor South and speaks commonposh. The girl is a bit of a fatty and has a classically unusual physiognomy, which translates as looking like one of those freaks from channel 5 documentaries about incestuous couples and cousin marriage. He is pasty and suffers from premature ejaculation- either that, or he can time his cumshot to fit neatly into a 2 minute bluetoothable clip. The film climaxes (excuse the pun) by the fat lass saying to the skinny pilot 'are you making me breakfast now'? How desperate must you be to admit that you're such a fat, greedy mare, you would get creampied off a pilot while being filmed on a Nokia cameraphone just for a free meal? What would she do on camera if it were a free selection box? Bukakke? Or scat for a Nando's?
If any of the stars of this film are reading this, I'd love to know how your careers are going. Please get in touch xxxx
PS Please note that Ryanair has nothing to do with the production of this movie, it just happened that its stars worked for them. It doesn't mean that O'Leary hasn't wanked over it though.
Monday 30 July 2012
How to make some extra money, cabin crew style
You may have gathered from my previous posts that there are some right tarts in aviation. There are some really skint people too who want a good time, no responsibility and a steady cash flow. They get caught in a rut and live into their overdrafts with no way of making any extra cash. Some girls manage to find an alternative though and a pretty sordid one at that. Yes, that's right, the oldest profession in the world. Here are a few case studies from friends and personal experience and this time, I'm gonna name the airlines- aren't I naughty?
BA- For an airline famous for its stuck up image, some of these cabin crew can be right dirty tarts. My spy said there is a girl who, when flying to the Middle East, has a contact in Dubai who pays her to defecate on a glass coffee table! How disgusting, and to think these people refuse to eat pork as it's dirty...
Easyjet- Easy by name, easy by nature, one quiet member of cabin crew has a large internet presence and 'ahem' fanbase. Her appearance a mixture of available and hard-to-get, this lady appears on various sites under many pseudonyms and personality profiles. I wouldn't go so far to say she's an out-and-out hooker, but meeting men for financial and material gain kind of equates to that....
Ryanair- A network of Eastern European ladies at Stansted base have some ground-based, non tax-paying work, their customers being extremely desperate PILFs and passengers. One pilot was stung one day though, as he had what he thought was a one night stand with one of the girls, only for her to ask him for 50 Euro afterwards!
Emirates- In the so called conservative state of Dubai, where cohabiting is illegal, a selective blind eye is turned to the oldest profession in the world. Whatever the nationality (but mostly Eastern European or South East Asian), these demure stewardesses offer a servicing with a perfectly groomed smile.
Private Jet Companies- No comment. Use your imagination. What do you think?
BA- For an airline famous for its stuck up image, some of these cabin crew can be right dirty tarts. My spy said there is a girl who, when flying to the Middle East, has a contact in Dubai who pays her to defecate on a glass coffee table! How disgusting, and to think these people refuse to eat pork as it's dirty...
Easyjet- Easy by name, easy by nature, one quiet member of cabin crew has a large internet presence and 'ahem' fanbase. Her appearance a mixture of available and hard-to-get, this lady appears on various sites under many pseudonyms and personality profiles. I wouldn't go so far to say she's an out-and-out hooker, but meeting men for financial and material gain kind of equates to that....
Ryanair- A network of Eastern European ladies at Stansted base have some ground-based, non tax-paying work, their customers being extremely desperate PILFs and passengers. One pilot was stung one day though, as he had what he thought was a one night stand with one of the girls, only for her to ask him for 50 Euro afterwards!
Emirates- In the so called conservative state of Dubai, where cohabiting is illegal, a selective blind eye is turned to the oldest profession in the world. Whatever the nationality (but mostly Eastern European or South East Asian), these demure stewardesses offer a servicing with a perfectly groomed smile.
Private Jet Companies- No comment. Use your imagination. What do you think?
Copycats and Cheats!
