Wetherspoon Express, Stansted Airport
Stansted Airport, Airside
by Herby Banger
It’s Stansted, it’s early. It’s me and my friend Ash strolling wearily through passport control on our way to catch a plane. It’s going to Edinburgh, it’s our friend's stag night. We’re feeling the need for a breakfast to quell the nerves we are feeling - nerves in anticipation of the impending debauchery.
We steer clear of the bagel place on Ash’s previous experience; a sordid tale of inadequate service, blind stupidity and violence in the form of baked goods being used as projectiles. It’s a great story that will have to keep, but it should be noted that I advise everyone to steer well clear.
Finding the only alternative is a Wetherspoons pub we assess all of its breakfast menu options and discover curiously that you can only have scrambled eggs with the different sets on offer. Going for the full English, sitting down at a table to peruse the recently purchased papers from WHSmith, we scan the first page and find that beside us is a waitress ready with our meals. It’s quick. It’s unbelievably quick. It’s realising that the reason you can only have scrambled eggs with your breakfast is because they survive better under a hot lamp and that the whole ensemble: sausages, bacon, beans, mushrooms and tomato, have been sitting in vats behind the scenes.
It’s eaten quickly, and it’s surprisingly good although everything on the plate has the same texture: mushy and soft. It’s not Rembrandt, it’s not even Damien Hirst. It’s more Rolf Harris; simple, accessible and easily digestible. It’s finished without much comment, setting us up perfectly for the run to our gate and the battle to find a good seat on the budget plane to bedlam.