I get around...Verona (and Lake Garda!)

I have a love of travel and have been to a few destinations over the years that a lot of beach-lovers I know think are a bit weird, I don't care. I've also jotted down some bits and bobs whilst travelling to, from and around these places - mainly for my own amusement or to ensure I remember what went on (my memory is shocking) or even just because I'm bored shitless on a flight/coach/train! Anyway, I've discovered some of my ramblings from the last few years on a corrupted phone and have managed to save some...and...even better...edit them into some sort of order...no need to thank me.

So as the start of an irregular series here's a very small bit of Lake Garda from last year :- 

Get ya gas board slide down that then!

I bloody love BA!

You don't hear that often do you? But, after years of budget, cheap and generally customer unfriendly air travel we ended up on a British Airways flight to Verona (Shakespeares 450th birthday as well don't you know!) and I was canny chuffed. It started when I was online checking in the day before. Pick your seat - pretty standard you might think these days - aye? So did I, then, out of curiosity, I clocked on the emergency exit seats...and got them...at NO EXTRA CHARGE!  

I'm a big lad so this was the equivalent of a fucking upgrade to a backstreets Byker boy I can tell you.

Then, after being ripped off at Gatwick for a coffee and a sandwich (it was five o clock in the morning so fuck off with your 'get a proper drink you soft shite' bollocks) I boarded my plane to be met by a smiling crew member (smiling for God's sake - it’s like they value my custom!) who, once we'd taken off gave me muesli, juice, a filled croissant and coffee FOR NOWT! I could get used to this like - I tell you, customer service...its the future.
Whey...it's alreet I suppose...

I grew up on a council estate on the banks of the river Tyne(I might have mentioned it...) that was steeply stepped and for entertainment we used to nick those red and white plastic gas board barriers and use them as makeshift sledges down the steps - usually stopping via the medium of smashing into a wall, all good fun. I found that crossing my mind as I looked down the sheer side of Monte (Mount) Baldo down to Lake Garda and lovely Malcesine and wondered if I'd beat my record for distance. Then, as I looked around at the top of the mountain it'd taken two, sweaty German filled, cable cars to get to, I wondered why would I do that? It was gorgeous, peak after peak of snow capped wonder screamed for my attention, the freshest air I've ever breathed chased the city smog I tend to carry round with me right out if my lungs and the view across the magnificent lake will stay with me for ever. It was a surreal experience being up there ( its a journey that's taken me a lot longer than two cable cars believe me!) and I could have stayed up there for the rest of my life.

Sadly it was time to go all too soon but I contented myself by watching the madmen throwing themselves off the side with only a flimsy piece of fabric to help them descend their way back to safety, and asking the question - they might think they're brave now but would they have had the bollocks to gas board sledge it down ten flights of steps through the dog shit, past the cars and into the (very) unwelcoming arms of the Raby Street mob. I think not.