Browsing (I mean nosing) on Fakebook the other day and doing some investigative research on my old foes, I noticed some complete tool who I worked with once upon a time has tried to rip off my good name. Now, I hate cheats in any form, whether they are benefit cheats, nicking someone's writing ideas or even those cunts who bring their smartphone into a pub quiz. However, this person knows he won't be able to foil Flight Deck Floozie as I have some information on him which I'm sure his present employer wouldn't look too fondly on. It might be an interesting story in this blog though, as this monstrosity of a human being hasn't just screwed some of his fellow gay cabin crew, but has screwed an organisation out of a large sum of money through his lies! Ladies and gentlemen, if you ever come across a deeply unfunny Twitter account that makes Pam Ann look original and a bad cut-and-paste job of a blog, you know who I mean. Don't waste your bandwidth.
While I'm on the subject of poor, unimaginative writing, let me rant on about 50 Shades of Grey. This author has flogged a dead horse (no S&M pun intended) and the book has only shot to fame because she has contacts in the media. Erotica has been around for years in some form or other, and her book sounds shite. It makes me laugh when people have forked out £7 for this when publishing house Black Lace have been doing this stuff for years for about £2 a pop. Even Z-lister Abi Titmuss turned her hand (sorry!) to erotica in 2006 when she released the steamy 10 Fantasies and former airline pilot Robin Peacock is also drawing on his experiences in the rude world of aviation to pen steamy smut. It's a load of hype that we all know is going to be in the charity shop in 6 months time and even Oxfam will get sick of asking for donations of it! The whole synopsis of 50 Shades sounds boring anyway. Virgin gets seduced by someone only 6 yrs older than herself? That's not seduction. Seduction is when a stewardess, dissatisfied by her current lover, gets ravished by a 40 something silver-haired captain in the Holidsy Inn Express at Stansted Airport. In the throes of passion, he takes off up her runway, admiring her landing strip and tells her 'I'll make you earn your stripes'. The story 'climaxes' humorously when he arrives for duty the following day and the crew complain about a snail trail on the braided cuff of his uniform.
Try and plagiarise THAT, Mr Copycat!
While I'm on the subject of poor, unimaginative writing, let me rant on about 50 Shades of Grey. This author has flogged a dead horse (no S&M pun intended) and the book has only shot to fame because she has contacts in the media. Erotica has been around for years in some form or other, and her book sounds shite. It makes me laugh when people have forked out £7 for this when publishing house Black Lace have been doing this stuff for years for about £2 a pop. Even Z-lister Abi Titmuss turned her hand (sorry!) to erotica in 2006 when she released the steamy 10 Fantasies and former airline pilot Robin Peacock is also drawing on his experiences in the rude world of aviation to pen steamy smut. It's a load of hype that we all know is going to be in the charity shop in 6 months time and even Oxfam will get sick of asking for donations of it! The whole synopsis of 50 Shades sounds boring anyway. Virgin gets seduced by someone only 6 yrs older than herself? That's not seduction. Seduction is when a stewardess, dissatisfied by her current lover, gets ravished by a 40 something silver-haired captain in the Holidsy Inn Express at Stansted Airport. In the throes of passion, he takes off up her runway, admiring her landing strip and tells her 'I'll make you earn your stripes'. The story 'climaxes' humorously when he arrives for duty the following day and the crew complain about a snail trail on the braided cuff of his uniform.
Try and plagiarise THAT, Mr Copycat!
Saturday 7 July 2012
I HATE the cabin crew playlist!
As I heard the news that girl band Little Mix's single was going to be called Wings, I groaned inwardly. Yet another song to be added to the repertoire of the cliched songs that annoying newbie Cabin Crew sing. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you heard right. Overexcited newbies sing anything related to wings, flying, the sky, above the clouds and believe that these songs are written for them, the chosen ones, the wet behind the ears new cabin crew! Yeah right, like R.Kelly really thinks of some fat lass from Stockport in an ill fitting uniform selling Pringles when he croons I Believe I Can Fly. The ugly truth is, they really believe they can touch the sky.
Those not working in aviation will be shocked to read that the last day of cabin crew training is called 'graduation'. Not in inverted commas either, that was me. These saddos actually believe they are graduating from Oxford but in reality, they left school at 15 and the only qualification they possess is a C in bra size. At this intellectual ceremony, cheap plonk is supped and songs like I Believe I Can Fly are murdered, plus the crew have to make an arse of themselves and sing chosen song with a dance routine in front of their trainers. Even more ridiculous is that crew can actually invite family members to this bizarre graduation. Honestly, do they think the staff of Thorntons prance round in front of their loved ones singing Sweet Like Chocolate? Do the cashiers at Natwest sing Money Money Money when they complete their training? Probably not. So why are cabin crew and their 'trainers' so deluded as to degrade themselves and believe their own hype? Anyway, here's the playlist in full. Read this while I go and vomit at the thought of a bunch of Ryanair chavs singing Theme From Mahogany. Do I know where you're going to? About 30 miles from where you say you are.
Wind Beneath My Wings (that was the beans you had at breakfast)
I Believe I Can Fly (nope, that's the pilot)
Flying Without Wings (I sincerely hope not)
Fly Away (yes, please do)
Love Is In the Air (do you mean the mile high club)
Come Fly With Me (god how predictable)
Do you know where we're going to (I hope we're not diverted to Luton)
Air Hostess (worse when it comes from a vintage trolley dolly)
To the Moon and Back (the planes run out of fuel going to the Costa Brava so I don't think so!)
Please note- some songs that aren't related to flying are sometimes brutally rewritten like Ticket to Fly by the Beatles and Shakira's Underneath The Wing.
Those not working in aviation will be shocked to read that the last day of cabin crew training is called 'graduation'. Not in inverted commas either, that was me. These saddos actually believe they are graduating from Oxford but in reality, they left school at 15 and the only qualification they possess is a C in bra size. At this intellectual ceremony, cheap plonk is supped and songs like I Believe I Can Fly are murdered, plus the crew have to make an arse of themselves and sing chosen song with a dance routine in front of their trainers. Even more ridiculous is that crew can actually invite family members to this bizarre graduation. Honestly, do they think the staff of Thorntons prance round in front of their loved ones singing Sweet Like Chocolate? Do the cashiers at Natwest sing Money Money Money when they complete their training? Probably not. So why are cabin crew and their 'trainers' so deluded as to degrade themselves and believe their own hype? Anyway, here's the playlist in full. Read this while I go and vomit at the thought of a bunch of Ryanair chavs singing Theme From Mahogany. Do I know where you're going to? About 30 miles from where you say you are.
Wind Beneath My Wings (that was the beans you had at breakfast)
I Believe I Can Fly (nope, that's the pilot)
Flying Without Wings (I sincerely hope not)
Fly Away (yes, please do)
Love Is In the Air (do you mean the mile high club)
Come Fly With Me (god how predictable)
Do you know where we're going to (I hope we're not diverted to Luton)
Air Hostess (worse when it comes from a vintage trolley dolly)
To the Moon and Back (the planes run out of fuel going to the Costa Brava so I don't think so!)
Please note- some songs that aren't related to flying are sometimes brutally rewritten like Ticket to Fly by the Beatles and Shakira's Underneath The Wing.
Friday 6 July 2012
It's always the quiet ones....
I used to have an innocent mind. Well, I still do for that matter. My values are rather conservative and am a traditionalist, which rather contradicts my filthy sense of humour (I am an avid reader of Viz magazine and loved Eurotrash.) You could say I talk the talk, but do not walk the walk. I didn't believe people actually did the things I read about in Viz, like Felching, Dogging, Seagulling, Chimping etc- until I joined the Airline. There were no gays where I was from, no single mums, no poppers and rush. Joining the airline was a big learning curve and here are a few dastardly deeds I witnessed/heard/was told from the horse's mouth about....
- One gentleman had acquired a new dildo which was incorporated into one of those 70s space hoppers! I didn't know men used them! Anyway, he was bouncing round the hotel room on his space hopper butt plug, going for the money shot....THEN THE MAID WALKED IN!
-I met my first Bi guy on training. Not only did he get a hand job from an old cougar in the rubbish bins behind the hotel, on his days off, he jetted off to Paris for some anal action. With a PILF.
