How very interesting! Four people in China are reading this.It says so on the section of Blogthing that reveals to the writer the whereabouts of the reader. So, a cordial good morning/afternoon/evening to all four of you,and may I say what an excellent,if rather peculiar, choice of reading material you have made. I like to think of all four of you sharing a screen,and poking each other in the ribs. You may of course not be Chinese.You may be Liverpolitans who, as we have a tendency to do, have gone to seek your fortune. Or you may have gone for the Olympics, and been unable to find your way back. Don't worry, I'm sure it will be educational. I should love to visit China. I am not fishing for an invite by the way, the plane journey would deter me. I am not keen on flying. I am very very frightened of flying. Oh, let's face it, I am a drivelling wretch when I have to do it. I didn't realise I was going to find it terrifying until I was actually strapped in and taking off, so I hadn't read any of those books about how safe it is. What I had done,though, was to spend the previous evening drinking brandy in Crosby with a friend of mine who had been an air hostess. She had been on that plane that had its engines stopped by volcanic ash over Tenerife or somewhere. This was an excellent story; and she told it with the all dramatic verve and brio of someone who has had the narrowest and squeakiest of narrow squeaks and wishes to chill the blood of the listener in recompense. She also regaled me with tales of how pilots spent their pre-flight time in carousing of the most extreme nature, and how they were still drunk, as a rule, when turning up for a long-haul to Jakarta next day. How we laughed! So this was all fresh in my mind, and may have contributed to the urgent desire I felt to leave the plane,as we were reaching 30,000 feet. I DO wish they wouldn't tell you that, by the way.Nor is it helpful to display the diagram thing with the moving cartoon plane, as in my imagination at least, a cartoon flock of birds is soon going to wing in from the left and be sucked into the engine.
I managed to go to Menorca on my own.Blind drunk on brandy at 8am, I marched onto the plane, reeking of the Fabreeze I had sprayed all over myself in the loo.I was sitting next to a fresh and fragrant mum with a small child. Realising through an alcoholic miasma that I was not going to be allowed to sit in the mum's lap and scream, (my preferred take-off position) , I offered to draw a "Princess" for the little girl. The first two attempts looked like Princess May Of Teck (a shapeless dowager), and Princess Fiona from Shrek, but nevertheless,it caught on. All the other girl children on the plane (and it was lousy with them) ,demanded the same service.So I spent two hours drawing mermaids, fairies, and other positive female role models,passing them back down the aisles,and continuing to knock back the duty-free.By the time we were landing, I was dashing off "Hooker Barbies" in under two minutes, and totally pixied.
The only flight I actively enjoyed was the one to Jersey that I won in a game of "Trivial Pursuit",many years ago. It was on an old-style propeller plane, flown by two elderly madmen. I said to the Mrs Overall hostie,"I am a nervous flyer". This often gets you more booze faster, and if not, at least gives the crew the nod that there is a pest on board. She said "Right!", and shot me off to the cockpit, where I was handed a headset and placed on a little blue seat between the pilot and the co-pilot. I was then given a large gin, then they talked at me in circa 1943 RAF-speak for an hour; "Bally Jerry, jolly wizard prang, ooops,nearly threw a wobbler in the Briney..." , even giving me a lever to pull, at one stage. They said it was for the landing wheels, but I think it put the light on in the toilet.
I considered this to be awfully good fun, and ,evidently, so did they.We flew back to London together on Sunday evening. They didn't even let me sit in my seat, but whizzed me instantly into the pointy front end,and handed me the headset.It was night time, and so I had the exhilarating experience of following the lights of London down the ribbon of the Thames, and pretending to land the blighter.
You wouldn't be allowed now, would you? Three cheers for those two barmy old chaps with outre moustaches.With a laudably reckless disregard for Health and Safety,they gave me a thrilling couple of hours. I would love to say that I am now quite comfortable about flying. Sadly, I remain the craven, lily-livered wretch I ever was. From this I deduce that I can only fly if they let me sit in the cockpit. Oddly, few airlines are now keen to allow a wild-eyed pallid creature smelling of strong drink and muttering about mermaids,to sit with the pilot and pull things.I shall try RyanAir next, I think. If you slipped them a tenner I bet they would let you do ANYTHING.
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