overyourhead

The Long Flight Back (the star, the anguish, the midflight drama and the trouser fan)...
It's a long flight back from Australia. Almost 23 hours with a brief stop-over in Bangkok to refuel. Even so our flight was perhaps more eventful than most.

We didn't turn up particularly early at the gate at Sydney airport - we were too busy having a last schooner of Victoria Bitter (VB) at the Stonewall in Oxford Street. Funny though, later on that night the ceiling of the Stonewall collapsed. Luckily no-one was injured badly.

Anyway, so as I was saying, we turned up a bit late at the gate (extra security checks are in place now that Australia is on an official alert after the recent Bin Laden threats). And who should we see waiting to board but JK - Mr Jamiroquai himself. He was sitting with his minder flicking through a glossy mag. I recognised him first due to the brown wide brimmed pointy hat he had on (like the one's that Boy George has taken to wearing). The minder was glaring at people daring them to approach his boss - but no-one did. JK is known for his temper (did you see that thing on TV last month about celebs behaving badly?) As all the seats around that gate were taken Marky and I walked on to the next gate (which had already boarded) and settled ourselves there - just occasionally craning our necks round to see what JK was up to.

Marky and I started to read our books. Our part of the concourse was deserted all but for a couple of members of staff at the empty gate who were repeatedly calling for two passengers with (funny names) and was threatening to chuck there bags off. Suddenly there was a huge kerfuffle from the other gate as JK sprang to his feet and shouted "I DON'T BELIEVE THIS! I SIMPLY DON'T BELIEVE THIS!" He and his minder had been waiting at the wrong gate. Ha! The funny names were their pseudonyms! JK picked up his skirts and ran to the empty gate like a girl - and only narrowly missing getting bumped off. Even then the staff were asking him for him autograph. Tosser.

Once on our flight we settled down to watch some movies for the 9 hour first leg up to Bangkok. We watched All Or Nothing (Mike Leigh) and then Ladybird, Ladybird (Ken Loach). The latter film was a gut wrenching 'based on a true story' about a woman who was abused as a kid, later in life got beaten up by her boyfriend, had her four kids (all by different fathers) taken away from her by social services, had another kid with a Peruvian guy - then had that one taken away while still an infant, then had yet another kid with the Peruvian guy and had that one taken away too while still in the maternity hospital. You'd have thought she would have given up by then but oh no, she went then had a further three kids - all of which she was allowed to keep. After watching the film I had tears running down my cheeks. It was a very emotional film to watch.

When we touched down in Bangkok we got off the plane in order to do a bit of running around and stretch our legs for a bit. We wandered through duty free and tried to pretend we were awake enough to enjoy ourselves.

Back on the plane we had a change of cabin crew - our new one in economy was as cute as a button. Scottish, tanned and very tactile. Very. I didn't really notice him at first mind you but I could hardly fail to notice him before long (but more of that later).

The flight was to last 12 hours, after a brief dinner we tried to settle down to sleep and did indeed managed to get a few hours kip. What we didn't realise was what was happening while we were asleep. Someone at the back of the plane was trying to open the door. Not that he stood a chance at 38000 feet in a pressurised cabin but the mere attempt was enough to get the crew to spring into action. Literally. They managed to restrain him in a seat and kept him there for the rest of the flight. All he had to say for himself was "I hate the British". Yeah? Well, why fly BA then?!
When we landed he was bundled off the plane at Heathrow - I guess they'll press charges.

But back to our good looking flight attendant. As I mentioned he was rather attentive - perhaps 'rather' is too mild a word. After I first got on the plane he said to me, "where did you get those trousers from?" (pointing at my G-Star jeans that I wear virtually 24/7). I told him. "Oh, really. They're nice. Good fit.", he said. Subtle - not! Mark and I looked at each other and laughed.

Moments later he was back. "I've spoken to some of the other crew (huh? what? in the 15 seconds you've been down the aisle and back?) and we were wondering where you got them from?" "Didn't you just ask that", I replied. He seemed unphased. "You should try them on, " I quipped. "Hmm", he murmured. Uh-oh - we've got a fan here.

As the flight continued he passed me bottles of wine, was constantly at my side asking if I needed anything and kept going on and on and on about my trousers. "Where did I get them from, again?" "How much did they cost?" "Could he get them in London?"

By this point Mark wasn't even trying to hide his amusement; "Here comes your new boyfriend again!" "You've got a Scot stalker" etc etc.

He was quite cute so I decided to brave it out. I shamelessly wrote down all the details of my trousers - make, style, colour and even included my inside leg measurement (tart!) - and added my e-mail address "in case he wanted to know anything else about them". He hasn't been in contact yet - but he will be. I can tell. I can feel it in my trousers.