I couldn’t see if the child was enjoying kicking the back of my seat.
His mother’s loudly whispered repeated requests for him to stop fell on deaf ears.
The plane was filling with an array of loud and proud sunburnt revellers, Matchstick flint to oompa loompa orange.
Trying my best to ignore the little Cristiano Ronaldo behind me as I ground the enamel off my teeth.
I could move to the two seats next to me if no one took them before the plane was due to depart, At least I could rid myself of one irritation.
Then I saw her. My heart popped up into my mouth to see what the problem was. My anxiety level hit eight on the Richter scale.
Twins! Baby twins, crying baby twins, two babies, crying! Heading towards me.
I whiplashed my head around to see if there were any vacant places apart from those next to me.
Checking the seat numbers she smiled. I smiled back, I was dying inside. I let her squeeze past with her bundles of joy.
No amount of mindfulness was going to help me.
This would test the limits of the Dalai Lama.
The plane doors were closed, my last escape route had been denied me.
I hadn’t drank for ten years. I motioned to the hostess with the international gesture of tipping my hand to my mouth. She mouthed back ‘not till after we take off sir’
Kick kick, cry cry, kick cry, and that was me.