Little Britain meets Cocoon

Mum was 80 at the end of January so we (my sister who lives in England and I who do not) decided to take her to London, correction -we decided- I took her.
She is still reasonably mobile but cannot walk far or very fast so a wheelchair is essential for zig-zagging through the terminals. I found an abandoned one in the car park at Glasgow airport so I acquired it, put mum into it, and charged on to check-in.
It was an overnight visit so we only had carry on bags. I keep using ‘we’ I mean ‘I’ had all the carry on bags apart from mum’s briefcase and walking stick that she used to crack strangers shins with-either Americans or what she considers good looking men. Anyway I Ayrton Senna’d her around the queue streaming system (and made her slightly dizzy-oops) to the desk, then we had the fun of a security frisk. I pushed towards the gate we had 40 minutes to wait so I got her a coffee and a bun, I sat down started to read the paper, realised it was very quiet and low and behold one empty wheel chair. Mum had decided to go for a wander…ok I know it’s not a major thing but sitting in the special needs area with an empty wheelchair was just plain embarrassing.
The return journey was marginally better. There is a buzzer to press in the car park and a ‘skycaptain’ comes with the wheel chair and deposits her in the waiting area with the other disabled punters. A gaily dressed college boy walks past.
‘See him;’ she points to someone’s back, this is Heathrow it is busy, ‘yes’ I stupidly reply ‘he is the one I told you about.’
‘Eh?’ I stupidly continue.
‘That MP, the one that embezzled all the funds.’
I groan, this has gone on in a loop, for the past twenty three hours. The skycaptain saves me from anymore agony. Again security frisking takes place, shoes off, coats off probes in. I know that they have to be suspicious but surely when they got a whiff of Eau d’Urine they would not bend down??? Nope these guys live on the stuff-not a career path I would choose! Anyway there were two wheelchairs on the Glasgow flight and the flight was full. Wheelchairs whipped away at the entrance to the air bridge the ladies are cajoled out of their new weapons. Assured that it is just a short walk they are suddenly a lot more disabled. These two limping matriarchs bobbled towards the plane. Mum was in second place as the lady from Uganda had clearly been on steroids but she got stuck at the plane door. She could not get her leg up. I watched in disbelief as she attempted to swing her leg over the threshold several times. Scared that I was going to giggle I turned round, to see a long line of impatient travellers look straight back at me. I suddenly felt very responsible and was relieved when she got her leg over. I helped mum on the plane we were in row 6 the Ugandan lady in row 18…perhaps check-in staff were having a laugh? Any way we are ready. Mum is strapped in at the window seat and watching intently for terrorist activity. She spies the long metal poles that are attached to the squat tugs that push the aircraft back and decides that they could be pipe bombs. I explain their function and obligingly a neighbouring plane is being pushed back. ‘Oh’ she says. Eventually everyone is on board and the steward makes his announcement on safety. '
'His diction is appalling'
'um' I reply deciding to ignore her. Mum nudges me and points out the ‘mobiles must be turned off’ instruction. I nod. She taps one long red fingernail against the laminated safety card, rather like the raptors in Jurassic Park. I then rather theatrically flourish my turned off mobile. She nods.
We begin to taxi..and taxi..and taxi…Mum decides she will go for a sleep. WOOHOO I uncharitably think, peace to read. But no she decides to try and have a conversation about the lady who lost her legs. I am grunting in the pauses. Then the plane speeds up and we are off...she is awake and watching again. She decides to read the Sunday newspaper and comment on everything. ‘Would you look at that…he is not a very good speaker you know!....I don’t like Colin Dexter he is so morose…Coffee and a flapjack please.’
and a large gin for me!!
Long and the short of it Mum had a brilliant time, enjoyed seeing her granddaughters, enjoyed the adventure, but has not quite forgiven 5 year old Jennifer for noticing that she looked ‘very old.’ Certainly not as old as I felt!!