Anne and I flew to the UK today. On different flights. It recalls the reason why royalty never travel together. In case the plane crashes the dynasty continues. Isobelle the Cat must be relieved.
I had the bizarre spectacle of seeing Anne's BA flight taxiing this morning, as I waited in the AA terminal. My flight sat me next to Lupé, a doughy eyed big boned Latina. Although she had exceptional feet I had no desire to see them perched (sockless) next me for the bulk of the flight. Also when it came to beverage time, she asked for milk. That struck me as odd somehow? She also insisted on getting up to go to the bathroom while I was still enjoying my premium AA coffee. Who asks someone to move when they still have the tray table down?
Lady in front of me lost her glasses. Guess which kind young man™ was on his hands and knees in a vain attempt to find them?
Lots of bloggables on the plane, but I was enjoying my book and iPod too much to notice. The woman in the middle row blubbed out loud at the Steve Carell/Juliette Binoche/Dane Cook vehicle/movie. It didn't look that moving while I listened to The Detroit Cobras. Then again I once cried out loud on a flight. It was some Kevin Kline movie about a house. It was so gay! I think someone died of the big C, but the guy sat next to me still said "Dude" and left it at that.
Anne just arrived in Terminal 1 and is trying to wrangle a seat next to me on the shuttle flight to Leeds. For Isobelle's sake I hope we don't crash!