Heading down
to Gatwick Airport one sunny Tuesday afternoon in the middle of May was
definitely not on my busy agenda six months before, come to think of it three
months before, but my wish to see the “Land of plenty” kept pushing me until I
decided the call needed to be answered. In that 3 short months I had planned
out and scheduled my foray over to Sydney Australia (Manly to be precise) and
set my course for the adventure of a lifetime. But first (and if you are me
this is a BIG first) I had to fly over there via Dubai and then on to Kingsford
Smith International. That may be a fun filled time for the majority of the
population but for me with my intense dislike of heights it was a huge call,
add that to my mechanical knowledge about anything from hydraulics to gas
cookers and you see why every noise creak or groan from my aircraft was an
imminent disaster about to happen.
Despite this
minor issue, I sat in Departures drinking my coffee on the second tier of
Gatwick’s many restaurants feeling up for the adventure. It was just bravado,
but I was intent on going and if that was the case I had to fly. I waited the
three long hours to board and duly walked the “gangplank” to the plane, it was
far bigger than any plane I had been on before, to those of you who rely on
such information to make your life complete it was a Boeing 777 and it had two
wings, that was very comforting for me I can assure you. I sat in my seat
opposite a young Indian woman who was part of a family of four, I must have
looked very threatening because within seconds of them realising she would be
sat next to me they dumped their young lad in that seat and moved across one,
he must have been all of seven years old, I could almost hear their thought’s
and I chuckled to myself, if I was unsafe for her to sit by why would the kid
be any better off? Anyway, we went
through the drill of lifebelts and seat belts at which point I closed my eyes
as I didn’t want to be reminded of crashing into the sea or falling out of the
sky but thankfully we were soon taxiing down the runway and within a matter of
seconds all the throttles let loose and we were airborne.
Now if you
like flying, at this point you will be looking out of the window, organising
your lunch and selecting your favourite movie. If, like me you are not so keen,
the air hostess will be slowly peeling your fingers out of the seat cushion and
pushing you back from the “brace for impact” position whilst slapping you
across the face for shouting “We are all gonna die!” This done she smiled at me
and asked me if I needed a drink. There is telepathic for you, it must be a
prerequisite at flight attendant school, get the nervous flyer's pissed first
and the rest of the flight will be a cinch.
So with the
prospect of alcohol all of a sudden this flying thing started to look a little
more acceptable, I asked for a Scotch and smiled at her, I didn’t get this
treatment last time I flew to Holland or France, a couple of stiff Whiskey’s
and I will face a dog fight in a Spitfire let alone a seven hour flight on a
Boeing. My excitement as you regular flyer's will know was very short lived as
she came trotting down the aisle with a miniature bottle of dyed tap water
matured and bottled in Kazakhstan. Whatever it was, it resembled Whiskey but
that’s where the similarities ended. My bottom lip firmly in my lap I drank it
anyway and another five before she said “No more sir”. The fact I could sink
half a bottle of Teacher’s Scotch in a normal night’s drinking and still sing
every word to “Sweet Chariot” while auditioning for Dancing On Ice should give
you a clue that I was not even close to pissed, but the bar was now closed to
Mr. James so I had to divert my attention elsewhere from the grumbling engines
and flexing wings that were about to break and cause our imminent deaths. The
answer to my prayers came very swiftly in the form of the on board
entertainment, no, not the TV on the seat in front of me but my fellow
passengers or more succinctly the one’s sitting next to me. It may come as no
surprise that the Indian female sat in the next but one seat had not suddenly
decided to do a belly dance, far from it in fact she was sat with her head
against the TV screen positioned on the seat in front of her looking like she
was praying, she may well have been but it was a little unnerving as to why and
if there was something she knew I didn’t did I ought to start? I got my answer
when she was still there six and a half hours later, you guessed it she didn’t
like flying either, these women eh? Where’s their courage? It’s just a little
plane ride…
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