Bull in a China Shop

So there I am sitting in a quiet place, minding my own business, and enjoying the silence as I read, contemplate life and take a nice quiet journey around my weird and wonderful imagination.

And then you hear something approaching in the distance; the Bull in the china shop.

Note - I use the word “bull” just because the phrase sums this person up perfectly but it is not necessarily male.

Let's call this person Bull.

First the voice – either a shrieking high pitched cackle or a deep booming laugh – before Bull appears and shatters the tranquillity in the noisiest way possible.

Bull shouts rather than speaks.

Bull laughs so loud that windows shake and glass struggles not to shatter.

Bull sits right next to complete strangers and invades their personal space even when he has never met them.

Bull slams doors.

Bull orders noisy food to eat and slobbers and crunches his way through the food.

Bull finds it impossible to stay still.

Bull finds it impossible to stay quiet.

Bull has to talk to people in his vicinity even if he doesn’t know them.

Bull thinks he’s the most popular person in whatever room he is in.

Bull moves things around with so much noise that he disturbs everyone and everything in his path.

Bull is usually a clumsy oaf.

Here is an example of Bull:

I don’t mind people who are talkative and funny and loud sometimes, but Bull is something else entirely - always loud, rarely funny and totally annoying – the kind of person who comes into a room and wants to simply take over, even when the room is quiet – for example a restaurant.

When Bull sits on the adjacent table in a restaurant, your enjoyment of the meal plummets.

Even when total privacy is required, Bull can invade your space.

Take for example if you are in a public toilet cubicle and Bull comes in. You hear him march in, slamming the door and cringe as he goes into the cubicle next to you, slamming the door of course. There is no subtlety – he groans, belches, farts throws himself onto the toilet as if from a great height, snorts, groans, makes as much noise as he can and in the worst case, starts talking on his phone.

Worse – he starts talking to YOU!

I have had the misfortune of sitting next to Bull on flight from Europe to Manchester.

The conversation went something like this:

Bull: WHAT ARE YOU READING?

PM: I’m sorry? 

Bull: I SAID WHAT ARE YOU READING?

PM: “A Short History of Nearly Everything” by Bill Bryson.

Bull: OH – I LIKE BILL BRYSON BUT THAT BOOK IS BLOODY SHIT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT HE WAS THINKING WHEN HE WROTE THAT GARBAGE. HOW FAR THROUGH IT ARE YOU?

PM: I’ve just started it.

Bull: WELL IF I WERE YOU I’D LEAVE IT ON THE PLANE. WAIT UNTIL YOU GET TO THE PART …

PM: I’m sorry – I’m enjoying it so far. I’ll make my own judgement. Do you mind if I carry on?

Bull: YOU MUST BE A BIT WEIRD IF YOU LIKE THAT BOOK. IT’S NOT EVEN FUNNY!! 

PM: Thanks for that. I’ll be the judge of that.

Bull: NOW HERE’S A GOOD BOOK!

PM: I’m not interested really – I just want to read this.

Bull: WELL THIS ONE IS MUCH BETTER THAN THAT PILE OF CRAP! HERE – TAKE A LOOK!

And so it went on – and on – and on – and on! By the time I had left the plane (the longest two hours of my life) he had told me his entire life story, why he was so great and why I was so weird and had no decent taste in books. Not content with bellowing in my ear for the entire trip, his elbows kept nudging me as we both ate and most of his meal ended up on the back of the seat in front of him.

I’ve seen Bull on a train too – thankfully annoying somebody else. In the UK we have quiet carriages where people are asked to be quiet so that others can read or work in peace. Personally I don’t travel in them because I listen to music and the noise of the headphones can annoy others. Bull shouldn’t travel in them either – but once I saw Bull thrown out of the quiet carriage because, unsurprisingly, he was making far too much noise and totally irritating everybody else. Bull then sat in a seat close to me and told the entire sorry tale to a perfect stranger who wasn’t interested at all but was being polite.

“I JUST STARTED TALKING TO THIS WOMAN AND SHE TOLD ME TO BE QUIET! I KNOW IT’S MEANT TO BE SILENT IN THERE BUT IT WAS LIKE A BLOODY LIBRARY – HOW BORING! ANYWAY, SHE COMPLAINED AND THE GUARD ASKED ME TO SHUT UP AND LEAVE! I DECIDED TO JUST GO! I LIKE TO TALK TO PEOPLE – DON’T YOU? THEY SHOULD CALL IT THE BORING BASTARD CARRIAGE! ANYWAY – WHAT’S YOUR NAME? I’M BULL AND I’M A REALLY FUNNY GUY. OH SORRY - I'VE SPILLED MY DRINK ALL OVER YOUR  BOOK. IT 'S SHIT ANYWAY!"

And so he went on – and on – and on! Thankfully, I could drown his voice out by listening to some rock music. I pitied the poor guy he had inflicted himself upon.

I don’t mind friendly people and I am willing to chat to anybody as long as they are pleasant, quiet, interesting and stop talking when I have had enough and want to read or listen to music.

