The plane journey

I’ve just been on holiday. It really was fantastic, but it’s such a shame it had to include a flight. We arrived at the airport four hours in advance of our flight (serious organization/some slight time confusion), and although everybody raves about duty free, it really isn’t that interesting. We managed to buy a few things and we ate a lot to pass the time. We boarded our flight, stood in the aisles for too long waiting for other people to put their luggage in the overhead lockers. Found our own seats, decided who was to sit where, waited for a gap in the stream of aisle-traffic and then proceeded to block it by putting our luggage in the overhead lockers. Sat down, put seat belt on, watched the rest of the passengers find their seats, assessed how annoying we thought they’d be, located children and babies, and perused the on-board catalogue of more duty free items that we didn’t want/need. We were now ready to arrive at our destination. We waited for what must have been a further five minutes. Then at last the plane moved, hurrah! We proceeded to the runway. Ten minutes later we were STILL proceeding to the runway. Eventually we actually took off, but the waiting was not over yet. By this point, the on-board catalogue has been read twice, all the hard-boiled sweets have been eaten and the seat-belt sign is still on so we still can’t listen to music/recline our chairs/go to the toilet. The air hostesses don’t even perform the safety information anymore because it is always shown on the little tv screens. There is such anticipation for the moment when the seat-belt sign turns off. But to what avail? The on-board entertainment system takes half an hour to “teach you how to use it” and by this time, the cabin crew have decided it is time for a complimentary bag of salted peanuts, a drink and that it’s suddenly night time; the blinds are shut and the lights are turned off (there does not seem to be any concept of time on a long-haul flight, except that it is never-ending). By and large, everyone gives up and goes to sleep. HOW? How do people sleep on an aeroplane? Even when I am unbearably tired, when I’ve counted approximately 1475 sheep, when I’ve listened to my “chilled & sleepy” playlist on repeat, I cannot slip into blissful slumber. Invariably, just when I am at my ultimate peak of relaxation, my senses are abused by the smell of “breakfast”. Egg is always included (I have no idea, nor do I particularly want to know how it is cooked). Anyway, eventually time passes, and you’ve landed and you’re on holiday and it’s fine – you forget instantly how bad the flight was (I hear childbirth is like this, but I think that might be an urban myth). Then suddenly the holiday is over and not only have you got to do the whole trip in reverse, but your destination is not even fun. The flight home symbolizes the return to a slightly stale smelling house, to working, to paying bills, to wearing coats (if you’re returning to England), to everything you came on holiday to escape. On the plus side, you sometimes have some interesting post, you understand the language and you get to make a new facebook photo album to show off all the cool things you did whilst you were away.

Things that are better left unsaid

Unnecessary apologies/questions. It’s quite annoying, because invariably, they are actually necessary. But honestly, nobody needs you to apologize for apologizing, nor are they going to deny you access to their toilet.

The news. I was going to list some of the negative headlines of the day, but it would take me too long. Instead, I will tell you the slightly more light-hearted ones… A man was bitten at a Russian council meeting (by another man, I assume). And an “exquisitely preserved” mammoth has been found! On the downside, it was killed by man. I will admit that I struggled to find anything positive (although there was a behind the scenes video of the new James Bond film). If I’m going to be honest, I think I’d rather remain ignorant from now on.

When my outfit doesn’t look good. If I ask for advice, I generally accompany the question with “be honest”. Well don’t. Honesty is brutal.

The ingredients of pate. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with the thoughts of what it contains mid-mouthful. But it just tastes so goooood. I also do not know why supermarkets feel inclined to emblazon the front of every packet of food with a pie chart of red telling you how bad it is for you.  

When I’m about to eat another biscuit and somebody chimes in with, “are you sure you need that?” Yes, I’m quite sure thank you. hateyouhateyouhateyouhateyou.

When my grandmother asks me why I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t want to hear the question, and I don’t want to hear the answer.

Anything that could be replied to with, “don’t bite the hand that feeds you”. It inevitably leads to a heated debate about a child’s rights and a parent’s responsibilities. (I hope you’re reading this Mum)

That Angelo’s isn’t up the stairs. I was incredibly excited to watch Channel 5’s Summer Bay Reporter (a VIP access behind-the-scenes tour of Home and Away) when it was advertised a while back, but couldn’t actually bring myself to watch more than the first ten minutes because it quite literally shattered my illusions/hopes/dreams. I only got as far in as the bit where it was revealed that Angelo’s pizza restaurant wasn’t actually up the stairs from the Juice Bar/gym – it was merely a set designed to fool faithful viewers into thinking that these places really exist. I then decided that this programme was not for me. I also recently discovered that Summer Bay is a “mythological” town that doesn’t exist. Moral: The world is a dangerous and untrustworthy place.