Travelling Graham

The flight from Frankfurt to Johannesbug was far more enjoyable, I found myself in cattle class between two very conversive South Africans. Charlene, a student of life, was heading back to her parents in J'burg after a year in the US and Brad, an engineer, DJ and alcohol/jazz connaseur (sp?), was heading back from a business trip.

Once they had worked out that I was English and started talking in English, an indepth discussion about the use of benzo sleeping pills over alcohol was conducted, with a clear gender divide showing itself, before Dinner was served at 1am(!).

Vood ya leak zech itching, oo szeb eff

I was asked,

What?

itching oo zeb eff

Not near me you don't thank you very much love, sounds painful. Anyway, a few moments after I asked for itching powder, a tray landed on my table with some goo and grey bits in it. It turned out that my well built Germanic hostess was trying to assertain my preference for chicken or beef. A quick check discovered that whilst the cabin crew could discern the difference, the cattle certainly couldn't (tastes like baby). It was at this point that I made mistake number two, clearly the language barrier was a two way thing. I could of sworn that I asked for a glass of white wine with my chicken, the bottle said wine (Germany 2005) the glass shape said not wine, and the taste buds said - a warm piss like flavour with sharp hints of vinegar with vinegary tendancies showing themselves delicately in a vinegar aftertaste.

Still, dinner slipped down like skin down sandpaper, before the pilot decided to guide us with laser precision into a variety of thunderstorms and turbulence. The chicken made a bid for an encore but was pacified by a stiff whiskey before Charlene popped 4 sleeping pills and the then started drewling on my shoulder.

J'burg didn't annouce itself, no really it didn't, we arrived on time, and in the right place according to the tv I watched as I ate my brocolli omelete (?!) (Africa looked pretty small compared to the plane on the screen) but J'burg was hiding in a huge fog. We had to circle for over an hour until the fog cleared enough for a landing (still couldn't see the ground until it jarred up into our undigested breakfast). This was all fine except for the fact that my connection was in 20 minutes, and no-one told me that I had to collect my bags, carry them across to the other terminal, check in, and then run to my gate (wouldn't have made it without Dennis my porter - R20 well spent). Only, the fog had of course delayed outbound flights too. So I arrived noisily infront of 200 people, sweating like an inappropriately dressed pig, to find a 2 hour delay on the board - all I needed now was a big sign above my head saying "foreigner".

First leg Heathrow to Frankfurt,

Window or aisle seat sir?

Window please.

Wrong answer, computer says no.

Aside for the fact that my beautiful window seat afforded me a great view of the rattling wing flaps, I was also oxed in by an outrageously arguementative German couple. This couple had clearly decided that now was as good a time as any to debate (in English) about lederhosen (it may have been about something else) and to practise there pronounciation of the word "fok" (more practise required I think).

Despite my best attempts, the glass window simply wouldn't yield to my plastic fork (although better progress was made with complimentary in flight snack - query sandwich?) and so my entertainment for the next hour limited itself to some monotonous head bashing, served up with a generous portion of eye ball gouging.

Fortunately, before I woke the old man in front of me with a slap-by-eyeball, Frankfurt made a timely intervention in order that it could present me with a hour of equally entertaining "Eye-spy Fashion disasters". White socks and sandals, 10 points, jeans-shorts, 50 points, wife beater and weird hair, 30+15 points, incredibly well presented, well co-ordinated, dashingly handsome Englishman (mirror), 30 points etc....