Heavenly neighbours

There are movies out there that will have you believe that catching a plane is the best possible way to hook up. These are dangerous movies, and should be banned. Or, at least given a rating of T-, thereby indicating that these movies are suitable only for people below the age of Testosterone, as they contain scenes liable to raise the hopes of young men (flying) out there only to lead ultimately to frustration. In seven years of plane hopping I have gathered enough data to conclude that this Holly/Bolly-woodian depiction is unnatural and does not pertain to any characters dead, or alive. I am told that is what the disclaimer at the beginning of every movie says. Unfortunately, I hit the toilets one last time when that (disclaimer) goes up, so I haven't a clue.

I have flown BA, Lufthansa, SAS, Gulf Air and Air India. But did I have equine Anglo Saxon dames, or long-limbed Teutonic specimens, or statuesque Nordic examples, or hijab toting Hoor's, or a dash of dusky Oriental mystique berthing next to me? No! I was stranded with the loud football fan from Warwick, the pot-bellied beer guzzler with the heavy accent from Freiburg, the monosyllabic depressive from Uppsala, the bearded Rapunzel impersonator from Doha, or the India-bashing Indian drunk from Delhi.

One time I did have a damsel next doors, but the fact that she brought along a decible shattering bundle of joy made me pine for the Uppsalan. Another time, finally, I did have an interesting protoype occupying the neighbouring two square feet, but as fate was to have it, I had to finish a take home exam on the ride home. I did get to talk to her, once, when I asked her to lower her iPod's volume as I couldn't hear my neurons fire. I think she gave me a smile. I don't think it was a grimace, or disgust.