Bulls don’t do that – they are relentless – they can’t take a hint even when it is blatant. They enter a room like a Bull in a China Shop!

Have you ever met anybody like that? 

How do you deal with them?

I think most British people are too polite and that is why Bull thrives in the UK.

I’m too nice to tell them to just SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Maybe I should do just that.

The Ten Commandments Of Flying

I have flown a lot. I can tolerate short haul flights (up to three hours in duration) but I genuinely hate flying long haul. Even the excitement of reaching an exotic and interesting location cannot haul me out of the depths of despair at the prospect of spending twelve hours on a metal tube with wings.

Don’t get me wrong – I am not afraid of flying. I just hate it because it is so dull and uncomfortable.

However, the tedium of flying can be improved by following one of the ten commandments that I have just created.

If you are ever unlucky enough to find yourself on an aircraft sitting next to a grumpy blonde baboon with a hybrid Mancunian/Black Country accent then our mutual of enjoyment of the flight will be guaranteed if you follow the following guidelines.

1. Thou shalt not talk to me during the flight unless it is an emergency. 

Don’t get me wrong – I am a nice guy and willing to talk to most people. And I will allow a few words to be exchanged at the start or the end of the flight. However, if you are a talkative person and want to spend the next twelve hours engaging me in conversation about your life and experiences –JUST DON’T.

I speak from bitter experience.

One guy on a flight back from Europe told me that the book I was reading was rubbish and then proceeded to tell me the ending even when he saw that I was halfway through the thing.

“Ditch it!” he said. “Read something else.”

“I only have this book,” I said through clenched teeth.

“You’ll thank me,” said the prick.

“Okay!", I said. "Thanks for ruining the book and my flight!”

2. Thou shalt not grab my hand during turbulence or tell me that you are scared of flying all the way through the flight.

Related to the above, I was on a four hour domestic flight next to a guy about my age. As the plane took off, he turned to me and said. “I’m terrified of flying.”

I told him that flying was a doddle and he should relax. And for a while he did – until we hit turbulence about an hour into the flight. He grabbed my hand and said “That’s not normal!”

I tried to reassure him that it was but he wouldn’t have it. The remaining three hours were interrupted with shakes and bumps and he spent all of that time telling me in a variety of ways just how terrified he was. I could do nothing other than spend that time as a simian counsellor.

He thanked me at the end for being “a rock” but the truth is I almost asked to be moved. And my poor hand hurt. And the other passengers probably thought we were a couple.

3. Thou shalt not attempt to climb over me while I am asleep on a long haul flight.

I would rather you wake me up rather than wake up to find you straddled across me on your way out.

On a long haul flight, any moment you can sleep is a gift from God.

However, I am a light sleeper and any movement from the seat next to me wakes me up. So imagine my surprise when on a ten hour flight to South Africa, I awoke to find the lovely young lady next to me, straddled across me as she tried to get across without waking me. She was embarrassed, I was embarrassed and the rest of the flight was totally awkward.

Worse, the same thing happened with a rather large gentleman who actually fell on me when the plane hit turbulence. I’m glad the other passengers found that amusing.

I didn't!

4. Thou shalt not invade my personal space with any part of your body – particularly with your elbows during eating.

There is nothing worse than having your food knocked off your fork when a space invader knocks your elbow at the most inopportune moment.

5. Thou shalt not fall asleep on my shoulder and drool all over me.

I’d also like to add “or snore in my face with your bad breath” to this.

6. Thou shalt not be rude to the stewardesses.

I am genuinely in awe of stewards and stewardesses and the job they do and I try to accommodate them and be nice during the flight. However, if you are rude because they haven’t got the “right wine” or if you try to ask the stewardess on a date upon landing because she has been “especially nice” to you (and therefore simply MUST fancy you) then you are a prick.

7. Thou shalt not push your fat belly in my face whilst trying to get your bag from the overhead locker.

This is worse than having you personal space invaded by an elbow. Once a man reached up and as he did so, his T shirt rose revealing a bloated, hairy fat gut that he then proceeded to ram into my face. I almost used the sick bag. He didn’t even apologise, the prick.

8. Thou shalt not throw a book at my face.

Actually, I did this to a fellow passenger. I was boarding the flight and he was in the aisle seat. “I’m there,” I said pointing to the window seat next to him. I then threw my book to my seat but my aim was terrible. I hit him full in the face, corner first, and he yelled in pain. Worse, the book drew blood on his forehead.

I was mortified and so apologetic that I was willing to prostrate in front of him and be his slave for the rest of the short flight. He was absolutely fine and after a quick visit to the toilet to stem the flow of blood he simply said “Accidents happen. Don’t worry about it.”

He was pissed off with me by the end of the flight though because I broke commandment number one and apologised to him continuously through the flight.

What a prick I was.

9. Thou shalt not complain that the seat is too small and that the seat belt does not fit.

I don’t mind fat people. I don’t mind sitting next to fat people on a flight. What I do mind is sitting next to belligerent fat people who complain that “the seat is too small” and that “real people don’t fit in seats”. I am a real person and the seat fits fine.

