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Stuck at 33,000ft with wailing babies

5 0 3


Last updated 05:00, June 13 2018

Air Crybaby has departed.

OPINION: I write eight miles above the Indian Ocean. My watch says it is 2 o'clock but that's New Zealand time. Here the time is whatever the airline says it is and right now that is night.

They've dimmed the lights in this vast cabin, the temporary home to maybe 500 people crammed too close together. Prompted by the dark most people have pushed their seat backs back as far as they will go, which isn't far enough, and plugged their ears with plugs or muffs, and blocked their eyes with shades, and wrapped themselves in thin and wiry blankets, and sought the sweet relief of sleep.

To walk the aisle is like stepping through some vast Egyptian catacomb, the dead laid out in rows, except that half the corpses snore and fart. If anyone believes that air travel is glamorous they ought to be here now.

Babies' wail of distress is designed to offend, to be unignorable, like a police siren.

Ten minutes back I was........

© Stuff