My husband maintains that I am prone to Jane Austen-esque tendencies, that I would have been far more suited to this era given my weaknesses and horrifications in certain circumstances. So the irony was not lost on him as we flew to Bath recently to visit true Jane Austen country, and such a circumstance arose.
Please bear in mind that I had just left my two babies behind, both of them unable to care less about my absence. So as I cried fat, salty tears behind my sunglasses, I was already in a fragile state. The only thing that could lift my spirits was the promise of proseco on the plane, a holiday tradition that I was more than ready to maintain.
So we eventually made it to the plane, which had already been delayed by half an hour, more than likely due to the violent wind and rain that was building. But as my foot stepped out onto the tarmac, my stomach took a very unlady like turn as I clapped eyes on the contraption we were supposed to be taking off in.
The ‘plane’ was what I can only describe as a James Bond villain sized light aircraft. The kind that always gets blown to smithereens at some point in the movie. ‘Jesus, we’ll be tossed about like a paper bag in this weather!!’ I joked as I nervously mounted the teeny steps to the keyhole sized door.
I’d like to point out that I am not usually a nervous flyer, but taking into account all of the above along with the pilot cheerily explaining our delay was due to technical checks that had to be completed, and the flight attendant rattling on happily about storm Doris, I was bricking it!
‘Why are these people so happy to die???’ I mused with mild hysteria.
As the plane took off and I gently tore clumps of hair from my husbands arm, my thoughts automatically turned to the worst. What if we were horribly maimed and killed in this steel death trap? After my initial shit-we-never-signed-off-on-the-Will panic, I am ashamed to say my next thought was indeed of the girls, but it was that no-one can get between their fingers with a baby wipe like I can!!
This is the one thought that came to my mind as we were buffeted about the sky and my husband swatted at my vice like claw. Baby wipes.
I had lost my sense (and sensibility). I had lost my dignity as I stared red faced at the flight attendant. I had lost the feeling in my right hand. But most importantly, I had lost the opportunity to ask for proseco!
As we finally touched down 50 minutes later, and after the closest to death I have probably never come, I thought to myself ‘I bet Jane Austen never had this shit to contend with…’