On-Board Entertainment

October 29, 2009

As the plane drones on, cutting its way through the blue stratosphere, the announcements from the cockpit are soft and a little tinny. Those from the eager salesperson/flight attendant are, by contrast, very loud and far too clear, waking a few sleepers up with a start. "Ladies and gentlemen, xmas is just around the corner and you can purchase xmas gifts from us here on board at high street price, to spread a little cheer". It's October 29.

Swiftly the sales assistant cum flight attendant moves on to the lottery ticket sales, then the charity appeal, then the cigarettes and perfumes. Never a dull moment on board, meaning I don't get an opportunity to sleep. And that's good, because I don't want to put the pilot in the position of trying to prove he can fly the plane without me.

What do you know? I was right about the lottery and the Children's Charity cards! We've got you here, and we're going to unleash an onslaught of high-pressure sales routines onto your captive heads. What could be next, I wonder? A "guess the weight of the fattest person on board the plane and win a creamy bun" competition?

And it's quite a tatty plane, too. From my new vantage point over the wing (I crept into a row of empty seats) I can see all the dirty indications of a plane that's been put to a lot of hard use over years, groaning with the weight of overstuffed, wine-quaffing tourists. Include me out, because I am smugly eating a home-grown apple. I like to think, rather snottily, that I am making a statement against the excess of my fellows on board.



Many of the passengers live in Spain, something you can easily tell by their permanently lobster-red faces, and their easy conversations with each other that contain a smattering of Spanish terms. They have a slightly disinterested manner, as if to say:
"Look, I've been doing this flight many times a year", and their appearance suggests: "I maintain wardrobes of casual clothes both in the UK and Spain, hence I am dressed
for the beach already". And what a fashion statement that is - pink kneecaps peeking out from below tight shorts stretched to bursting around copious beer bellies. And that's just the women.

I love the way passengers gingerly feel their way to the toilet door, slightly hunched, tippy-toeing so as not to attract too much attention to themselves, although they know this is their big moment -"You're on, love!" and as if afraid they will open the wrong door and a lot of brooms and saucepans will come crashing out and embarrass them. And as they come out they kind of stride down the gangway quickly, as if to say "I didn't just do something unmentionable in there, you can be sure of that". Or with a slightly arrogant "I dare you to look at me and embarrass me as a result" glare. This is a very interesting flight indeed.

Oh no - disaster! The woman to my left has decided it's perfectly ok and fully in keeping with in-flight etiquette to take her shoes off and let her sweaty feet have an airing. Once in a hot and humid cinema in Munich a woman placed her bare feet either side of my seat in front of her, wriggling her toes to let an imagined cool breeze clear out the dankness. Of course I complained - at one point the feet were on the back of my seat at neck level (I'm short). And she actually argued her corner, and claimed I was being too sensitive and she had a right to .... etc. I dragged her by the scruff of her neck and threw her out the cinema, dusting off my hands like in a cartoon. Of course, I didn't throw her out. But someone should have.

Now passengers around me are shutting down the window blinds, throwing us into darkness, as if recovering from an exhausting night shift. Five minutes on board and they act like their body clocks have gone haywire. You may have a window seat, old chum, but that brings with it many responsibilities. One of which is to politely ask your fellows: "Do you mind if I ...?" to which I could reply, "Well, yes I do, actually."

There are many seats free on the flight so I take myself off and claim a row for myself. Many passengers are crammed in their tight rows of three seats, yet no-one seems to want to claim more space - maybe they think they're not entitled to. Maybe they're simply not fidgety and fussy? Maybe, as it turned out, they knew something I didn't ...