Polish Menu

 

My friend sent me a Polish menu for a meal next Friday night. Here are some of the highlights from the translation…

The chef recommends:

Tray pork, barbecue tray, tray fungal

(Dish for two persons)

Pork dish for two persons pork knuckle, black pudding, ribs, chop, fried cabbage, boiled potatoes, horseradish, mustard	65 -
Odour filter tray of grilled chicken, filet of tenderloin, pork, fried vegetables, baked potatoes, garlic and chilli sauce	75 -

Something Something for tooth tooth

Miscellaneous from pigsticking 150 g	12.-
Beer board 150 g	16.-

Warm Warm why not stuff

150 g Black pudding with onion The onion pudding 150 g black pudding with onion	8.-
Leggings made ​​of 150 g	8 –

 

Soups better than grandma's soup better than at grandmother's

Black pudding with onion Pork soup.

8.-

 

Seemingly nothing but As if nothing ...

Dumplings for the selection of 300 . With meat, cottage cheese, cabbage and mushrooms or a highlander with sheep cheese.	12.-
Food Woodcutter 300 g	17.-
Bigos 300 g dish made ​​from sausage, mushroom and sauerkrant	10.-

Fish dishes Fish

Trout cooked according to the weight of 100 grams of vegetables	6.-
Salmon from the oven according to the weight of 100 g spinach mousse.	9.-
Pinch stewed in white wine.	26.-
Pinch in spinach mousse with shrimp sauce.	33 -

Pork Pork

Highlander Pork 200 g in cabbage	18.
Grilled neck 150 g	15.
Roman Roast 120 g with pepper.	18.-
Mammoth 500 g for genuine guy	35.-

Beef Beef Beef

Devil's steak in pepper 180 g  Diabolic steak in pepper.

39.-

Venison Venision

Wild boar roast 120 g in a hunter's sauce

39 -

 

Denmark wegeteriańskie

Chicken cutlets with 100 g of French fries letters, sweet carrot salad

24 -

Costumes Extras

Potatoes with "pipe" with garlic butter 150 g	6 -
Lard 250 g bowl Bowl of Lard	5 -

Desserts Desserts

Pear to heat a piece of caramel	10.-
Nutmeg ice cream dessert with a lawyer	12.-

Hot drinks Hot drinks

250 ml/50 ml Tea laced with alcohol Highlander Tea Tea 250 ml/50 ml Laced with alcohol	8 -
Coffee lawyer 7 g/200 ml	10.-
Fanta a shoe Fanta a shoe	4.-
Sprite, a shoe	4.-
Tonic a shoe Tonic a shoe	4.-
Mineral water a shoe                                                 4.-
Burn a shoe                                                                 10.

Beer Bear

 

low alcohol foot. 0,33 l 0,33 l	5.-
Porter shoe. 0,33 l	5.-
Mulled Beer 0,50 l (with insert)	12.-
Mulled beer bottles. 0,50 l	9.-

 

Vodka and sparkling clean

50 ml	8.-
Finland 50 ml	8 –
Bitter stomach clean 50 ml	5.-
Lotion 50 ml gastric	5.-
"Coffee, the hunter."	15.-
"Cool down" stomach, Sprite	10.-
"Sex appeal"	15.-

I think I’ve learnt so much about Polish culture from reading this menu alone!

Do people in Poland really order side dishes of lard? Can they really be eating Highlanders, Hunters and Romans? Are mammoths still to be found south of Krakow? Can Finland really be bought for only 5-?

I’m not surprised after reading their main courses why their drinks are then called ‘bitter stomach clean’ and ‘lotion gastric.’

I struggled to find a vegetarian option, and finally had to settle for a Greek feta salad. Though I’m guessing after reading the above it’s probably made with real Greek!

Why There is a Giant Orange Ladybird…

 

 

“Ha! I only cut my grass about three times a year,” I boasted. “Lawns are no trouble at all.”

The people sat around me looked at me in disbelief. They cut their grass at least once a week.

“How do you get away with that?” someone asked.

I explained that my garden was very narrow and that my constant walking up and down it probably stunted the growth.

They looked at me dubiously.