-One very refined lady who even went to finishing school was having it off with a 60 something PILF who quite frankly, had a face like David Dickinson but the bulging wad of Branson. I wonder what attracted her to him then besides his false teeth and leathery mug. If you're reading this luv, they may have taught you how to hold your cutlery correctly at your posh school, but they obviously didn't teach you about the oldest profession in the world, which is what you're currently working in.
-One of the gays used to like layovers (literally) in Germany due to the sordid practices the local men. His favourite bar was a dungeon and involved leather clad men inserting chains into each other's arses- straight out of pulp fiction!
-One of the girls, now a 'VIP cabin crew' according to her Fakebook, was filthy. She joined the Mile High Club with a passenger, had several pilots and cabin crew and one night in Gatwick, she was feeling horny so even propositioned a female crew member! She declined and then went up to her room with a BANANA for company!!
-One 'lady' had a drunken fling with one of the ground staff at an airport and earned her 'brown wings' with him. She proceeded to soil the bed after and even took a dump in his wardrobe, thinking it was the toilet!
The moral of this story? Cabin crew are filthy and you're best taking a Boots Meal Deal on the plane and not touching anything they offer you.
- One gentleman had acquired a new dildo which was incorporated into one of those 70s space hoppers! I didn't know men used them! Anyway, he was bouncing round the hotel room on his space hopper butt plug, going for the money shot....THEN THE MAID WALKED IN!
-I met my first Bi guy on training. Not only did he get a hand job from an old cougar in the rubbish bins behind the hotel, on his days off, he jetted off to Paris for some anal action. With a PILF.
-One very refined lady who even went to finishing school was having it off with a 60 something PILF who quite frankly, had a face like David Dickinson but the bulging wad of Branson. I wonder what attracted her to him then besides his false teeth and leathery mug. If you're reading this luv, they may have taught you how to hold your cutlery correctly at your posh school, but they obviously didn't teach you about the oldest profession in the world, which is what you're currently working in.
-One of the gays used to like layovers (literally) in Germany due to the sordid practices the local men. His favourite bar was a dungeon and involved leather clad men inserting chains into each other's arses- straight out of pulp fiction!
-One of the girls, now a 'VIP cabin crew' according to her Fakebook, was filthy. She joined the Mile High Club with a passenger, had several pilots and cabin crew and one night in Gatwick, she was feeling horny so even propositioned a female crew member! She declined and then went up to her room with a BANANA for company!!
-One 'lady' had a drunken fling with one of the ground staff at an airport and earned her 'brown wings' with him. She proceeded to soil the bed after and even took a dump in his wardrobe, thinking it was the toilet!
The moral of this story? Cabin crew are filthy and you're best taking a Boots Meal Deal on the plane and not touching anything they offer you.
Thursday 31 May 2012
Fit Passengers
Today, I was daydreaming about all my lovely Twitter followers and the great feedback I've been having. I'm working in a normal job now, with no contact to the general public and was thinking about things I miss about The Airline. Some of my Twitter followers are a saucy bunch, so I bring you The Airline guide to chatting up and eyeing up fit men on board!
Sometimes, us girls and gays would be incredibly bored and we'd need something or someone to brighten up our days. Airlines tend to go through peaks and troughs of recruitment- one year, you can see a new PILF on the flight deck every week, the next year, there'd be a recruitment freeze and last year's hot PILF would just blend in to the background and become less fit as the airline lifestyle takes its toll. Our wandering eyes would then turn to our bread and butter- the general public who flew on our planes!
I'm going to teach you two new phrases now, BOB and Foxtrot Bravo. These are polar opposites. BOB stands for Best On Board, that one passenger who wins the coveted accolade as being fit as a butcher's dog. The aim was to pick out a BOB each flight, which would sometimes prove difficult if you were flying to Budapest where all the blokes weighed about 8 stone and looked like their mums dressed them. It was also difficult flying to England from somewhere like the Algarve- Victor Meldrew elderly golfer lookalikes all round- PHWOARRR! The best flights for BOBs were any central European business hub (suited and booted hunks), Greece (proper Greece though, not shite places like Zakynthos which are full of stags from Macclesfield as opposed to swarthy Adonises from Athens), and the Middle East (Arab stallions!)
