In which I recount how Air India failed to do any good for my emotional wellbeing

The first leg in my vile journey to Australia was a flight from Edinburgh to Heathrow. The flight was at 9:10am, but of course because Blairgowrie isn't conveniently close to anything much it meant that I got up at 5am to do the last of my packing before leaving at 6 to check in in plenty of time. That was probably the last time I'd ever be in that house. The last time I would be in that house would be when I was sleep deprived, terrified and sad. Bye house!

So I went to Edinburgh airport with Mum and Dad, and I met Ali there, and we all had some coffee, and then we all said our goodbyes and I went through security but I was suspicious so they frisked me (but any frisking I undergo could never be as uncomfortable as the time I was frisked in California and halfway through the guy went "wait, how old are you?" and I said "nineteen..." and he said "oh good!" and continued). And then I met Bee at Heathrow, and we had breakfast and hot chocolates that were made by a trainee so were basically mugs of cream and then I said my goodbyes and went through security and my bags were suspicious so they used that security wand on my stuff and my stuff was fine and at least I wasn't frisked by a paedophile.

My flight from Heathrow had a stopover at Delhi, and the first flight was full of terrifying idiots. For one thing, who smokes in the aeroplane toilet? I always thought that the whole "don't smoke on an aeroplane" thing went without saying, but when a man smoked in the toilet and all the stewards told him off he was all "hey what, why is it a problem, back off". But at least he didn't have to get carried to the back of the plane by two stewards like some other guy, and I'm happy he didn't come and sit next to me like this other drunken maniac who kept telling me "I'm a lyrical terrorist! I'm going to kill you! Hahaha! I'm joking! But I'm not. Sheeeiit!"

That guy left in due course, but immediately forgot where he was and where he'd put any of his stuff so when a guy pointed to his bag in the seat next to me he was elated and gave me a hug. "Thanks man! You're such a good guy!" I am a good guy. Please leave me alone. He did, but the toddler in front of me started standing on the armrest and staring at me and shouting nonsense because if there's anything my past work with kids has told me it's that they don't tend to make any sense until the age of about 9 or 10. Coincidentally I was trying to read The Santaland Diaries by David Sedaris at the time, in which Sedaris reminisces about being an elf, and how kids are enthusiastic and parents are annoying, and I was relating to it because I was an elf, and wishing I was more like Sedaris because I'd clearly made a start (except I'll try not to do that thing he did of becoming a meth addict) and why wouldn't this child leave me alone and just keep giving his toys to the other alcoholic, the one sitting across the aisle from me? He had already accepted the toddler's offering of his tractor-covered wellies. They sat poking out of the pocket in front of him for the rest of the flight.

And isn't it polite etiquette to not speak to someone when they've got headphones in? That's not to say that I don't want to speak to anyone when I've got headphones in - but I'd want to be friends with the person who spoke to me. If sleep deprived me is on the verge of tears watching Pacific Rim (Maoko's flashback is emotional) then leave me alone yeah? If sleep deprived me is on the verge of tears watching Elysium, or I Am Sam, or Hugo, or Home Alone 2 (they forgot about him AGAIN?) then LEAVE ME ALONE YEAH?

And furthermore, Air India, people joke that you would serve curry for every meal. With that ridiculous stereotype in mind, the one I tried to defend you from, why do you serve curry for every meal? Curry for breakfast is sick. (It also made me sick, but I'll regale you with my food poisoning diaries later.)

I eventually got to Delhi and had an 8 hour layover, so I found a corner where I could sort of fall asleep but at the cost of doing my neck in, and then when it actually got to boarding, my flight number was due to go to Melbourne, not Sydney, and whenever I asked anyone about it they said vaguely "just wait 5 minutes" or "yeah it goes to Sydney" without explaining why it said Melbourne, not Sydney (they are two different cities). Eventually when I got on the plane one of the stewards said that it would go to Sydney afterwards, but I only really felt comfortable when I heard a girl sitting behind me talking about how she was going to Sydney and why was she on this flight? She duly became my Plane Friend because WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE GOING?

The 11 and a half hour flight to Melbourne was a pain because we got too much curry and the girl sitting next to me put our shared armrest up and kept jabbing me with her elbows. The only communication between us was when she pointed at something on my meal and declared it "Swedish!" (even though it definitely wasn't) and when I asked her if she'd let me out so I could go to the toilet and she didn't get out of her seat so I ended up towering over her in my efforts to get past her, which was surely exceedingly uncomfortable for the both of us. She left at Melbourne though, whereas I got off the plane with Plane Friend, went through security, and then got back on exactly the same seat on the same plane for our hour-long trip to Sydney. And by this point, I didn't really want a fourth flight because I wanted to die.

But I got to Sydney, life intact, bowels struggling. Look forward to food poisoning tales in the next post. (To avoid disappointment, I don't have any major insights into food poisoning. It will be more about the shitting huge huntsman spider we had in our bathroom, and stuff about Australia and that.)