Having enrolled online before we went to the U.S., upon returning to the U.K. on Saturday I was allowed to join the U.K.’s Registered Traveller scheme. It enables some non-EU passport holders to enter the country through immigration e-gates at international U.K. airports, as well as the Paris, Brussels and Lille Eurostar terminals. No more filling out a landing card.
To do so, I had to mention it to the young woman border agent – on seeing her I thought she rather resembled singer Leona Lewis – who happened to be processing me. She knew what I meant immediately. She followed by asking for my invitation letter.
I handed it over. She scrutinized it and questioned me further. I passed muster. She concluded the formalities, “That’s fine. Let me get you a membership card.”
It also includes an unexpected reference to “Uncle Bill.” After all, when you are connected personally to someone “famous,” well, you never know who else out there might also “know” that “celebrity.” Nor do you ever really know where you might encounter a fan.
I fly a lot. Obviously everyone’s Number 1 concern is with safety. That assumed, when flying we all do also crave some “style” and even “romance” aboard. After all, we’re flying! – something humanity for countless generations before us dreamed of being able to do as we can, and we are!
(Uh, and in writing of “romance” there I don’t necessarily mean as in those romantic row mates I’d had years ago. Although our flight was exceedingly “romantic” for the two of them, I’ll grant you. Or, then again, maybe that’s your long-haul fantasy too? ;-) )
You may be in a frequent flyer program. For years we have flown British Airways whenever possible. Shopping around isn’t really worthwhile or practical.
Yet even with so many of us tied into those schemes, airlines still hope to get some of us regular flyers to switch our “loyalty,” of course. Naturally they also crave brand new customers as well. Both certainly in their sights, here’s a new Air France advert:
The other day, I’d been writing a scene where a vague (or, if you know it, not so vague) reference is made to a landmark 1941 “private eye” film. That I’d had been doing that is a large part of the reason the actor who’d starred in it was in my mind as I’d also written the other day about Kate Colby’s post. Yes, the jumble that often constitutes our human “thought processes.”
This morning I decided I’d have a quick look at YouTube to see what’s on there of that film. I couldn’t believe it. I found this gem: that Maltese Falcon film, cut to exactly 7 minutes’ length: