Tomorrow I'll be flying off to Egypt for a week stay in an all inclusive hotel. Once there I shall be mostly hiding from the heat (35ºC or more), reading, drinking and relaxing. It will be a chance for me to forget everything and just put my feet up and think. I don't think that the hotel has internet access – which strangely pleases me.
Of course, this means that I will be flying for around five hours, something that fills me with dread.
It's not a fear of flying – there are certainly worse ways to die than by dropping out the sky from six miles up. Sure, I don't want to die, and there are so many tiny components on a plane, any of which can go wrong, especially if one of the mechanics has had an off day.
(Our ambulances are much simpler machines, yet they break down a lot more than airplanes – I'm sure there is a lesson there somewhere).
No, it's not fear – for I understand mathematics, and chance, and realise that I'm more likely to die crossing the street, falling off a ladder or sitting in bed hoping that the chest pain that I've suddenly developed is indigestion.
And besides, plummeting from the sky to have my heart separate from my aorta and my brain try to exit through my nose as I explode on hitting the water at terminal velocity is unlikely to cause much in the way of suffering.
So it's much less a fear and more of an intense dislike of flying, on one hand you have the whole security theatre that you have to go through in order to prove that you aren't carrying explosive shoes, the worry that your carry-on will be one inch outside the allowed size, and the pathological fear that I'm going to lose my passport, my boarding pass, or both.
No, the main reason why I dislike flying is that I am nearly 6'2″ tall and I fly economy.
I also hate children.
And I get 'jumpy' legs.
My arms are quite long as well – although thankfully on this flight we haven't paid extra for a 'meal' that requires me to become a contortionist to try and eat. In two mouthfuls.
I honestly don't know how people can take flights that last longer than eight hours. Certainly not if you are my size. Eight hours is my maximum and even then, as the plane lands, I'm pawing at the doors to let me out. How my crewmate deals with 12+ hour flights to New Zealand is beyond me – although being 5'4″ probably helps.
Thank goodness I'm not a nicotine addict as well.
All of which is to say that I'll be out of contact for the next week, although there should be some blogposts going up automatically should everything work out as intended. And then, after the holiday, I should be back fully revitalised and ready for a flurry of activity including a new project...