I originally wrote this post at 1am (Brisbane time) this morning. Only to wake and discover it hadn't sent because blogger/my phone is having a tantrum (again). Then in my attempts to deal with it from my phone outbox, I deleted it.
Hate that. The post is never as good the second time, is it?
Yesterday started with a 5am alarm to take MissE to the airport. I intended to go for my run when I got back, but I was too shattered, so I had an hour's lie-in before getting up for work.
To make up for it, I decided to try 'running' home from work. I used my C25K Week 4 intervals but didn't have the time to sort out music. It wasn't the most pleasant run, my backpack bounced around too much and I ended up running with my arms pinned to my hips holding it down. My form suffered a lot as a result.
I flew back to Brisbane with Virgin this time, I usually fly Qantas where I can afford to, and was in another new Virgin Australia plane. One where everything was purple, red and grey for their new colour scheme.
I checked into my flight online and swapped my exit row window seat for one a few rows forward. I'm tiny enough to not need the extra leg room on offer and prefer to have my bags stored under the seat...helps me avoid dealing with those people who pack like their migrating and are too stingy to pay to check...As a result I had a good seat in an apparently empty row.
Or so I thought.
After boarding, the aisle seat was taken by an off-duty Virgin crew member. 'Sweet' I though, the most considerable aisle sharer possible.
That is, until the senior flight attendant rushed up the aisle and started muttering to another. They then approached my aisle and crouched down. 'Amy, dear, you don't mind if we move you to the exit row do you? It's just that he's a little intoxicated and one of the women is afraid of flying...'
So my beautiful aisle-mate was replaced by a drunk, middle-aged man. The senior flight attendant had to help him with his seat belt it was that intoxicated. I was reading my book by this stage but that didn't stop him from blabbering on to me. I attempted to encourage him to read his magazine (after he ranted about the lack of entertainment screens and radio options...I could sympathise, I had been prepared to pay for a movie this time) only to be told he had read a total of eight books in his entire life. He proceeded to tell me about the most recent one and about how it was a really great read actually. Cue internal eye-roll.
He kept talking until he eventually passed out. Thankfully giving me peace for most of the flight. I finished my book (Ex and the City - Alexandra Heminsley, a handbook for the dumped interwoven with tales of her continual dumpings. Would be a good gift for a recently dumped friend) and decided to nap.
It was at this point that Mr. Drunk started exclaiming in his sleep. Loudly. Enough that other passengers were woken and turned around. I found that when I opened my eyes, this and the purple haze of the cabin (which I didn't notice so much before with the reading light on) was enough to make it feel like a sleazy nightclub bathroom. Seriously Virgin, what were you thinking?
Mr. Drunk must have woken himself up with his mating calls because they turned to painful groans and 'Oh sh*ts'. I was worried he was going to throw up and was grateful again for the empty seat beside me.
Thankfully he didn't and upon landing stumbled off down the aisle. It wasn't the worst flight I have had, but it was far from the best. The purple lights alone are enough to make me hope I can book Qantas for any future evening flights. I really hope their international aircraft aren't tainted the same way. Might have to remember an eye mask for the flight home Monday night...
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