My boast was of course only partly true, though I do tend to go quite a long time before cuts.

I don’t enjoy cutting the grass mainly because this means retrieving the lawnmower and the extension lead from the depths of the cellar.

A couple of weeks ago my neighbour’s daughter was cutting her grass. Within minutes the cacophonous engine whirr stopped. I peeped outside and saw she was bent over the machine looking puzzled. There was a buzz of conversation between the two and guessing that their machine had broken I went down into my cellar to get mine for them.

As I emerged with it, I heard them discussing the possibility of borrowing mine, and they looked at me in surprise as if I had read their minds.

But before they did so, they tried different cables and suddenly their own lawnmower sprang back into life.

With my lawn-mower now outside I too began to cut my grass thinking that it was better for the other neighbours if we synchronised this noise pollution.

Just as I finished, my lawnmower stopped working. Unworried, I put it away thinking it might simply have over-heated; or even that there was some strange anomaly in that area that was somehow playing havoc with electrical appliances.

Today I planned to cut my grass again; it’s only a twenty-five minute job, easy.

Remembering that the lawn mower wasn’t working last time, I tried it gingerly. To my delight the engine started.

I began.

Suddenly the engine roared wildly. A plastic blade had gone flying.

I’d run out of spares blades, so I this meant a walk to the shops. Thirty-five minutes there and back.

Back home, I replace the blades and the lawn mower purred back into life.

Within seconds it roars wildly again.

One of the new blades has snapped.

I fetch another and cut the grass again.

Just as I nearly finished the lawn mower stops.

I check the trip switch in the cellar.

It’s okay.

I check the extension lead.

It’s okay

I leave the lawn mower to cool.

I try the lawnmower.

It doesn’t work.

I change a fuse.

Nothing.

And no one from next door dashes out with their lawnmower as mine lies upturned like a dead orange lady bird on the grass.

There’s simply silence.

I write my blog… another hour passes.

I try the lawnmower.

It doesn’t work.

Time it should take to cut the grass … twenty-five minutes.

Actual time needed … infinity.

Looks like I’ll only be cutting my grass three times this year after all!

There is so much blood in this land!

 

So many fields in England have been stained with blood. So many battles have been fought on this earth that you can scarce walk a mile without stepping over bones.

There are some places that have seemed strange to me as if their umbilical cord to a past lineage has been somehow cut. Some places mystify me as if their presence is encoded wrongly, as if there is some anomaly. One such place I visited by chance some years ago was Newton near Geddington. A strange place that seemed half-formed whose church had been taken over for a field centre; where once I sat one afternoon looking at ugly wriggling water creatures from the nearby Ise brook. Creatures fit only for nightmares and horror films. And I was glad it took a microscope to see them. But there was something odd about the village as if credit had been withheld, and so it had not thrived. And I felt uneasy there, but didn’t know why.

Today someone told me the story of this village. Of how a thousand peasants, men women and children once gathered there to rebel against the enclosure laws that denied them the common land. Of a man who led others into battle against the landowners servants saying he had a magical pouch to keep his followers safe, and earned the nickname, Captain Pouch.

Of near fifty people who were then butchered for protesting their rights. Of how the river ran red with blood on that day the 8th June, 1607.

Of how Captain Pouch, John Reynolds, was captured and his magical pouch was found to contain only mouldy cheese.

Of how the ringleaders were then hanged and quartered and their body parts displayed throughout the land as a warning to others.

So the landowners won the day, and their greed for land was not checked.

Nearby is a great house where once I met a man in a wheelchair. I chatted to him feeling somewhat sorry for his condition and later discovered that he was the Duke of Buccleugh, at that time the richest man in England. He was a Montagu descendent. One who had inherited great wealth as a direct result of  this greed and murder.

How the Montagu family must have laughed to have heard that there was only mouldy cheese in John Reynold’s pouch for they had the whole kingdom in their pockets.

And how sad that they felt no compassion for John Reynold’s condition. How they felt no qualms whatsoever for him only having mouldy cheese to eat. How sad that they were unconcerned that so many had died, or for those who were now forced to forage in the forest. How disgraceful that the surviving peasants had to sign an apology by leaving their mark.

