Flying ©
By
Michael Casey
I’m scared of several things, one of which is flying, and as
I’ve just had a postcard in the post which means the sender will no doubt be
landing home any second now, I’ve decided to talk about Flying. I am a very
scared flier. I don’t like heights to start with and my invisible Rosary is in
overdrive when I fly. Yes I know you are all laughing now, considering the Fact
that Flying the safest form of travel.
Getting on a plane is like being herding through an
abattoir, so much process. In actual fact one of our local supermarkets changed
the checkout area and now it feels like an abattoir too. Though I gave up going
there in search of nicer food to feed my daughter’s brain, 18 months ago. I
hate being processed, I know it’s all for speed and economy, but I really do
want to know how the security guard’s old mum is.
And say, you do have such white nice teeth to the girl at
passport control, before she introduces me to the nice white teeth of the
Rottweilers, though that tends to be in Germany. I have to admit it’s 2013
since my last holiday. Post heart op, and with arthritis I scream and need my
Movelat gel at the most awkward of times. So I stay at home and cogitate, they
can’t touch you for it you know, cogitation.
Though some day Paris Hilton will offer a private jet,
holiday and Health Insurance, and then I’ll head for the Hilton Malta. I would
of course repay Paris Hilton in kind. I’ll tidy up her CV, and give her some
interview practice in return, then maybe just maybe she could get a job on
reception at the local Specsavers Opticians. One good turn deserves another.
I do of course sweat a lot when going through checkin.
Because I’m afraid I’ll get too close to God for comfort, though HE will be
saying I don’t want him I my house boring the pants off me. So much did I sweat
in 2006 in Maimi that I’m sure they put me next to the Air Marshall. They split
the family up and the Air Marshall had the aisle seat blocking me in, away from
my wife and then 2 toddlers. He was 6 foot 6 and very very big. He refused to
talk to me. Though he may have just had good taste, or he was just being very
very cruel. I think he was Polish too, or maybe just pretending so as to avoid
having to talk to me. Some people are not nice. Though it could have just been
my imagination, borne out of fear of flying.
I do like the food on planes, it takes my mind off the fear.
Thinking back to 2006 when we landed in NY it was really really rough, and my 3
girls were all sick. I was not, nothing escapes my belly once it has been
eaten. Back to the food I get to eat all the portions should anybody not like
what is on offer. And a bit of wine is always nice, most of the year I am dry
but on holidays I like a little drink.
When you drink and eat on planes you then need the toilet,
which is an adventure in itself. It’s
like being a contortionist trying to get into a dwarf’s clothing, how else
would you describe it? Like trying to get 15 students in the back of your dad’s
car perhaps? And which slot has paper of any kind, where do you put this of
that, and the toilet bowl so shallow, much more like a soup dish. They don’t recycle everything do they?
Once you have
finished you break out of the cubicle and fall over a beautiful air hostess who slaps
your face and the Air Marshall just hopes he can taser you, punk are you feeling lucky, a la
Eastwood. Or you break out of the toilet and fall over a steward, who sighs
repeated, why are stewards all gay? So you scurry back to the Air Marshall, at
least the steward did not slap your face.
Then it’s time for a film or 3 depending on the flight time.
These can be very good and very modern, but there is no popcorn, yet. No doubt Ryan Air will invent it, and charge
for it. There was a 2 hour interlude while the pilots popped the popcorn, or
while I had a nap, I got up too early for that blood test. Or it could be blood
tests are required to get into Trump’s USA next.
How the crew manage rushing here and there and everywhere I
just do not know. There must be a Patron Saint of air crew/cabin crew. Maybe
Saint Alan Wicker? Though Americans may be asking who? Ok, maybe Saint Rudolf
Nureyev, because you have to be so graceful and move here and there effortlessly.
By the way I like a bit of ballet myself, having been positively vetted by a
Chinese Ballerina from the Birmingham Royal Ballet, check me out if you don’t
believe me. Have you never considered why this 248 pound man moves so
gracefully? Which reminds me I have a ballet story somewhere, either on my PC or
in my head, I’ll have to put it on the page soon. Leap.
Now landing is the scary bit it’s like when you throw
yourself into your daddy’s hands and hope he catches you. Or when you fall in
Love and hope your heart won’t be broken, it’s all about leaping. And just when
you think you have reached the bottom you fall even further. Air pockets are
like that.
But the relief is immense when you land, that steward can
sigh as much as he likes, you’ll just kiss that Air Marshall, and guess what
you can speak Polish too. The amount of time spent in the Polish corner shop
has meant you know a few words or two. Tak, or is it tic tac? And why are
Polish girls so impossibly beautiful? Because it’s the only thing that’ll stop their men working 16hours
a day, every single day.
Well we have to go through baggage handling now and
disembarking, which is a bit like toilet time after a large meal. And why does
your bum hurt so much? Well 2013 and Malta was my last time, but I do have
walks in the woods to look forward to, that’s if the Eagles don’t swoop down
and annoy me. But they better beware as Totoro our cat will be soon scenting
everywhere, and as my big daughter will attest, you need water lots of water to
wash out a cat’s smell. Not unless you Fly away fast.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.