Three years ago I took my first flight out of the UK. That experience has since settled an evergrowing illness inside of me; The Travel Bug. Here is one of my favourite things I wrote about in a previous – now retired blog.
I swear I just witnessed Cloud 9, or something more magical. I read in the in-flight magazine that our Flight Path crossed Switzerland, a place I will visit within the next year (3 years on, its still on my list), but still I became shocked and slightly breathless when I saw something so beautiful, The Alps, dozens of misty and pedantic mountains with snow tops lay beneath the plane, causing me to gasp, shout down the aisle to Debra, who was seated in a window seat and wanted my camera, the seatbelt sign was off, but that meant asking Mr Posh-Londoner-Who-Touches-Himself to let me out. Boy took PDA totally to the next level, and I anit talking about the altitude.
– There is a time and place, and onboard, flying across the alps with half a dozen eyes on you was not it, okay?
Nearly falling face first into the seat in front (that’ll teach me for trying the vodka on its own!) I successfully got Corey-the-Canon to Debra, bashing her seat companion – (who was actually showing a bit of PDA himself on his wife, what is it with these folk?) – as I went. Woops.
The rest of the flight was spent being annoyed at ‘Londoner’s’ accent, it really was awful, and being excited to land on solid ground.