Archive Anecdotage

24 When I fly.......

I like to have my own little torrent of air splashing down from a controllable source. I can dispense foul odours and adjust my scalp temperature and sometimes (I swear) I can blow the beam of the reading light an inch or two away from my nose.

Alas, the contemporary school of thinking for passengers who must not be allowed to think for themselves, in case they might want something different from the next guy, known as S.I.A.T.C.O. - 'Sir It's All Taken Care Of !'- have ordained (intake of breath).... ambient equilibrium, a micro climate provided for, but beyond the reach of grubby fingered clients. "You don't like the smell of our cordon bleu, near meat, non experience, no expense tray, being consumed in a style of open-mouthed mastication (not unlike a washing machine with its door ajar) by your incontinent, psoriasis covered, vomit laden, halitosis embraced, hugely overserved, fool of a loud-mouthed neighbour? Tough shit! U.S.A Today, sir?"


© Ian Gillan 1997

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