The flight from Brisbane

I was excited when I arrived at the airport. Dad dropped me off around nine at night. My flight was due to leave a little before midnight so we were in plenty of time. After one last coffee I said good-bye and wandered downstairs to start the customs process. It took hardly any time at all. In fact I spent more time filling in my form than standing in line. Before I knew it I was through and browsing in the souvenir shops on the other side. I toyed with buying a camera duty-free but in the end, even the tax free prices were too much for me to part with at that time. After much umming and ahhing I wandered over to the gate.

I was the first one to arrive so I sat down, took out my book, and started the wait until it was time to board. The crowds slowly gathered and before long the announcement came over the loud speakers that it was time to board. I joined the queue and presented my ticket and passport to the lady at the gate. It always surprises me that you have to show it before you board the aircraft, especially in an international airport when you’ve already gone through security and customs, the airlines mustn’t have much faith in airport security. Of course, this part has nothing to do with security and more to do with keeping the general public in a prolonged state of fear in order to push government policy and politicians’ agendas, but I digress.

I’d like to say the flight was long and uneventful. It was long but not uneventful. Unfortunately. After dinner was served and the free alcohol was given out the guy in the seat behind me started to make a fuss. This involved kicking the seat in front of him, grabbing through the seats in front of him and yelling at the top of his voice to the people sitting in the seats two rows ahead. Unfortunately for me, I was stuck right in the middle of all of this. And doubly unfortunately for me, the flight crew did not want to do anything about it, no matter how many times me, and the person sitting next to me pushed our ‘call’ bells. Despite a few indifferent warnings from one staff member, the man behind me did not change his behaviour. For the next six hours I had to listen to him yell for more whiskey (he obviously couldn’t hold his drink, but the crew kept serving him until about four hours into the flight). He at least stopped trying to reach through the gap between my (and my neighbour’s) seat. This could have been because the last time he did it I grabbed his arm and tried to tear it from his shoulder bending it around and down in the process, but I’m not sure. I was glad when the captain’s voice came over the speakers that we were now going to land. The man behind me didn’t stop yelling all the way down and even out into the terminal. The crew smiled at him and said a cheery goodbye as he left. It’s a shame that the crew didn’t show the same courtesy to the other passengers when we were in the air. I swore then that I would never fly Malaysian Airlines again. It wasn’t just their service, but also the way they showed complete disinterest in the thoughts and feelings of the people sat near the drunk, and just appeared to want a peaceful flight (from where they were sitting down the cabin).

Unfortunately this promise was broken four hours later when I boarded my next flight to London (but I swore to not go with Malaysian Airways once this holiday was over). The next flight was a lot better than the last. I still didn’t get any sleep, and my seat was next to a bulkhead so I had half the leg room of all other passengers (including those in the rows) but at least I could sit without someone yelling behind me. In the following 12 hours I watched the Harry Potter. Harry Potter movies to be more exact. Movies 2, 3, 4 and 5. I also watched several episodes of the Simpsons, the Big Bang Theory and several mind numbing episodes of some other reality TV show about a someone with too much money and no brain. After what seemed like an eternity (as I’d had to resort to watching the reality TV show) the plane touched down in London. It was good to get off the plane. I walked through customs and then had to wait about half an hour for my bag to come through. After that I was out into the main terminal.

It was the faces of Mum and Aunty Carole who greeted me at the Arrivals gate. It was good to see them and despite not sleeping for the past 48 hours, I was happy. We caught the Tube into Victoria Station and had dinner in a pub nearby. Fish and chips and a pint of Fosters never tasted so good. I told my story to sympathetic ears and we all agreed that the flight crew should have drugged the man to keep him quiet (we didn’t, but it would have made my flight easier). After dinner Mum and I said goodbye to Aunty Carole and wandered off to find our hotel. A quick look at the GPS on my phone and we were winding our way through the busy streets of London. The hotel was a simple one but the bed was comfy and the shower hot. After climbing the 99 steps up to the room (over four storeys) it was very welcome.