How cruel has been the rule of law in this land.

I can only hope that the Montagus sniffed John Reynold’s piece of cheese for then they would have sniffed their own stench of corruption, a stench that I hope lingers around them still.

I can see no difference between them and those microscopic water creatures I found in the Ise brook, excepting that I now realise that those water creatures were much prettier.

 

http://www.newtonrebels.org.uk/rebels/history.htm

In My Own Internet Bubble

 

Some time ago, someone, somewhere, perhaps on tele, but more likely on the radio, said that we were creating our own internet bubbles every time we went on line.

He tried to demonstrate by popping in to see his neighbour and asking her to tap in a few key words into Google. His experiment didn’t work as it seemed that she got the same recommended sites on her front page as he did. There wasn’t any slant in this direction or that. There seemed to be no truth in it at all.

However, it has just happened to me… this last week.

I am now inside an Internet bubble and there seems to be no escape.

It happened after I’d been researching toilets for my parents. They needed a new one so I had a look at different ones, checking prices and availability and then I phoned them back with the results of my research.

Now whenever I go on line I see adverts for toilets everywhere.

They are everywhere.

Even on my email page.

Now if this happened once or even twice I wouldn’t mind that much, but it’s going on and on.

Just now while trying to find the lyrics to a Castanet song I was dismayed to be distracted by a side bar showing a slideshow of different toilets. How can I sing along to Ray Raposa’s ‘The Night is When You Cannot See,’ when toilets are being paraded across the page in time to the music? How can I ever listen to that song again?

How can I make it stop?

Arrrgggghhhhh!

The Last of the Frogs

 

This year was a great year for frogs. Over the last month the tadpoles have been completing their metamorphosis and hundreds of tiny frogs have already left the pond.

But there are still some tadpoles left.

These are the ones that swim more slowly so I’m guessing they are the ones that were not as fortunate in the genetic handout at the beginning of their lives.

Some are albinos with transparent skin.

Some have tails that are tinged with a white edge. I’m guessing it might be a fungal infection.

Some are healthy but are showing no sign of transformation and some of the others have developed arms but no legs.

I’m guessing that some of these healthy looking tadpoles may be intending to over-winter in the pond. A few of the others are still probably about to leave in the next month, and the rest are none too well.

The pond weed is showing signs of returning, but the oxygenating plants are there in numbers and the lily leaves are spreading well.

It has been fun seeing tiny frogs sitting on the lily leaves.

I hate the dog next door.

 

I hate the small yappy dog next door.

The other night it was left outside all night.

All night it barked.

When I looked out of the window, at three in the morning, it was in my elderly neighbour’s garden and barking at a cat. Then it jumped the low wall into my garden, and the annoyed cat yowled as it was chased away, but still the dog’s yapping continued.

Unable to sleep at four in the morning, I made a cup of tea and walked the length of my garden. The dog jumped the wall back into its own domain. It was the time of the dawn chorus but this was ruined by the dog’s yapping.

Even as I’m typing this it is yapping, small insistent yaps enough to set nerves on edge.

When they recovered this dog after the last time it was lost its owners kept it on a long tether and I was cheered by this, but now they don’t bother any more and the dog is again allowed to trespass freely.

Is it too unkind to hope that the heavy dangling branch from the overhanging tree should fall and squish it flat?

No More Ice Cream

 

Things can change so quickly and when they do change it’s often for the worse. Not having much money our pleasures were in simple things such as a short drive out into the country and then a walk. There were a number of places we used to go to mostly country parks.

The one at the reservoir was a favourite and then they put up car parking charges so we could no longer afford to go there. Instead we went to the other car park on the reservoir where it was possible to feed the ducks, geese and swans. We have had wonderful days there feeding the birds and throwing up bread into the air for noisy small gulls that dived over our car an in Hitchcock-like frenzy. We have watched the changing mood colours of the lapping water. We have cycled from that point and walked from that point.

A few days ago we went there again and to our dismay there were now new car parking signs. It’s £2:50 to park there now. We couldn’t afford to stay and had to turn the car around and leave.

