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I love them more than you love your mum or the knickers on your bum. Why? I don’t even know where to begin, so vast is this love. I guess I could sum it up in two words I can never hear enough: complimentary alcohol. Praise you, sweet liquor dispensing airline of the gods. Feeling plucky, I asked for the makings of my rendition of a gin fizz. Not only did she place a mini-can of ginger ale, one of sprite, and a glass of cran before my delighted grin and bedazzled eyes, she also placed two airplane-sized bottles of Gordon’s London Dry Gin on my quivering tray table. Hott.

As worries slipped away into a pine tree forest, I investigated the touch-screen entertainment options. Again, holy shit. I started with the Notapusy episode of Arrested Development which is hi-larious; followed by a Futurama I hadn’t seen about beefalo(?) rustlin’ and stealing land from native Martians – also very humorous. Next I finally watched Lost In Translation for the first time. It’s a very funny movie to see in the middle of a 8 or 9 hour time twilight zone like I’m in now. I liked it.

I tried to sleep, lulled by the smooth stylings of the new Damien Rice disc, 9 (I really like the song 9 Crimes) the majority of which I have now purchased from iTunes. There were so many other things I wanted to watch too. Movies, documentaries, sitcom episodes…all unedited. Yes, there is a children’s menu, but there are more adult options as well. They make a note of graphic violence in The Departed, but they leave that choice to the parents instead of subjecting everyone to “family-safe” movies of Eddie Murphy in white face and a fat suit talking to animals in fat suits.

The kicker? For map-ass bastards such as moi, they have a moving map showing the flight pattern and your little airplane avatar’s progress across the ocean. It toggles to screens showing current temperatures and miles left and always shows the time remaining until arrival. Brilliant.

Somewhere in there, they brought my meal. The “Spicy Veggie” option. Oh my god. Not only was it the best airplane meal I have ever eaten in my life but was also the best meal I’ve eaten on this entire trip. No shit. It included:
*Moist towelette.
*A small bottle of water. Gross. Get that out of here. I’m drinking pine soda, thank you.
*Mixed greens salad (dandelion, romain, spinach) with tomato, cuke and balsamic vinaigrette.
*One roll with margarine.
*A tiny bag of curry-ish snack mix.
*A too hot to handle large dish of veggie samosa (I think). Three sections included beans, curry rice, and a most delicious creamy tofu creation.
*What could be better than the three of those mixed all up and eaten on top of a piece of warm, thick flat bread. Nothing, my brothers. Absofuckinglutely nothing.
*Desert? I think it’s called gulab jamun. Two cakey doughnuts in a cocunut oil sauce.
*Lastly an after dinner “mouth freshener and stomach soother.” I think it was a tea because it came with cream and sugar, but you know…pine soda.

Speaking of…what is it? One in the air is like two on land? So I was up to about 4 drinks by then, and frankly I didn’t feel like letting go of that free buzz. So I asked how much to purchase another round. “Complimentary, love.” Do you think my flight attendant, Vicky, would marry me? But she was a prankster too adding in, “for everyone but you.” Then she handed me two more gin bottles and more makings. Well shit my britches and call me the queen of England.

With those down, it was time for Damien and I to pass the F out for the rest of the quicker-than-one-would-think 6/7 hour transatlantic flight. With all my drinking and media consuming, that left about thirty minutes. Time to check out my sleep packet filled with goodies: large laundered and bagged blanket; complimentary eye shade, socks, toothbrush and paste. Good thing I had that blanket to hide my hard-on.

And it may be toothbrush and paste, but uhhh…I think British Airways may have offered even more help than they let on. Heh.

brush twice a day

Too soon, it was time to leave my beloved airship. I had befriended my seatmates – a family of three, matriarch by the name of Emma, and they gave me some good advice on getting out of Heath(f)row and rattled off some key attractions. Customs was a bugger what wif the queues and all, but eventually I made it to the tube, ready to begin me London adventures. In the next blog: Oy Jess. What’s wif the accent?

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