Foxtrot Bravo is the politically correct term for Fat Bastard. For some reason, cabin crew think only they know the phonetic alphabet and they can say Foxtrot Bravo about Rik Waller-sized people without anyone twigging what it means. If another crew member alerts you with Foxtrot Bravo, that is your cue to fish out a seatbelt extension.
So whether you're fat or fit, now you know if your cabin crew is talking about you!
The Turbulence Check was another good way to eye up people. My gay buddies loved this part of the job, as it meant checking to see if all the seat belts were fastened- which also meant you could check out their packages! Sometimes, when it was turbulent, depending on where you were sitting on the plane, you would occasionally see some passengers trying to hide semi-ons! The early morning flights were the best for this, the combination of flying through time zones, having a snooze and light turbulence would mean you would spot a few Morning Glories!
If we ever saw a hot passenger in the aisle seat, us girls would pretend we were light on our feet during the turbulence and fall on them as an excuse for some bodily contact! What an icebreaker!
Another way to pass the time would be a BOB beauty contest. Best played with a mix of gays and girls to get a fair result, or a completely straight male crew, each of us would pretend we were doing a security check but in reality, we would write down the seat numbers of passengers we fancied. We'd all do it independently of each other then compare notes, meaning much debate ensued as to what was hot or not!
The sick passenger was another great chat up excuse. There was a fit BOB once who was terrified of flying, so I kept stroking his leg in a 'consoling' manner. There was another fit Eurohunk of a businessman who had the squits (of all possible illnesses, this is just one up from piles!) but I displayed great empathy and gave him my last Imodium with a flourish. The things you do when you're young and have crushes!!
So, what have we learned today?
1) Your cabin crew are quite possibly ogling you and discussing how tight your arse is
2) Not just pilots are fit, passengers are too
3) You get semi-ons if you sit over the landing gear in turbulence
4) If you're really fit, even getting the delhi belly won't detract from your hotness.
Have a pleasant onward journey.
Sometimes, us girls and gays would be incredibly bored and we'd need something or someone to brighten up our days. Airlines tend to go through peaks and troughs of recruitment- one year, you can see a new PILF on the flight deck every week, the next year, there'd be a recruitment freeze and last year's hot PILF would just blend in to the background and become less fit as the airline lifestyle takes its toll. Our wandering eyes would then turn to our bread and butter- the general public who flew on our planes!
I'm going to teach you two new phrases now, BOB and Foxtrot Bravo. These are polar opposites. BOB stands for Best On Board, that one passenger who wins the coveted accolade as being fit as a butcher's dog. The aim was to pick out a BOB each flight, which would sometimes prove difficult if you were flying to Budapest where all the blokes weighed about 8 stone and looked like their mums dressed them. It was also difficult flying to England from somewhere like the Algarve- Victor Meldrew elderly golfer lookalikes all round- PHWOARRR! The best flights for BOBs were any central European business hub (suited and booted hunks), Greece (proper Greece though, not shite places like Zakynthos which are full of stags from Macclesfield as opposed to swarthy Adonises from Athens), and the Middle East (Arab stallions!)
Foxtrot Bravo is the politically correct term for Fat Bastard. For some reason, cabin crew think only they know the phonetic alphabet and they can say Foxtrot Bravo about Rik Waller-sized people without anyone twigging what it means. If another crew member alerts you with Foxtrot Bravo, that is your cue to fish out a seatbelt extension.
So whether you're fat or fit, now you know if your cabin crew is talking about you!
The Turbulence Check was another good way to eye up people. My gay buddies loved this part of the job, as it meant checking to see if all the seat belts were fastened- which also meant you could check out their packages! Sometimes, when it was turbulent, depending on where you were sitting on the plane, you would occasionally see some passengers trying to hide semi-ons! The early morning flights were the best for this, the combination of flying through time zones, having a snooze and light turbulence would mean you would spot a few Morning Glories!
