Flying

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.