Tag Archives: snacks

Come Fly with Me

Like all normal people, I get much of my daily advice from celebrities. Victoria Beckham, for instance, encourages one not to eat when flying, in case of bloating. Like Posh, I also fly a lot. It’s almost exclusively with Ryanair, but I have taken Victoria’s words to heart, and am now, in a fit of jet-lagged induced generosity, going to share my own travel tips:

1. Eat as much as humanly possible before you get onto the flight. Always. You never know how long you’re going to be taxiing or what kind of slop they are going to feed you on the plane. Also, if you crash in a remote location, I feel it is going to make you look elegant and self-sacrificing if you are not the first to eagerly dig into the dead.

2. Bring snacks. Flying is mind-numbingly boring, and snacks serve both to occupy you and allow you to make a new ‘in-flight friend’, if you are generous to share them. (If you are sitting next to Victoria Beckham, do not be disappointed if she refuses your kind offer of Fruit-Tella, and simply ask if you can have her bread roll instead). Also, these VB-spurned sweets could play an important role in any crash-scenario.

3. Glare menacingly at your fellow passengers when you initially sit down. Now is not the time to be smiling sweetly and offering out slightly squashed Salt and Vinegar Walkers. Play the long game. Cultivate an aura of forbidding sternness. You may, if you wish, relent slightly if sat next to an extremely attractive person, or a small child. But if it all goes wrong, don’t come crying to me. I have successfully convinced at least 4 flight attendants that I do not speak English.

4. Treat the flight attendants in precisely the same manner as you would a kidnapper. The goal is to stay alive, and be as inconspicuous as possible. Any attention is unwelcome attention. Trust me, when they’re looking for people to give the spare diet cokes to, they will not be rushing up to the over-chatty extra-blanket demanding chap in aisle 4. The quietly enigmatic possibly deaf foreigner is already enjoying their ice-cold beverage before Mr aisle 4 has managed to explain to the poor flight attendant that he simply cannot work out where to plug his headphones in.

5. Bring moisturizer. This, I admit, is a tip I have stolen from Victoria Beckham. But while she encourages mid-flight moisturizing to ensure the best possible airport arrival photo, I think it is handy to have a little bottle of something one can ‘accidentally’ smear on the shared arm-rest, in the case of an arm-rest hog.

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Gatz London (and malteasers)

I was taken to see Gatz London yesterday. Gatz has come over from a hugely successful run in the States to great fanfare- one critic, helpfully quoted on the Gatz website, describes it as ‘the most remarkable achievement in theatre not only of this year, but also of this decade’. It is, in the simplest terms, a dramatic reading of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘The Great Gatsby’. In real terms, it’s 6 solid hours of theatre, interspersed with intervals and a dinner break, which means you enter cheerily at 2.30pm in the afternoon, and leave the Noel Coward theatre at 10.30pm in the evening, ejected daze-like into the night.

I thought it was tremendous. My companion liked it so much he’s hoping to go again. (I liked it enormously. I will certainly not be going again. Did you not hear that it’s EIGHT HOURS OF THEATRE?)

But if you want to see it, go to the website- www.gatzlondon.com. I’m here to talk about snacks. People go to the theatre for many and varying reasons, but I’m pretty sure that everyone goes to the theatre for the snacks. There’s something special about theatre food. It’s like normal food, but better. (I assume that must be true- or else why is it 4 times as expensive?)

My companion left me to carry the snacks, so I clambered into my seat laden with boxes of malteasers and japanese rice crackers. (In separate boxes- I’m not an animal). ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to the lady sitting next to me, as I saved myself from falling by sitting on her lap. ‘Here you go,’ My friend said, passing me a large G&T. ‘I got us 2 each.’ ‘Good planning,’ I whispered in reply. ‘We’re so good at the theatre.’

We were not. We whispered loudly in delight at key dramatic moments, got up several times to go to the toilet, and realised early on that there is no food in the entire world louder than rice crackers and malteasers.

‘The thing is,’ I said to my friend. ‘It’s really not our fault. These are the only snacks the theatre sells! You know what really would be ‘the most remarkable achievement in theatre not only of this year, but also of this decade’? Quiet theatre snacks.’ My friend agreed, and asked me to stop talking to him during the play. At least I think that’s what he said. It was hard to hear over the crunch of my malteasers.

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