It could have been me

Until then it had seemed like a normal flight, a run of the mill journey. The BA pilot had been far too chummy in his announcements but nothing new there, the pastrami sandwich had been far too small but at least it was something and the tea had tasted like dirty dish water while the staff patronised the passengers; it was ticking all the boxes for a typical British Airways flight. 

I was cursing my bad luck; why was there a big, Polish babcia between me and that the pretty Polish girl who’d beamed at me as she’d taken 23A? Right until the end of boarding it’d looked like 23B would remain empty allowing me a chance to follow up on the smile but right as the doors were closed the old lady had waddled up the aisle and pointed at the middle seat. Now she sat crossed armed and open legged, staring straight ahead, unbudgeable. She was like an Italian, maiden aunt chaperon who was not going to let this young pretender get his hands on her fair maiden.

Anyway, I’d had a little snooze, done some of my crossword and I'd just come back from the toilet when the plane swerved violently like the pilot was trying to avoid a sacred cow in the middle of the flight path. We’d been flung left and right like sunflowers in a storm. People, gasped and grabbed at the seat in front of them, some sobbed, some sighed and some screamed and then there was silence as we awaited the next instalment, but all was quiet, the plane rumbled on peacefully.  My first thought was that I was pleased I wasn't still having a wee - that could have been a disaster. My second thought was that I know they are sacred but they really need to do something about those flying cows, they are popping up everywhere, someone is going to get killed. I looked at the pretty Polish lass and saw her clasping the hand of the Polish babcia, so my third thought was, that could have been me.