It’s a long way from Edinburgh to Airlie Beach in Australia, where I am at present. A one-hour flight to London was followed by an 11-hour flight to Hong Kong. Then the cheeky wee ten-hour flight to Sydney was followed by a 90-minute hop to Brisbane which led us nicely to the last hour-and-a-half jet to Proserpine.
Sound far? It’s an even longer way travelling with three small children. But the problem is not the kids (who were great). It’s the twisted band of airborne child hating Nazis who pollute our skies.
You know who you are. The ones who tut and tsk whenever someone under the age of 20 sits within a 15-yard circle of you. Humorless moany-faced misanthropes with faces like a bulldog licking piss of a nettle. I haven’t seen joyless faces that shone so brightly with a hatred of the young since I was at school.
I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of being cringeingly polite and meekly apologising for my child being a child. I have, therefore, come up with a four-point plan for a parent on the edge (and any parent travelling with children is a parent on the edge).
Phase 1: The appeal to reason. “We were all children once so why not calm down and go back to your duty-free-fuelled fantasies about the air hostesses.”
Phase 2: Sarcasm. “Why, yes, I can keep my toddler quiet. There’s a mute button but I choose not to use it because I find sleep boring.”
Phase 3: The hard truth. “You’re flying Economy on a long-haul flight. If you wanted a good night’s sleep you should have travelled first-class. On a cruise ship. Preferably the Titanic.
Phase 4: Direct action. Ever been curious what the passage from the aircraft loo to the outside of the plane looks like? Well, you’re going to find out. The last thing you will hear is that funny hissing flush followed by a rushing roar of air. But don’t worry, you won’t be alone. To accompany you on your way to your imminent demise 30,000 feet below, you’ll have the chafing distraction of a Thomas The Tank Engine colouring book wedged sideways in your duodenum, hammered into place to the tune of The Wheels On The Bus.
You have been warned.
3 responses so far ↓
1 Craig McGill // Aug 8, 2008 at 8:15 am
As someone about to take his wee one on her first longhaul I find this advice incredibly topical, so I thank yew.
How much calpol did you need to load the kids up with to have them sleep the whole trip though?
2 alan cameron // Aug 10, 2008 at 7:01 pm
Couldn’t agree more.
When you’re on a flight you are, by default, part of a short-term community, and you either play yer part or show yourself up as a self-centred, pompous prick.
I got both sides when returning from Cairo with Jane and our then two-year-old Rosie.
Only a five-hour flight, but she bawled the house down for three-and-a-half of them. We were nearly crying, having tried everything, and the ‘tsks’ and venomous looks really didn’t help.
Then this Egyptian woman joined us, full of sympathy and understanding, and turned herself into a one-woman CBeebies stage show for 90 minutes. Juggling, singing, hide and seek, the lot.
Strangely, I had tried quite a lot of what she did, to no effect, But when SHE did it …. rapt attention. And giggles.
By the time we touched down, all 3 of us wanted to marry her.
By helping like that she also silenced the ‘tut-tutters’ into what I hope was a pit of shame.
I wish I’d got her contact details.
Then I could have fessed up to the fact that, due to certain communication-and-packing issues between myself and my wife, each of us thought the other had fed Rosie in the airport, and her turning Turk on the plane was due to nothing more than the first pangs of starvation.
Oh, how we laughed. The recriminations continue to this day.
3 Stewart // Aug 10, 2008 at 11:59 pm
@ Alan: At first I laughed too. And then I hissed air between my teeth as I put myself in your shoes. Eek.
@ Craig: Sleep? What’s that?
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