Things To Do In Stansted When You’re Dead

Synapses misfiring, coffee hits coming every hour, four hours till baggage collection opens, six hours till the flight. Another week/month/year/decade and another airport, spending the most I’d ever spent on a flight ~€90 . Wasting time on reading course books is fun, however doesn’t exactly stimulate the brain at 0200, GTAIV – even though I complain about it, is still a shining beacon of light in the swampy piss stain that is the video games industry insofar as entertainment is concerned – is pretty good at keeping the attention span going, especially if you’ve found the holy grail of a power socket.

The one problem with power sockets though are the people that cannot seem to understand the concept that if a plug is in socket  then that socket is in use. Case in point, I’m sitting playing GTAVI with my wireless xbox360 controller clearly needing power, and some snotty Johnny Foreigner comes up, removes my socket, and plugs his phone in which has died. A great amount of anger followed and something which I assume was the union of  in the linguistic form was something resembling Nicolae Ceauşescu’s last words and the grammar from planet zog.

This got me thinking of how speaking a language empowers us within a specific environment. In much the same way that Marx thought about capital and it’s accessibility defining the proles and the bourgeoisie, language and it’s empowerment however with the movement of people this clash of culture and language is becoming more evident. Ironically (though this is an assumption with no numbers, but what I believe to be a fair one) the majority of those that could be considered bourgeoisie-esque in this new world of linguistic geography, are those that speak a language other than their own.

Here I am taking a massive liberty that people will at least speak one language, for those that do, consider them the proles, those that make up the bulk of the populous. Coming next the petit-bourgeoisie those that have studied a language possibly within a school environment or have had a ratty foreign grandfather who wanted a flavour of the old country to remain. And of course within this scale there has the be the bourgeoisie proper. The polyglots of the world, when using capital in it’s monetary sense there will always be someone with more than you, the same applies for language.

As an Englishman, am I am able to stand on the shoulders of potato faced gods with my ability to discern the difference between the past, present and future in French, not my mother tongue. However to a friend of mine, who was able to supremely command herself in French, English, Spanish and a stab at Chinese I was eclipsed, in loosing the chains and breaking through the communication in one locale, I could be completely lost in another and within this, in much the same way as Marx, language can be considered as a currency depending on the environment.

Having lost my power socket and having a Rodin’s thinking man moment, I reflected on the futility of it all. Having lost my battery, power supply and ranting on about something that I’m sure not many people care about, I decided I needed an overpriced breakfast and a beer, for me it was still the night, ceding ground to someone who in my world was linguistically disadvantaged, he had in effect won the battle, I had got a blog entry out of it he got a charged Nokia 2630. I pondered that things couldn’t get any worse. Then I got on my EasyJet flight, I was wrong, so very wrong. Orange is such a garish colour, and that was just the flight attendants.

Author: Mark Iliffe

Traveller, Programmer, Geospatialist and Motorcyclist

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