The foul hag in the seat in front had already pounded her third miniature Cabernet and was now making hissing noises at the cabin crew for a fourth. One could only feel for her husband, or not. He'd clearly found his own method to deal with her ignorance, he was sound asleep or at least that was how it appeared. The air hosts had given up on patience and now simply stormed up and down the aisles screaming. This was their method of dealing and it often included the occasional ass barge or blatant push. The delirious child in 34b had moved on from the continuous call and was now fully ensconced in a high pitched wail that even over the drone of the four Rolls Royce engines and the volume on the latest blockbuster turned up to full, was impossible to avoid. The seat was surprisingly spacious for economy- meaning while my knees kissed the seat in front, my feet had room to breath. The meal- some rubber derivative one might guess, disguised as pasta with tomato sauce, did an amiable job of stoppering my bowel movements for a good few days-something useful on long haul flights, but not so great later in the shoddy B&B you booked last minute. The air recycling had clearly been set to dehydrate by some malevolent being and my nose had reached a level of dry hitherto unknown in the Serengeti. I drank until my eyes watered and my bladder begged for mercy and somewhere in the last thirty minutes of the flight, I found solace in a sleep.