Volcano skies

Another volcano has erupted over Iceland, causing budget airline owners to go on television and talk about ash, explaining how it is more important that they be able to fly incredibly complicated and fragile machines through volcanic ash clouds in order to ensure stag and hen parties get to their destination than it is to ensure the safety of anyone living underneath the flight path.

If aeroplanes can fly through clouds of volcanic ash with no ill effect, how come you’re not allowed to smoke in the toilets of these same aeroplanes? I mean, if they are robust enough to stay aloft in a cloud of volcanic ash, I presume that a single B&H sparked up in the bog is not that much of a big deal, right?

The volcano has once again spoiled ‘the big getaway’. Are we to take from this that volcano’s are seasonal? It even meant that President Obama had to leave Ireland early. Didn’t Air Force One visit Europe last year when there was volcanic eruption going on? Possibly volcanic eruption is the ultimate deterrent to stop other aeroplanes sneaking up on it or something.


Looking out the window, I’m not sure if I’m looking at a volcano sky or just a normal vivid, polluted sunset. Apparently when Krakatoa erupted the skies were crimson for weeks. If anything, the skies seem clear of anything remotely resembling a special effect. Which is a good thing, I’ve seen the pictures from Iceland and have no desire to spend day after day scooping sooty talc off my lawn.

Certainly, in terms of stopping air traffic an erupting volcano has done the trick once again. The secret volcano base is, of course, the lair of choice for the supervillan. Usually however their plot to bring travel chaos to the civilised world involves lasers, missiles, computer hacking and at least one tank of piranha fish rather than a straightforward eruption.

What’s interesting is that the people stranded at the airports seem to kip under red Cross blankets or the sort of tin-foil sheets used to wrap marathon runners or chicken. Between the climate and industrial unrest, I’m amazed that every airport doesn’t have a thousand of those foam camping mats stockpiled in a room somewhere. Air travel is supposed to be romantic and glamorous. Christ alone knows that the budget airlines are doing their best to dispel this image by charging you for a sandwich on a sixteen hour flight, but checking in the passenger’s suitcases so they a) have to fly with you but b) don‘t have a change of clothes when they wake cold and gritty on the airport floor is either supremely stupid or the sort of evil genius that is deserving of an undersea volcano base.