Lofty Thoughts

LOFTY THOUGHTS

Write for fifteen minutes. That’s quite a long time really. Does it mean head down, no petit mals, fantasy moments or cigarette breaks? Don’t mention cigarettes; no smoking for the next three and a half hours. Last time I travelled on a plane there were no restrictions; no one gave it a thought. Now, you can’t even bring a lighter on board. Such is the way of progress, good or bad, depending on how you perceive it.

         Still, there’s plenty to do, I’m told. The in-flight movie is ‘Ocean’s Twelve.’ I knew it would be a male orientated film. Got to be hasn’t it? Can you imagine the protests if they broadcast ‘Love Actually’ or ‘Bridget Jones’s Diary’? I wonder if they ever show ‘Airport.’?

         The wine is okay; shame I can’t have a smoke with it. No, don’t mention cigarettes. Concentrate on the writing, the clouds outside the window and try to forget the kid behind who seems to have overdosed on E numbers. Of all the seats in all the planes I seem to have landed the one in front of the donkey-hoofed, hyperactive child from hell; I bet it’s called Damien. Can’t believe I used to teach them for twenty-something years; what a lousy career choice that was. I love kids really; just couldn’t eat a whole one. Another three hours without a cigarette and I may be tempted to turn round and decapitate it. I just hope it’s not staying in the same hotel. God, why wasn’t I born sweet and lovely?

         The take-off was fine. I’d felt a bit nervous; it’s nearly thirty years since I’ve been in a plane. (I’m not counting the trip to Jersey; you could blink and miss that journey). My earliest flight was to a Greek island too, with the first love of my life. Hard to conceive he’s shifted off the mortal plain now, but somehow I could never see him making old bones. Still, if I know him he’ll be up here somewhere; tumbler of whiskey in one hand, fag in the other. No, don’t mention cigarettes. Will you restrain your bloody child’s feet, mate? I see now why I wasn’t allowed to bring my knitting on board; I can think of a great place to stick the needles.

         Blimey, I’ve done eight minutes already. Time flies (excuse the pun) when you’re having fun. Does handwriting take longer than typing I wonder? I suppose it all depends on the speed at which you type or write. Not contemplating that, it’s too complicated. My brain won’t function without nicotine. Don’t mention cigarettes.

         I’ve read the in-flight magazine. It demonstrates exercises passengers can do to avoid D.V.T. It suggests around every thirty minutes or so, but seeing as I’m an overweight, unfit smoker getting on in years I’ve been doing them about every three minutes just to make sure. Would you like to put something sleep-inducing in your little dear’s drink sir? It won’t make Rhodes alive if it continues fidgeting at this rate.

         It’s getting darker out there. Is there an exact spot where we cross the divide that takes us two hours into the future? I’ve never been able to get my head round time zones. Think I’ll read my book a bit after this. Problem is it’s about an overweight smoker who becomes addicted to the internet. Rings a few bells; it’s a good storyline I wish I’d thought of first, although I feel the style is inferior to most in my writing class. Maybe I’m a little biased. Would you like to take fidget feet to the toilet mister? Preferably lock the door and leave it in there until we’ve landed.

         Can’t even have a few crafty drags in the loo either; they’re all fitted with extra sensitive smoke alarms. As I walked to the toilet I was horrified at how many bodies this tin can has on board. Made me wonder how anyone in economy class manages to become a member of the mile high club though, unless they’re all anorexic.

         They’re coming round with the plastic dinners now; devil child says they’re rubbish, it wants a burger. Probably been reared on McDonalds. Maybe if it refuses to eat it will run out of kicking energy. Hopefully it won’t like the hotel food either and be too malnourished to move on the return journey. Think another wine is in order with the meal; pity I won’t be able to have my after dinner fix. Don’t mention cigarettes. My fifteen minutes is up. Great exercise; kept my mind off not being able to smoke.


P.S. I thank the anonymous reviewer who left a below average rating with no comment shortly after I'd posted this piece. A shame I can't return the favour. I attend a writing class and this was a given assignment. My tutor, a published author, thought it was great. Obviously someone who hates smokers, has no sense of humour and is too much of a coward to leave their name. Maybe it's the kid who was sitting behind me on the plane! lol