It’s such a shame. It means we will never go there again. We used to pop in there sometimes if we just needed a change of scene after a tough day at work/school. We used to pop in just for minutes sometimes to feed the birds or to get an ice-cream from the ice cream van. This will never happen again. We have lost a freedom we had treasured.

Quicksilver

 

When I was at school in the sixties I had a wonderful science teacher. His name was Mr Weigh. (I’m not sure if that was how his name was actually spelt.) He was elderly, very softly spoken and had a mischievous sense of humour. I thought he was wonderful.

One day he showed the class mercury.

He gave us all a blob of mercury to play with and we sat at our rough benches that were cracked with age and touched these strange blobs with our fingers. Then we rolled the blobs along the bench like strange bouncing ball bearings.

Mercury was a wonderful exciting discovery for us.

Then he took a coin from each of us, dipped it in the mercury and handed it back. My old penny now gleamed like silver. It was alchemy that worked: copper into silver.

All that day at school I felt for this silver coin in my pocket and rubbed it against my thumb. I wanted to show it to my mum.

Once home, I did show her the coin. But the shine had gone. I tried to remember something about the experiment that day, there had been heat. I switched on the gas stove and held the coin above the heat. To my dismay all the mercury vanished. My mother then lost interest, and I was left disappointed. Where had the mercury gone?

Looking back, knowing so much more about the harmful effects of mercury I am horrified that such an experiment was ever once allowed. And I’m appalled that so many of my contemporise were exposed to mercury vapours in that classroom and that I’d even done the same to my mum at home.

A few years before I took my ‘O’ levels Mr Weigh died. He never reached his retirement and I wonder now if mercury vapour played a part in his untimely death.

It can be so very, very frightening, when you look back.

A Hypochondriac is Born

 

A table lamp wasn’t working downstairs.

So I went to get a light bulb to replace the low energy bulb that was obviously no longer working.

In the half-light of dusk I began to twist the bulb. It turned. All too late I realised that it was twisting as if it was a bulb with a screw attachment whereas the replacement bulb had a bayonet attachment.

I bent lower to peer at it just as the twisting stop and the bulb was freed.

“Oh,” I said, taking a deep breath.

Then I smelt air which had a metallic taint, and to my horror I realised I was only holding the glass part of the light bulb and that the rest was still attached.

I knew that there were dangers from low energy bulbs and immediately rushed outside to take a gulp of fresh air, and I then herded the two of us upstairs.

The following morning I opened windows to ventilate the room. By this time I had read about the dangers of inhaling mercury vapour. I had also searched for diagrams of low energy bulbs so that I could identify the gas that I had inadvertently freed. I knew that noble gases are used, but which one had been used in this Morrison’s light bulb? And had it been contaminated at all by any mercury? I didn’t know. But by this time I had also read about the effects of mercury poisoning.

http://www.ccohs.ca/oshanswers/chemicals/chem_profiles/mercury/health_mercury.html

From which I’d read

“short-term exposure to high concentrations of mercury vapour caused harmful effects on the nervous, digestive and respiratory systems, and the kidneys. Initial exposure to high concentrations of mercury vapour produces symptoms similar to "metal fume fever" including fatigue, fever, and chills. Respiratory system effects include cough, shortness of breath, tightness and burning pains in the chest and inflammation of the lungs. ...Exposure to high, but unspecified, concentrations of mercury vapour has caused death due to respiratory failure. All of the reported deaths resulted from inhaling mercury vapours formed upon heating mercury.

Several case reports have described harmful nervous system effects following inhalation of high concentrations of mercury vapour. The most prominent symptoms include tremors (initially affecting the hands and sometimes spreading to other parts of the body), emotional instability (including irritability, excessive shyness, a loss of confidence and nervousness), sleeplessness, memory loss, muscle weakness, headaches, slow reflexes and a loss of feeling or numbness.

A classic sign of exposure to high concentrations of mercury is inflammation of inside of the mouth (stomatitis), sometimes with a metallic taste, excessive salivation and difficulty swallowing. Other digestive system effects include abdominal pains, nausea, vomiting and diarrhea.

