Early Saturday morning: somewhere quite far down the West Coast of Africa: ten hours in to flight BA043.

British Airways used to have that advert where they sang: “We’ll take more care of you!”

Only if they were comparing themselves to the mafia of this experience is anything to go by….

They are to be commended for managing to defy the laws of physics by crushing 240 people into a space where only 140 people could ever realistically physically fit. The fact the cabin crew were all holding crowbars when we boarded should have been warning enough.

Flying is a little like child birth methinks. It takes a long time, it’s uncomfortable, you accept whatever pain relief is offered and you find yourself repeating “I am NEVER doing this again”

Thankfully, God has given us memories that fade. And often, something beautiful and worthwhile is at the other end.

I’ll bear that in mind. I’m sat next to a rather large lady with a powerful left arm. She’s entirely covering my arm rest. It’s my arm rest. She has a perfectly lovely arm rest on her right. This one is mine. It must be: it’s got the controls for MY light and MY in flight movies and MY music options embedded in it. And they are somewhere under her powerful left forearm. She is asleep and I can’t move her arm. It’s like trying to move the sphinx. We fought over control of MY arm rest a few times while she was awake and she usually won – but you’d think her arm would be more easy to move than this now she’s asleep.

Unless she’s only pretending.

Or dead.

I hope she’s not dead.

I’d feel bad.

Would they move her? Or just cover her with one of their thin blankets?

Move your arm!

I really want to watch a film.