The Blog

Flying - It's not for me

Maybe it's just time to admit that flying isn't for me. I'm not going to disembark fresh faced after a peaceful eight hour nap and I'm sure as hell not going to learn to stomach crappy airline food.

I have the worst flying luck in the world.

I mean, to date I haven't been involved in an airline disaster which is incredibly nice, but otherwise, it's not good.

Somehow I always get seated behind a demonic child who, using the relentless energy that only a child has, manages to admirably maintain an ear splitting scream for the entire length of the flight. If mercifully I am spared this particular hell you can bet your butt that the extremely overweight guy making his way down the cabin in my general direction will be sitting in the spare seat next to me.

I'm not sure whether the airline gods have it in for me in particular or if I really am just an unlucky flier but I can't remember the last time I had a comfortable flight.

Even when I was fortunate enough to fly in business class I managed to get lumbered with a miserable flight attendant who, suspecting that I was not of the right calibre to be seated in his remit (he was right), dutifully ignored all of my requests and generally took the art of being unpleasant to an impressive new level. Dinner time arrived sooner than it does back in economy and whilst I was busy marvelling at the real cutlery delivered to me instead of the plastic rubbish I usually have to work with, a vegetarian lasagne was slipped onto my flight tray.

Nice try guy. You nearly distracted me with your posh plates and incredibly nice glass of champagne but that's not what I ordered! Where's my chicken curry? Oh what? There wasn't enough to go around and so you substituted my dish? Oh bloody fantastic! Why do people pay thousands of pounds for this treatment again?

See it's not just back in cattle class where airlines are getting it wrong, it's not a bed of roses for the flying elite either and I think that's even more of an insult. Don't get me wrong, I think we should all be able to have a comfortable flight but I think we can agree that those paying £5,000 to turn left at the aircraft's entrance should get a bit more than the rest of us poor sods who scraped together all the money in our sock drawer for the privilege of a spinach sandwich (yes, this was one of my particularly bad in-flight meals) and broken TV screens (on a nine hour flight!).

Then there was the hellish flight I took from London to Bangkok. 12 hours of sitting next to two perverts who had begun the flight as strangers but over a complimentary can of Chang beer became lifelong best friends as they exchanged sordid stories about their love of Lady Boys. I could have died when, despite being surrounded by Thai Nationals, they went on to discuss how weird the entire Thai culture is but how they are willing to return twice a year to get laid. Yes boys, I imagine flying across the entire planet with a wad of Thai Baht is the only way you will get laid.

Just when I'd written them off as sad saps with no lives they each confessed that they were married and their wives had no idea what they would be getting up to once the plane landed. SIGH.

But perhaps my very worst flying experience should be attributed to a budget American airline. The only time that Ryanair has felt like an appealing airline choice to me was after I emerged from my long-haul flight, now a fully qualified contortionist having spent 11 hours with my knees up to my boobs and I'm 5ft 2!!!!!

I guess it wasn't the airline's fault that my seating companion threw his can of coke over me shortly after taking off leaving me feeling like I'd wet myself for 10 hours. They probably weren't responsible for the disruptive people behind either, but perhaps if I'd had somewhere to put my legs and a decent meal I wouldn't have been quite so irritated by it all.

Maybe it's just time to admit that flying isn't for me. I'm not going to disembark fresh faced after a peaceful eight hour nap and I'm sure as hell not going to learn to stomach crappy airline food. But alas, I'll still contort myself onto a plane roughly twice a month for the foreseeable future because, despite how rubbish it will invariably be, when the cabin doors (finally) open and I'm released into the quizzical surrounds of a new country full of possibilities, all thoughts of the arduous journey are forgotten.

For me it's not the journey that counts, it's the destination.

And I guess I'm destined to fly.

Have you got any flying horror stories? I'd love to read them in the comments below. It would make me feel better!