Kidney injury is common following exposure to high concentrations of mercury. Reported effects range from increased protein in the urine to kidney failure. Exposure to high concentrations of mercury has also caused increased blood pressure and heart rate.”

All very worrying.

Day 1

That strange taste I now had in my mouth was that one of the symptoms? Did I now have an excess of saliva?

The symptoms “excessive shyness, a loss of confidence and nervousness, sleeplessness and memory loss,” especially worried me as I have all these already, and the thought of these characteristics being exacerbated was deeply depressing indeed.

That night I could hardly sleep.

Day 2

This morning, I have the beginnings of a sore throat and my right shoulder is aching.

Is all this psychosomatic? Did I really inhale any mercury vapour? Would Morrisons really sell a light bulb which would allow a part of it to be unscrewed so easily releasing a gas when people were trying to change it?

When I tried the light it worked (I had screwed the glass cover back on). But now I am worried if it is still safe to use. The light bulb now contains ordinary air. Will this still be okay to use? Was ordinary air being used inside the light bulb all the time and not a noble gas? Could it have been contaminated by mercury vapour?

Yesterday, I realised that there was another reason why the light bulb did not work in the first place.

It had been unplugged.

The plugs sockets were hidden behind the guitar so I didn’t notice.

I never unplug this light so I was surprised.

Then I remembered my son’s girlfriend who had set out various appliances on the coffee table and then plugged them in without a by-your-leave. She must have removed the plug, and then not bothered to plug it back in; and then I had foolishly jumped to the wrong conclusion when I’d tried to switch on the light.

Arrrrrggggghhhh!

The Round Table

 

I had always thought that an Arthurian round table offered equality, ensuring that all that sat around it had an equal opportunity to speak out, but I was wrong, for a round table does not offer any such democracy, as there is always someone directing the discussion to whom all eyes must turn.

I had imagined that each would have been able to speak in turn, visualising those sat at the table’s rim to be radiating invisible spokes, rather like those of a cart-wheel, spokes which would meet and cross with others at the centre. And naively, I had thought that at this centre, truth like the grail would then become manifest.

Perhaps if all were indeed equal this may well have been the case, but a distinct dearth of grail manifestations attests that such equality is rarely found.

As soon as someone is the leader the magic of a round table is broken for invisible spokes no longer radiate to the heart of the table but turn to this one person. Some of these spokes will be short and others longer, but none of them would ever cross. Should someone speak to another across the table then there would later be the inevitable pull back towards the leader. So a round table with a leader creates a mathematical imbalance in which truth and equality could be lost

In Arthurian legend I’d thought that those chosen to sit closest to the king had the greater advantage. I hadn’t realised the special disadvantage that they faced, for when they turned to speak to the king due to the table’s curve there was nothing between them. They were thus terribly exposed; how much easier it must have been to face an irascible king with a good stretch of English oak between you and his wrath. Another disadvantage of sitting too close to the king when trying to make your point was that your close-coupled conversation would have left the others at the table feeling like resentful eaves droppers.

No wonder so many of the king’s favourites chose not to take up their seats by his side and instead found the perils of searching for questing beasts far more preferable.

No wonder the table was broken.

Unaware of any of this I was enchanted when I was taken into a room where a talk was about to be held and saw a round table.

I had no idea that when the speaker by chance sat by my side that I should have immediately leapt to my feet and made some excuse about questing beasts. Thoughts of capturing a yellow unicorn or a damp phoenix eluded me. Fool that I was I remained sitting in my place.

The speaker dished out pieces of paper containing a few facts from and our task was to build a character. After ten minutes of writing we then had to go into role, be that character, and answer her questions.

It was an excruciatingly experience. I found I could not slip into role at all. Worse I felt terribly exposed with everyone’s eyes on me. And worst of all I had to turn and face this tutor without any width of wood between us when it was my turn to answer her questions.

And that was when the real defect of the round table became apparent. There was no place to hide, when every radiating spoke pointed to you.

“Well your character isn’t interesting at all, far too bland,” the tutor stated dismissively, after I’d stuttered my unimaginative replies.

There is no way of hiding failure when you sit at a round table. If she had been a king my head would have rolled, and then bounced and then rested as a grim centrepiece. A warning to one and all.

