We just boarded a Norwegian Airlines flight to Miami. But wait – where’s the new, fancy Boeing 787 Dreamliners Norwegian Airlines use? With the amazing lighting, ultra-filtered air, huge photochromic windows and big tv screens? Instead we’ve just walked onto a really old-looking Boeing 777. No sight of any plane-based luxuries, although the tv screen is definitely handy if you’re the size of a mouse.
Still, that’s not the thing niggling at me right now. Nope. What I’m wondering just as this plane is preparing to hurtle down the runway is, has it been properly serviced? How many faults are currently lighting up in the cockpit? And why are all the staff dressed in outfits that have nothing to do with Norwegian Airlines? These people are all Mediterranean-looking and are wearing uniforms they could get good mileage at a funeral.
Aha. I just asked the stewardess and she says they’re from Spain. We’re on a carrier plane service instead of an actual Norwegian flight. Called Privilege Style. Man, what happened to Nordic gravlax? I mean sorry for the moaning, but I’m not normally the best flier. Even when conditions are ideal I have to take several deep breaths and look around for control freaks anonymous meetings that could be running at the back of the plane. CFA, people.
Oh well. We did ride a lot of rollercoasters this summer. Upside down and side to side at Oakwood between rickety Megafobia and inverted-dropping Speed. At least if we’re going down, I’ll know how my stomach will feel. It’ll be too late to be scared, too late to get off, and we’ll all be going down together. A tiny bit of me likes this idea. All of my immediate family off in one go. Boy, will Lulu be pissed though – we really did take her away from her friends. And Chloe will have to run the Ormerod property empire. Sorry Chlo. Don’t worry – your mum and dad will help you. I hope. Plus Baba has good rascal-tenant training from her own tenant who hasn’t paid rent in almost six months. She’ll be straight on those Section 21s.
We’re about to take off. I’ve got to go – I have to practise imagining the light streaming through the top of my head. Georgina, the therapist told me to. It’s an anti-panic measure. The light (select your own colour and go) spreads throughout your body and creates a force field around you. You are fully protected from fear. Ahhh, thanks Georgina. My light is coloured sunshine yellow. Just sayin’.
One thing’s for sure too – next time we come across the Atlantic, we’re hugging the ocean the whole way back. Strictly sea level from now on. I don’t care about the size of the waves or mid-Atlantic squalls. Would not like to be the person in the airplane toilet when things go badly. It’s always got to be some body.