Memo Log

September already and I’m seated on the plane of a RyanAir aircraft on a plastic seat that suits the same as a Malaysian bus – the kind where the seat is sweating by itself. There’s an elbow in my face, arm, she talks like the deliberate annoying Essex voice I used to put on when I was a call-centre phone operative. God that was painful. It’s £2.70 for a bottle of water. In my head, water should be free. Seriously. The idea of society putting a price-tag on an element that should be free of charge; something that is practically the entire make-up of this Earth, our bodies and the sky. A man is bartering with the sales. He has €1 and 50p and is demanding to be able to consume something. The attendant next to me is going through a list of items that can be bought and settles on shortbread. Lion Bar wasn’t on the menu. Sitting next to two French guys who initially started singing and are now having a Tetris show down. The air cabin crew’s uniform resembles that of a porter at the hospital. The man reading on a book in front of **** has attempted numerous ways of boredom prevention combined mental stimulation. He’s read, done Sudoku on the iPhone, bored himself rigid with email reading and is now back on the book. This guy would be dire on a 14 hour flight to Malaysia. The flight to Barcelona will take 1hr 40min. We almost missed the plane from not hearing the boarding call and sitting with a queue to Malta. We’re about to land and I’m about to kill for candyfloss. Marilyn/Marium is given a surprise 30th birthday announcement. There’s a lot of air punching going on to my left, as well as synchronised touch screen play. It’s so bizarre. My sense of time is almost non-existent in my head. I keep thinking I’m going for weeks and I should be enroute to Malaysia. I seem to not be taking this in at all and am living a disjointed, tired dreamlike state.