A little bit of travelling in the week brought out the inner GOM in me, perhaps reflecting that 4.00am starts don’t really agree with me.
Apologies to those of you that have seen my post on Facebook already, but this was the first of three small incidents that piqued me on Tuesday.
On my flight to Geneva I was sat next to an elderly woman
with indeterminate accent. Just after the safety briefing she asked me if I’d
ever been involved in a plane crash. When I answered “No” she
declared she had. “The safety briefing’s a load of shit”, she said.
“My plane came down in three bits and I can assure you the fucking safety
lights don’t work”. I ignored her as the nutter I believed her to be
for the rest of the flight, but I can’t help wondering if I missed the
opportunity for a really interesting conversation.
Rather than returning directly to Heathrow on BA, I had a meeting the following day in Manchester, so had a different return route, and one that took me via Brussels.
Brussels Airlines, it transpires, charges for its food and drink on short haul flights. No problem with that per se, it is increasingly the way of the world. What I didn’t have, however, was a menu card in my seat pocket, so I didn’t know the choices available to me. I listened a little and heard the person in front ask for a chicken wrap, so I thought I’d have the same. Asking for one, the air steward asked if I’d like “Caesar or Tandoori”. “Tandoori
please”, I answered. “I’m sorry” he says, “That’s on October’s
menu, we’ve only got the Caesar”. Really! Why ask?
prefix really necessary”?