Lancelot knew the pitfalls of a round table, as did many others. He too must have been shy.

Love Actually Smiles

 

I worry and panic whenever I have to do anything involving airports. I had to pick up the now ex-teenager and his girlfriend from East Midlands Airport. This airport was about fifty-five miles away just off the M1 motorway.

In my head all I wanted to do was to drive to the arrivals building early, park the car, go inside the building, watch their plane land, and then meet and greet them, but I knew that anything as simple as that would not be possible.

I spent hours studying websites.

It seems that parking even for just a few minutes was going to be very expensive.

Eventually, I discovered information about ‘Shuttle Plus’ (one hour’s parking for free) as well as information about the short stay car park (£2 for 30 mins and then steep incremental rises.)

Booking in advance web pages were quoting ‘cheapest prices’ of over fifteen pounds for just one hour’s parking. “Cheapest Parking!” these web sites proclaimed. Yeah, I thought.

I am a coward by nature. The Shuttle Plus parking looked like a possibility, but the buses ran every fifteen minutes, and then the journey back to the terminal took an extra six minutes. Already after doing advanced calculus I’d worked out that in the worst case scenario I’d only have an eighteen minute window in which to meet and greet before the steeper charges kicked in.

It seemed it might be safer to go for the short term parking after all, and simply pay.

However, on my arrival a tiny bit of me that is still brave decided to give the ‘Shuttle Plus’ car parking experience a try.

I’d already read that the car park signs might be misleading as some old signs have yet to be replaced. So I was luckily able to make turns towards ‘car park 6’ whenever the Shuttle Plus signs were absent.

It was a longer journey than I’d expected past all the other car parks, and I was quite frightened when after travelling down this quite a long road I eventually came to a cluster of car parks.

I knew which direction to turn as I’d already studied the maps.

I got my ticket and the barrier lifted. My car park was only a quarter full and felt quite distant and lonely. Not knowing where the bus stops were I opted to park close to the other cars.

I had already read that you had to take your ticket with you for the other car parks so I guessed that this would probably be the same for this one.

The wait at the bus stop was thankfully only a few minutes, but it felt so much longer.

The bus then trundled back along the road I’d come at a steady unhurried pace as my heart raced.

The surprise being that at the Departure Terminal the bus driver told everyone to get off. It seems that the bus went no further. It seems that those destined for ‘Arrivals’ had to walk. There had been no mention of this on the web sites.

The bus driver then said something incomprehensible about where to find the bus on the way back, and when I asked him to repeat this garbled information it still made little sense.

It was quite a walk to the Arrival’s Terminal. All the time I was worrying about the time allowed and also I was now worried about where to find the return bus.

I like to get to places in good time so this was all very stressful for me.

Earlier that afternoon, I’d forced myself leave home without allowing for traffic jams or any other such problems on the roads. So I had arrived in the car park three minutes after their plane should have landed; when usually, I would have liked to have been there at least half an hour before their plane landed.

In the arrivals hall I eventually located a screen, and discovered with dismay that their flight had landed nine minutes late. Nine minutes isn’t much, but when you have so few minutes in credit in the Shuttle Plus car park it is an eternity.

My mind whirled with this new information. I did the maths. Late wasn’t good. This meant my car parking situation was under even more stress. How long would it take for them to get off the plane and then through customs. What if they got stopped?

A baby crying nearby didn’t help much either; especially since his parents were too busy playing with their mobile phones to pick up and cuddle him. He cried and cried, just as I was doing inwardly.

So I was greatly relieved when I saw my passengers and could rush and hug them.

In  the film ‘Love Actually’ there is a touching scene when people are shown greeting other people at an airport with huge smiles and hugs. This is described as ‘love’. I disagree. I think such smiles are actually looks of relief because now the meeter and greeter knows they have a fighting chance of getting back to the car park in time just before the higher charges kick in.

Outside the terminal, I searched for the shuttle bus bay.

I couldn’t find it.

In a panic I eventually went inside the car parking offices to ask.