If we ever saw a hot passenger in the aisle seat, us girls would pretend we were light on our feet during the turbulence and fall on them as an excuse for some bodily contact! What an icebreaker!
Another way to pass the time would be a BOB beauty contest. Best played with a mix of gays and girls to get a fair result, or a completely straight male crew, each of us would pretend we were doing a security check but in reality, we would write down the seat numbers of passengers we fancied. We'd all do it independently of each other then compare notes, meaning much debate ensued as to what was hot or not!
The sick passenger was another great chat up excuse. There was a fit BOB once who was terrified of flying, so I kept stroking his leg in a 'consoling' manner. There was another fit Eurohunk of a businessman who had the squits (of all possible illnesses, this is just one up from piles!) but I displayed great empathy and gave him my last Imodium with a flourish. The things you do when you're young and have crushes!!
So, what have we learned today?
1) Your cabin crew are quite possibly ogling you and discussing how tight your arse is
2) Not just pilots are fit, passengers are too
3) You get semi-ons if you sit over the landing gear in turbulence
4) If you're really fit, even getting the delhi belly won't detract from your hotness.
Have a pleasant onward journey.
Saturday 7 April 2012
Erotic fiction from a retired PILF!
PILFs and hot hosties, if you like reading the sordid filth on my blog, but also enjoy the odd bit of racy fiction from the likes of Black Lace (the publishing house, not those sad blokes who sang about pushing pineapples!), now you can combine both in the form of Captain Robin Peacock!
Robin is a retired PILF who may have given up the cockpit, but has brought his years of experience into the writers' forum and has penned a saucy book! It's Been A Pleasure is now available on Amazon and is an absolute must for nightstops and your crew bag. Every aircraft should have one as part of their MEL!
Robin is a retired PILF who may have given up the cockpit, but has brought his years of experience into the writers' forum and has penned a saucy book! It's Been A Pleasure is now available on Amazon and is an absolute must for nightstops and your crew bag. Every aircraft should have one as part of their MEL!
Monday 13 February 2012
How to spot a gold digging cabin crew
Pilots, print this off and keep it in your flight bag in case you get chatted up at work!
The media always portrays gold-diggers as dumb blonde 20-somethings with a penchant for plastic surgery, hair dye, old men about to kick the bucket and not many brain cells. However, this stereotype often distracts men from spotting gold-diggers in disguise! Some have affected posh accents, are chubby, go for young men or are getting on themselves. PILFs, please see my research I have done out in the field, err I mean the back galley, and learn how to spot a bitch!
1. The ugly girl. Fat, big nosed, plain and horrid to other cabin crew, this girl doesn't look like a bimbo. However, get to know her and get her drunk, she will reveal all of her married pilot conquests. I worked with one such girl and her target was older, not so very attractive pilots who were based away from their families. Her speciality was doing services that their wives wouldn't do, like rimming, bullfrogging and swallowing in exchange for cash. In between copulating with chubby airmen, her hobbies included talking down to pretty stewardesses and becoming a fag hag to the gay crew who laughed at her.
2. The non-people person. Average looking but not ugly, reasonably intelligent and with the personality of Kevin and Perry, this stroppy yet lacklustre madam uses her intense boredom as bait. Rude to passengers and not a team player with crew, she will pore over mags and gaze into a coffee cup, pilots catching onto her intense boredom as an excuse to start a convo. She will give the impression she was formerly a Career Woman but has fell on hard times, luring the PILFs in with her feigned intelligence. Once she has gained the PILF's trust, she will make frequent cockpit visits, discussing life, love and politics, subsequently revealing her bitchy side as she lays into her fellow hosties for being thick. I worked with a perfect example- she was highly intelligent but had no emotional intelligence and sought her prey in a grossly overweight captain in a shiny, over-ironed uniform. Now has loads of kids and no longer works as crew.
