The Truth About Travelling…

…Is that it’s not as glamorous as it seems (maybe for A-list celebrities and business tycoons who mosey around in their private charters as opposed to us mere mortals). Seated on a plane, cattle class notwithstanding, I have quickly come to realise, rather recently, is a sheer test of fortitude.

On a recent trip across the Atlantic on a 17-hour flight, I had the misfortune of sitting behind the holy triumvirate of the worst passengers possible: the loud talker, bawling baby and a gasbag. Shortly after the flight had taken off, I was quickly brought to speed that my lifespan would drastically be halved one excruciating hour at a time.

Once the meals were served, beloved gasbag decided to raise a storm because clearly the in-flight entertainment was boring and launched mushroom clouds every five minutes, giving my companions and I unwanted facials courtesy his Asian Vegetarian Meal.  Loud talker took it upon himself to channel his five-year-old self and aimed his snide comments at us whilst chuckling at the comedy show he was watching onscreen, and this in turn got Baby Bawler to audition for the upcoming 2012 X Factor.

As they say when you can’t beat them, join them; my companions and I orchestrated a Grammy-winning piece of snores for the remainder of the journey.

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