infoxicated – Page 124 – Digital infotainment from the life of Rob Foxx

The logistics of liquid explosives

Thursday August 24th 2006

With their article “Mass murder in the skies: was the plot feasible?“, The Register have done a nice job of debunking the myth that mixing liquids to create an explosive with the intention of bringing down a plane is a trivial affair. It’s a welcome moment of sanity amongst all the commotion created by the media.

It’s a sad reflection on modern society that the mainstream press would rather perpetuate the notion that terrorists are everywhere, and that we should all be living in fear, rather than delivering actual facts.

If sex sells, it looks like fear does too.

Plane Crazy

Tuesday August 22nd 2006

After being on a few flights in the last couple of months (to Dublin and Turkey) a few things struck me about the whole air travel charade.

Firstly, the pre–flight safety briefing is a mostly pointless affair, beyond the bit where they tell you to be aware of your exits. I speak mostly with regard to “In the event of a water landing, your seat cushion may be used as a floatation device.”

When was the last time, outside of the Thunderbirds, that a commercial aircraft not designed to do so, gently skimmed to a stationary position upon a body of water?

Rather than trying to delude us all with the notion that we’ll all survive and suffer only the relatively minor inconvenience of bobbing around in cold water awaiting rescue, why don’t they just lay out the facts?

The chances are, you are well and truly fucked if your plane goes down over water. If you’re lucky you’ll get a park bench named after you. Or maybe a hospital wing if you’re particlarly rich and have previously expressed that your fortune should go towards the creation of said wing in the event of your untimely demise.

Secondly, I’ve endured a few hard landings in some of the flights I’ve been on in the past. From a roller coaster descent before a hard thump arriving at Malta, to an absolute tank slapper at Luton airport, after which the pilot apologised for “the first officer’s landing” over the intercom.

That last one really irked me – the pilot apologising for the first officer’s ham fisted landing. Excuse me, Easyjet, but if there’s a better man for the job sitting in the cockpit then they should be the one landing the plane, not the trainee. Let the first officer practice in an empty plane, not while my life is in the hands of your cabin crew.

Lastly, I feel that the level of customer service provided by check-in staff and the cabin crew varies wildly. From insincere gushing to stone faced bluntness, you never quite know which you’re going to get.

The Great British Beer Drought 2006

Wednesday August 16th 2006

As planned, I made the trip down to London to attend The Great British Beer Festival with cousin Iain. Immediately after dropping my bags at his place on the Friday afternoon, Iain and I headed straight for Earls Court – a fifteen minute walk away.

After joining a short queue and buying a two day ticket, we entered the main hall to be faced with a throng of drinkers and countless brewery stalls. The atmosphere was vibrant, with the occasional pantomime cheer erupting when somebody somewhere dropped a glass on the floor. Although mostly male, the crowd was a good cross section of ages, with a heavy sprinkling of your traditional middle-ages, beard & sandals wearing ale drinker.

We eagerly made for some random stall round to the right hand side of where we’d collected our glasses, and asked for a half pint of the first thing we saw on the stand.

“Is this your first pint?” the bloke behind the bar asked.

“Tonight? Yes.” I replied, making sure to indicate that I was no stranger to the consumption of alcoholic beverages.

“Well, you don’t want to start with that – have a glass of this instead.” He advised, selecting an ale that was closer to 4% proof than the rocket fuel we’d naively asked for. It was a good thing, too, as even drinking generous halfs I began to feel quite squiffy after an hour or so.

We tried a whole host of different beers, most of them forgotten for something new the minute our glasses were empty. One really nice one, I’m pleased to report, was called May Flower, which was from Scotland. By the time we got to that I had started thinking that our selection process was proving very successful indeed. Then I went and ruined it all by asking for a pint of Moonraker – a foul tasting half-pint of what can only be described as watery tar. That was the only glass I ditched all night, though.