Flying high!

I was quite surprised when the announcement came through to board my flight to Southampton from Edinburgh Airport on Tuesday morning.
It was all beginning to get a bit hurricanish outside, and I'd more or less convinced myself that I was going nowhere.
Then el capitano announced that the flight was likely to be "a bit bumpy".
Shortly after this slightly unsettling news, a male passenger decided that he didn't want to fly any more and disembarked.
I can now understand why deserting in the face of the enemy is viewed as such a serious military offence.
It IS very bad for the morale of those left behind.
I'm sure I wasn't the only person imagining this man being interviewed on television later that day answering questions such as,
"So Mr Custard, what made you suddenly decide to leave the doomed flight shortly before taking off into gale force winds?"
Although, on reflection, it probably was only me that was thinking this, as I have quite a warped imagination.
His action just seemed wrong though.
Surely one of the flight attendants could have forced him to sit down and then slapped him hard across the face.
I paid a bit more attention to the safety demonstration than usual.
It was a horrible flight...like being trapped in a cocktail shaker for an hour and a half.
I wondered if I might make it on to the front page of "Chortle"?
Probably not.
I particularly disliked the take-off as we were swaying violently from side to side on the runway before getting off the ground.
I was reassured to notice that a baby was on board.
Everything was going to be ok.
Helpfully, the baby seemed to find the worst turbulence moments hilarious.
Southampton has never looked so (relatively) beautiful as we landed (after some impressive aeronautics on approach).
I kneeled down to kiss the tarmac in classic John Paul II style, and then got a bit of a surprise when a flight attendant
pretended to kick me on the arse and told me to get into the terminal.
And we all lived happy ever after.

2012

So anyway, for me, the funniest moment of the Festive season occurred when my brother brought my sister a cup of tea, and on presentation of the aforementioned hot beverage, inquired "Is that too much milk for you?".
My sister replied "yes".
Cue a hilarious look of resignation on my brother's face as he turned around to take the cup back to the kitchen, in the knowledge that he would have to make another cup.
It was the most fantastic, non-verbal "Oh, for fuck's sake!" I have ever witnessed.
A truly beautiful moment, and one which ,for me, captures the true meaning of Christmas.
In situations like this, one should follow the lawyers' rule of thumb, ie never ask anyone a question that you don't already know the answer to.
My brother also gave me the idea for a film.
We were all having dinner, and the other five people had been struggling for a couple of hours to get a word in.
This prompted me to suggest the idea of a film called "Talk".
It would be inspired by the Sandra Bullock film "Speed", except in this case there would be a bomb under a dinner table which would go off if there was ever a one second gap in the conversation.
My brother could play the film's hero, by talking continuously without stopping to take a breath, for 14 hours, at which point the police bomb specialist manages to disable the device.
I also had an argument with a confidence trickster in Juniper Green over whose round it was in a pub.
(This is an annual event..it's a beer nativity play)
I was lucky this year, and narrowly managed to escape by just paying for the same number of beers that I'd consumed.
And, yes I am "Ebenezer Scrooge".
He was livid!
Tomorrow, I am heading back down to sunny Portsmouth, to resume my hard labour custodial sentence.
I've managed to get out of B&B purgatory and now stay in a lovely house with two amazing people,
(I have to be careful...they might read this).
I've been pretty sober for most of this Festive time, having been slightly put off Mr Booze, by an ill-advised cider frenzy
(on an empty stomach) with some work colleagues before Xmas.
The following day brought the worst hangover I've ever experienced since I drank a whole bottle of advocaat when i was 14,
(the yellow bottle still strikes fear into my soul when I see it).
This day was rounded off with a severely turbulent flight back to Edinburgh.
Cruel and unusual punishment does not begin to describe it.
Happy New Year!