My phone is in flight mode so I’m pre-typing this so I can post on landing if I can find some wifi.
So far, so good. I had downloaded my hypnotherapy track onto my MP3 player and had it soothing me in the queue to board, on the runway and for the first 15 minutes of the flight till we were up above the clouds. I get ‘in the zone’ when I listen to it. Felt my stomach, shoulders and bum hole tense up as we took off but consciously tried to relax everything as I breathed deeply and listened to the soothing, familiar, yet slightly irritating accent of the man on my hypno track.
My flight is full of young couples smooching that make me jealous that Andre isn’t here for me to snuggle into. Not least because I want to try to sleep on this flight and have no one to lean on. I brought a travel pillow with me but it’s not puffy enough to support my head at any normal angle. I have experimented tucking it into one shoulder then the other then face first down into my lap tray. None of them quite work. If I had a window seat I could lean on something. Maybe I should treat myself to the reserved window seat upgrade on the way home.
As well as cool people and smooching young couples, there are about 40 men in kilts on this flight! Some are even wearing those little hats with jaunty feathers in. I think they are going to a football match as they are also wearing football shirts. Men look good in skirts. Men should wear skirts more. They all sound like the cast of Trainspotting and I’m guessing Glaswegian because I genuinely can’t understand a word they are saying which is a shame because I’d quite like to strike up conversation with them and ask if they are wearing pants or not. None of my business really but as I’m sat in the aisle seat one of them went to the cabin locker above my head and practically stuck his sporran in my face. It had tassels and everything. The urge to waggle them and make a comedy noise was so compelling. It’s basically a man purse, isn’t it? Very practical really.
The man next to me is spending the flight constructing what looks like a tiny mechanical giraffe from miniature Lego-like bricks. He’s actually finished it once, deconstructed it then rebuilt it again. I’m not judging him because in the whole ‘crashing with these people on the desert island scenario’ I bet that robotic giraffe dude will turn out to be the one who knows how to fix the plane’s emergency radio, while the Scots army are off building us a camp and catching wild boar. Whereas I will calm everyone down with Julie Andrews songs and get the children organised into basket weaving activities from bits of palm tree.
I have tried and failed to sleep on this flight. I brought fantastic ear plugs made of see through squishy jelly that felt like stuffing a Rowntrees fruit gum in my ear. I also brought an eye mask with me to block out the cabin lights. I forgot to check which one though and it turned out to be the one with a sloth’s face on it. There is every possibility that people have taken my photo and will put it on social media later with a rude caption. The sloth faced woman with nipples like bullets (it’s a bit chilly in here at 37000 feet and my jacket is in the overhead locker that I can’t be arsed to get open again).
However, I had a gorgeous moment of smuggedy smug smugness when the people all around me were unenthusiastically mumping on their flavourless, soggy-looking microwaved chips and shitty limp Ryanair sandwiches, when I opened my bag to reveal the delicious vegetarian sushi platter I bought at the airport earlier. The looks of envy around me were marvelous to behold. I ate the whole thing. With chopsticks. Didn’t. Spill. One. Bit.
Update: made it to Malta. Good flight and landing. Nay was here to meet me. Hilly and windy drive to port. Waiting for ferry. Shattered but relieved and happy.