The chap inside said something totally incomprehensible, but luckily the passenger he was helping kindly took me to the door and pointed the way. He understood my terror.

The Shuttle Plus bus bay was hidden around a blind corner of the Arrival’s building on the left hand side as you exited. I’d turned right when I should have turned left.

There was of course no bus waiting , and a long queue of people.

We waited.

Time ticking.

Eventually the bus turned up.

It took an age for these people to board. The woman in front of me having little idea about how to simply place her back down in a space ,and then sit down. She stood blocking the aisle moving with infinite slowness as if executing the ballet of placing a suitcase in the right space.

She had two small boys with her who were also slow to take to their seats they stood in the aisle blocking the way forward watching her performance and ignoring her instructions for them to, “Sit down”.

Time ticking.

Then the bus steadily chugged on its way back as if on a scenic run of some seaside resort as time ticked away like a bomb.

Back at the car park trusting blind intuition I validated my ticket in the machine near the bus stop. Credit card at the ready to pay the excess.

But there was no charge.

Then at the exit barrier the validated ticket, despite being in sweaty hands, was accepted and the barrier lifted.

I sped out.

And only after exiting this strange world of the airport could I relax and listen to my travellers’ tales and give my ‘Love Actually’  smiles to the motorway.

How to Park at East Midlands Airport for Free (when dropping off and picking up passengers)

 

My favourite part of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe” is this:

 

"But Mr Dent, the plans have been available in the local planning office for the last nine months."

"Oh yes, well as soon as I heard I went straight round to see them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn't exactly gone out of your way to call attention to them, had you? I mean, like actually telling anybody or anything."

"But the plans were on display ..."

"On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar to find them."

"That's the display department."

"With a flashlight."

"Ah, well the lights had probably gone."

"So had the stairs."

"But look, you found the notice didn't you?"

"Yes," said Arthur, "yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying 'Beware of the Leopard'."

 

 

This is exactly what it is like trying to find information about how exactly to park for free briefly at East Midlands Airport to pick up or drop off passengers.

First of all I want to say it is possible. And if by some strange throw of the dice you have found this page then your chances have just improved even more.

This is what you need to know/do

· Leave the M1 motorway at junction 23A

· Follow the signs to East Midlands Airport

· At every roundabout follow the signs to ‘Shuttle Plus’ (or car park 6)

· It’s a long road. You will pass other car parks and a wind turbine and a lorry park.

· The Shuttle Plus car park is then the first one you see on your right.

· Follow the signs.

· At the barrier take a ticket.

· Protect this ticket and note the time for the clock has already started ticking. You have one only hour of free car parking time if you are any longer the fee shoots up to £6:20

· Drive as close as you can get to the bus stops as you can.

· There are two bus stops close to this car park. As you go into the car park they are on your far right. Closest to where other people already in the know have already parked.

· There is plenty of space in this car park so there is no stress about trying to find a place.

· Take your ticket with you.

· At the bus stop try not to stress. The buses come every fifteen minutes.

· The buses are labelled and are white.

· The buses are free.

· There is ample space for luggage on this bus.

· The journey to the departure terminal takes about six minutes.

· Everyone has to get off the bus at the departure terminal even those going to arrivals.

· Try not to panic.

· Follow the signs to the Arrivals Terminal i.e. turn right after getting off the bus. It is a four minute walk. So flat heels are needed.

· At the arrivals building just opposite the entrance door are the toilets!

· There are chairs where you can sit and a screen hanging in the middle of the ceiling (not immediately obvious) which tell you about the flights and whether or not they have landed.

· After meeting your friend/family exit go through the exit and turn left go around the blind corner and to find the bay where the shuttle bus returns from. (It’s the second bay)

· On the return journey press the bell for the bus to stop after passing the wind turbine.

· Cross the road to the Shuttle Plus car park

· Now place your ticket in the pay machine near the bus stop. This validates it. If you are under the hour there is no charge.

· Drive to the exit place your validated ticket in the machine and the barrier will lift to release you.

· Give an almighty cheer and follow the exit signs to the M1 motorway.

Here is a map and further information:

http://www.eastmidlandsairport.com/emaweb.nsf/Content/LongStayParking