A Journey to Rhodes

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A Journey to Rhodes

I was about to embark upon an adventure. Just five hours away from my arrival at a destination of great culture, and of course, unbearable heat, yet I was standing in a drab, despairing environment teeming with screaming five year olds and ignorant Mancunians: I was in Manchester Airport.

  The cuatomary delay of our plane was something in the region of an hour and a half. The over priced Arcades and Cafes provided moderate relief from the monotony, but surely £1:50 for a bottle of Diet Coke is a step too far? I also perused the shelfs of the "special branch" chain stores, which charges extortortionate prices even when compared to their high street relatives.

 Despite the Manchester United bias in the sports shops, I amazingly excavated the brand new Everton away shirt, from amongst a disturbingly large amount of "Beckham no.7" merchandise. The price was suprisingly reasonable, so I became the owner of my 11th Everton shirt, and strolled away, pleased with my purchase.

 The many minutes in between my purchase and the boarding of my plane, as my father and I each had reading material, so soon, I was boarding the flight to Rhodes...

 The journey was tedious, and even the extra leg room we paid for failed in it's attempt to comfort. I felt tired, and despite the huge excitement(!) of overlooking the cloudy skies of Athens, Paris and Rome, I drifted off to sleep.

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 I awoke some hours later, feeling not refreshed, but further fatigued, relieved to hear that the journey was near to its conclusion.My father had earlier bought a bottle of water for me, and I immediately opened it before consuming it quickly.

 Soon, the plane landed, and I headed towards Baggage Collection. I had the (mistaken) belief we would be required to wait for about an hour to collect our baggage and continue our journey, but three hours later we were still waiting for even the rollers to run. I looked around at all of the glum faces, and despite the ...

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