3. My fair lady. Average looking (ooh there's a pattern emerging here!), council estate upbringing, previous employment at either Cash Converters or as a teen mum at the taxpayer's expense, this 'lady' shuns her working class background and affects an unusual posh accent, a bit like Rosie Webster off Corrie. Her target? Non UK resident PILFs who don't know which are the rough areas of the UK , that way, they can't catch her out. Occasionally, she will forget herself and regional words will slip out like 'canny pet' and 'innit', she may even call a bread roll a 'barmcake' or 'bap', glossed over with her fake accent. Only when she has got a ring on it will she introduce PILF to her estate back home. My case study targeted a chubby singleton who was about as virile as the 40 year old virgin, thankfully illiterate in English chav culture. My word to foreign pilots is to read up on the rough bits of the UK.
4.The stereotypical one. Big fake boobs, giggly laugh, often heard saying 'ooh my nails/spray tan/Ibiza', this is the typical FDF. However, due to being as thick as a butcher's turd, PILFs soon get bored with this breed, as do the girls themselves when they achieve the holy grail of slagdom- scoring with a footy player/Z list Big Brother contestant etc etc etc.
I hope this helps you gentlemen on workplace pulling etiquette. Happy Valentine's Day!
The media always portrays gold-diggers as dumb blonde 20-somethings with a penchant for plastic surgery, hair dye, old men about to kick the bucket and not many brain cells. However, this stereotype often distracts men from spotting gold-diggers in disguise! Some have affected posh accents, are chubby, go for young men or are getting on themselves. PILFs, please see my research I have done out in the field, err I mean the back galley, and learn how to spot a bitch!
1. The ugly girl. Fat, big nosed, plain and horrid to other cabin crew, this girl doesn't look like a bimbo. However, get to know her and get her drunk, she will reveal all of her married pilot conquests. I worked with one such girl and her target was older, not so very attractive pilots who were based away from their families. Her speciality was doing services that their wives wouldn't do, like rimming, bullfrogging and swallowing in exchange for cash. In between copulating with chubby airmen, her hobbies included talking down to pretty stewardesses and becoming a fag hag to the gay crew who laughed at her.
2. The non-people person. Average looking but not ugly, reasonably intelligent and with the personality of Kevin and Perry, this stroppy yet lacklustre madam uses her intense boredom as bait. Rude to passengers and not a team player with crew, she will pore over mags and gaze into a coffee cup, pilots catching onto her intense boredom as an excuse to start a convo. She will give the impression she was formerly a Career Woman but has fell on hard times, luring the PILFs in with her feigned intelligence. Once she has gained the PILF's trust, she will make frequent cockpit visits, discussing life, love and politics, subsequently revealing her bitchy side as she lays into her fellow hosties for being thick. I worked with a perfect example- she was highly intelligent but had no emotional intelligence and sought her prey in a grossly overweight captain in a shiny, over-ironed uniform. Now has loads of kids and no longer works as crew.
3. My fair lady. Average looking (ooh there's a pattern emerging here!), council estate upbringing, previous employment at either Cash Converters or as a teen mum at the taxpayer's expense, this 'lady' shuns her working class background and affects an unusual posh accent, a bit like Rosie Webster off Corrie. Her target? Non UK resident PILFs who don't know which are the rough areas of the UK , that way, they can't catch her out. Occasionally, she will forget herself and regional words will slip out like 'canny pet' and 'innit', she may even call a bread roll a 'barmcake' or 'bap', glossed over with her fake accent. Only when she has got a ring on it will she introduce PILF to her estate back home. My case study targeted a chubby singleton who was about as virile as the 40 year old virgin, thankfully illiterate in English chav culture. My word to foreign pilots is to read up on the rough bits of the UK.
4.The stereotypical one. Big fake boobs, giggly laugh, often heard saying 'ooh my nails/spray tan/Ibiza', this is the typical FDF. However, due to being as thick as a butcher's turd, PILFs soon get bored with this breed, as do the girls themselves when they achieve the holy grail of slagdom- scoring with a footy player/Z list Big Brother contestant etc etc etc.
I hope this helps you gentlemen on workplace pulling etiquette. Happy Valentine's Day!
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