Meester Chreestopher?

I finally make it to the plane and I am sitting next to a man with gingivitis. Well, that’s the only explanation for the stench coming from his mouth. I’m settling in to my seat, and I’m just about to stuff my earplugs up my nose when an airline groundsman comes walking through the plane calling “Meester Chreestopher?” Meester Chreestopher Weeeks?”

That’ll be me then… Now what?

I indicate that I am Chreestopher and he asks to see my boarding pass! Unbelievable! 

It’s in my bag so have to disturb Meester Gingivitis and another bloke on the end to retrieve my documents, and show the airline crew. He just looks at it, nods and says OK. I have absolutely no idea what that was about – maybe they hadn’t checked it enough times whist in the airport or something. Stench-breath turned to me and said that he’s been on this flight loads and they do that all the time. Do what, exactly? Single out Western travellers to check their boarding passes throughout the flight just to piss them off?

We’re off. I don’t remember whether I’d paid for any food during the flight, but I couldn’t be arsed with it all, as you had to produce your boarding pass to get anything! What the fuck was that all about? Were they concerned that you’d materialised from thin air and you were not supposed to be on the flight? I should have made a joke about being on the wrong flight, but I don’t think that would have translated very well.

Bad Breath Bobby had a coffee and noodles and slurped the whole thing noisily for the next thirty minutes or so, so I just sat there farting silently to get my revenge. I couldn’t block out the sound of him with my headphones either, as they had just given up the ghost and no sound was coming out of the right.

Bollocks!