I will blog about out trip to Ireland, because it was just lovely. But for now, get some sweet tea and a strong stomach…
Today I flew home with my Sherlock, my bestest of best friends, Mrs Gypsytree. Mr Geek was on the other side of the aisle entertaining a very overtired Birthday Beanpole and equally knackered TinyPants (I’d done parent duty on the way out). Despite entering the aircraft on a combo of wheels, sticks & hydrolic lifts, we were giggling like schoolgirls. We’ve basically never grown up and revert to our musketeer chasing teenage girl type when around each other. This kind of thing is good for the soul.
Travelling is clearly not my thing. We are just destined to never have an easy journey anywhere and as I sat down with Mrs Gypsytree to start our giggly flight back to England we looked out for the
person poor unfortunate soul we would be sharing the 3rd seat with. A single person, probably a business person flying back to the mainland?
Cue lady with a huge flight bag who promptly falls over both of us & exudes alcohol from every pore. Said bag does not fit into overhead storage, mainly die to hand-eye-alcohol coordination, so I move and sit on Mr Geek’s lap whilst Mrs Gypsytree tries to help with luggage tetris. Gypsytree tries ever so hard to make friendly conversation, but quickly realises that this is more difficult than maintaining high brow discussions with the three year old we’d left back in Ireland with Mr Gypsytree. (Whizzy’s opening gambit this morning was to stand on the high chair and shout “NO GROWED UPS! You must not have cake. Cake is not yours!”). I have no issue with drunken people per say. In fact, I have been known to be said drunken fool, quite often assisted into that state by Mrs Gypsytree herself. Just not on public transport. And not on a plane. There may well have been a genuine reason for her being utterly wrecked (aside from being in Ireland) and I hope that it was just a bit too much Dutch courage to combat a fear of flying. There may well have been another reason altogether, so I feel bad for being judgey. With that said, in uncomfortable situations, humour is coping mechanism no 1.
As we take off there is an odd odour and the lady appears to be curled up in a ball not looking well. We looked at each other with the realisation dawning on us that she was gently vomiting into the clear bag designed for customs right beside us. Oh dear God, I bet that’s more than 10 ml. The seat belt sign was still on and so she had to remain, bag of vomit resting on her lap. We talk about our weekend plans firmly ignoring the alcoholic chunder cloud appearing next to us. There is a white elephant and we are doing our absolute British best to keep calm and carry on whilst discreetly providing her with all of our little on board ‘bags’ and napkins.
Mrs Gypsytree decided to fight fire with fire and as the flight attendants came along, ordered a stiff drink. And we giggled that this was good material for my blog (and indeed it is!). The addition of teeny tiny bottles of alcohol was clearly too much for our friend and she climbed over us again and headed for the toilets after briefly breathing over the flight attendants.
Shortly after, a wonderful member of staff called Tim asked if we were travelling with her, to which we just made pained faces and said no. “She seems a bit worse for wear?” He asked, making the understatement of the year, but being magically tactful to both her and us at the same time… we agreed and said we thought she might have had a teeny bit too much to drink & that she may need to be looked after as she was being sick. He pointed to some free seats near us and said we could move if we wanted. We decided to stick it out as we didn’t want to be rude to her.
Sandwiches and coffee were presented to her and to her credit, she did attempt to eat, but the rolling of the plane was just too much and we were treated to further discreet hurling. This proved too much for me (mainly the needing to let her pass every 10 minutes with additional bashing of my leg braces) so Mr Geek lifted me to a spare seat and Mrs Gypsytree moved with me. The young lady who had been enjoying a peaceful flight until then was ever so gracious about letting us move over with her. (If you are reading this and you are the lady in the niqab, your daughter is a credit to you).
Part of us felt terrible for leaving her in such a state, but a fair bit of me also now felt quite nauseous (I don’t need help with nausea thank you). With this said, as we moved we got the attention of the lovely Tim who to his absolute credit, continued to provide her with little bags & alerted people to her imminent arrival.
Sometimes, people need a thank you so we tweeted Easyjet thr instant wheels touched the ground. And they ‘liked’ it within seconds. A thank you is nice, but a thank you via your bosses is something to go into your appraisal 🙂
I hope he gets the thank you tweet, because he went above & beyond this evening.
With Mrs Gypsytree safely delivered to her mum’s house at just after midnight, we headed home. Despite being 1.30am and dreadfully past my bedtime, I’m still writing because Watson has returned to Baker Street without Sherlock. Whilst I can see how happy and settled they are in Omagh (blog pending – it’s a wonderful place), I miss Mrs Gypsytree more than I’d ever bargained for.
I hate that most of my favourite people live so bloody far north, or a full plane journey away. I hope that lady found her long distance friends ok.