COME FLY WITH ME!

I hate flying. I have always said it was the landing and the take off that caused me the pains, but I have come to realise that its actually the whole experience. I use to like airports as a kid. They were the highlight of my holiday (I was a strange child!) I was fascinated by people from all different walks of life jetting off to all these glamorous places in the world, while I was left with the destination of Alicante (Not so glamorous!) I use to imagine what they did and where they were going. I still do. Even my mother gave us the sense of a flight being an special occasion by buying us all special travelling outfits, which would have to meet the criteria of being comfortable, have a hint of the exotic but with the practicality of keeping us warm in the unforgiving British weather. The hunt for these outfits would often take weeks and usually end up with me looking like Don Johnson's Miami Vice love child (It was the 80's).
Luckily now I have now reached an age where I can pick my own clothes, but that is the only thing that has improved when it comes to flying. The whole thing is just horrible and I my homeward flight from Hong Kong just highlighted why I hate it so much. So let me begin. First of all I always seem to have a flight at a shit time which means I have to get up at some god dam unearthly hour, to arrive at an airport still half asleep with no breakfast only to find every shop shut apart from bloody McDonald's, ( No wonder we have an obesity problem). Foreign airports also seem to think that just because it is hot outside that they have some justification to freeze you to death with overpowering air-con. Then you have to board the actual flight and the first thing you are faced with are the air hostesses or flight attendants as they like to be called these days. Now I have to be careful what I say here as my sister is a trolley dolly, but as a whole I don't like the creatures. For a start they greet you with those kind of Stepford wives smiles, which are so false, as underneath they are thinking how they can make this flight as miserable as possible for you, for the next 10 hours or so. This is done through a number of methods, with the temperature being their main weapon of choice. The bastards usually crank it down till you think your in Siberia and are sat there shivering to death. You then ask for a blanket, of which there are none left, so you ask if they could could turn the temp up and they give you that smile again and say "I'll see what I can do" (Which means NO!) I must admit though I do like seeing the Chav's freezing in their hot pants and strappy tops ( Serves you right for dressing like slags!) They then feed you something that looks like a dried turd in tin foil and you can only get a drink if you are quick enough to actually grab them as they speed by saying, "Tea! Coffee!" without any bloody intention of stopping.
Then there are the other passengers. I would not want to be left in a space the size of a shoe box, with my own family for 12 hours, never mind a group of annoying strangers. I always get the person in front of me who puts their chair right back, without asking, ( this time, a very loud, irritating American, who I thought I might kill). Then there is the person next to you who wants to go to toilet every two seconds, just as your finally falling to sleep. Then when you decide to go the toilet yourself, everyone else seems to go at the same time and you queue for ages being pushed out of the way the whole wait by the Dollies with some crap serving trolley. When you get to the toilet the person before you has had the smelliest shit in history which you have to endure until you have done your business. Then there is the freaky flusher which scares the hell out of me as I do believe every time that its going to suck me down with it. You get back to your seat in time for the baby behind you to start screaming for the next couple of hours. The air then starts to get stale with sweating feet and farts, which then gives you a headache. Then you get so dehydrated as there has been no drinks served for the last couple of hours. Then the Dollies come round wanting to sell you some crap Duty Free, ( I don't want a flying Biggles bear, I want a sodding glass of water!) You then come into land which buggers my ears (burst my ear drum when I was eight). Then fight your way out to exit, as everyone can't wait to leave this hell hole, with "Hope you enjoyed your flight!" ringing in your ears. One day when I'm not so out of it from the whole experience, I'm going to turn round and say, "Do you want to know where I'm going to stick my Duty Free Toblerone!" and see if there still smiling then!

OBSERVATIONS

* Only one this time. I don't think my sister will be talking to me after reading this!

P.S Just because I'm home, does not mean that my blog is stopping, so keep logging in. x