I love people-watching. Correction, I used to love people-watching. Before I had a toddler. Now I daren’t take my eyes off him for a second incase he accidentally causes some formidable catastrophe by way of his ever-jiggling arms/legs/feet.
Airports are the best places ever for people-watching. Mr B and I spent two years commuting weekly between Cardiff and Dublin so we spent a lot of time doing this. While waiting for our normally delayed Aer-Arann twin-prop we would often pass the time looking around at our fellow passengers and trying to guess what they did, or where they might be going.
One weekend we spotted a group of very skinny american boys with long hair and the TIGHTEST jeans you have ever seen. They looked as though they had been painted on. “Do you think they’re in a band?” we sniggered, while mentally making a note to steer clear on the plane if we could. We figured they were probably annoying students on a gap year.
We actually ended up sat right behind them and, fortunately, they seemed really quite pleasant.
On arriving in Dublin, after passing through security, they were greeted by their fans.
Turns out they weren’t annoying gap-year students.
And they actually were in a band.
The really stupid thing is Mr B apparently had two of their albums at home.
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