10. Thou shalt make every effort to sit at the other end of the aircraft if you have a baby.

I pity people with babies who have to fly. But I have suffered with them. I once found myself sitting next to a couple with a baby on a long haul flight and the small beautiful bundle of cuteness suddenly lost all of its adorability when the aircraft took off.

For the next eight hours, it mutated into a screaming explosion of noise accompanied by vomit and shit exploding from its orifices. I didn’t get a wink of sleep and I felt sick. I wanted to be away from them but I couldn’t because the plane was rammed to overflowing. Now I know where babies are usually located, I always try to select a seat as far away from them as possible. It doesn’t always work.

And finally ...

Of course if you know me – and I like you – then you are exempt from most of the above rules. However, if you are Mrs PM or a male friend and suddenly present me with a baby during the flight I can guarantee that I will probably freak out in a highly disturbing but amusing way.

Hell in a Metal Sausage

I hate flying but not because I am scared of it. I loathe being imprisoned in a metal sausage that is hurtling through the air at 35,000 feet.

I travel a lot, mainly through work but occasionally for pleasure and regrettably the mode of transport is usually an aircraft. I wouldn’t mind if it were a pleasant experience.

It is not.

A manager at work once said this to me when I complained about flying. I swear I am not making this up:

“What are you moaning about? A long haul flight is like being in a hotel; you get good food, you get a few films and you get the chance to sleep.”


I was so stunned by what he had said that I almost risked my career with the ensuing outburst.

Let’s analyse, for a second, what he said.

“You get good food.”

The food on a long haul flight can only be described as plastic food. It is not real and it is barely edible. Imagine, if you can, that you have been abducted by an alien space craft and are hurtling towards an alien planet at an impossible speed. The alien monstrosity that has imprisoned you sees that you require sustenance for the long journey so he analyses your dietary requirements using advanced science and concocts a dish of slimy crap that will provide the nourishment your body requires but looks and tastes like something the cat left in the garden. That’s exactly what airplane food tastes like.

“You get a few films.”

This is true; you do get a few movies. However, you have to watch them on a screen that is tiny with headphones that would make a nuclear explosion sound like a squeak. Add to that the screaming baby that is inevitably within earshot and the background droning roar of the engines, with the occasional ping when passengers require the stewardesses, you barely hear anything. And of course your movie gets interrupted when the captain speaks. And, if you time it badly, you end up missing the last hour of the movie because you either fall asleep or the captain decides to switch off the entertainment system a full thirty minutes before the aircraft lands.

“You get a chance to sleep.”

This is the biggest lie of all.

Sleep?

On a long haul flight?

Utter bollocks.

My company, as most companies these days, has adopted a policy of flying everywhere in economy class. The name for economy class varies from airline to airline and is usually given a name that implies importance, luxury or both. We are presented with names like:

World Explorer Class

Voyager Class

Ritz Class

Comfort Class

The names are horseshit and do not even remotely indicate the torture you are going to have to endure for twelve hours. More accurate names would be:

Pig Swill Class

Medieval Torture Class

Punishment Class

Torment Class

Hell Class

Although the name implies luxury, in reality you end up in the most uncomfortable place in the world. It is physically impossible to sleep in economy class unless you are so tired that you could sleep standing up, or the stewardesses puts you to sleep with a baseball bat.

How on earth can anybody sleep in such conditions? Let's have a look at the options:

If you end up next to the window you can possibly lean against the window. The problem is that there is no room for your legs because the seat in front is so far back that your knees are next to your ears for the entire flight. You can’t curl up into a foetal ball because your back grates against the armrest and the person next to you invariably doesn’t want to lift it up. You could sit up straight but your head ends up lolling forward, waking you up every ten seconds as you involuntarily do a poor impression of a nodding dog.

In the middle seats it is possibly worse because the people either side of you, in a futile attempt to get comfortable end up kicking you, elbowing you in the face or kidneys and possibly end up snoring directly into your face having just consumed enough wine to make them pass out.

The aisle seat may appear to be the most appealing but if you do manage to fall asleep you will be woken up constantly as people walk past and kick you, tread on you or drop things on you.

You cannot sleep in economy class on an aircraft unless the plane is empty, you are a child, you are a dwarf or you are so drunk that you cannot function.

Believe me, I have been drunk on a long haul flight and it is possibly my worst ever decision. On a business trip to Hong Kong, I decided to try to blag my way into business class for the trip home using all of my guile and charm. The problem is that I have no charm and I am about as cunning as a dead fox.

I failed to convince the woman at the check in desk that I needed an upgrade but she did offer me a carrot. I’m not suggesting that she thought I looked like the back end of a donkey (though she probably did). What she said was “There’s a possibility of an upgrade but you need to ask at the gate. I hope you are persuasive.”

I am not persuasive at all so I decided that I needed some Dutch courage. I sat in the bar on my own and drank more beer than I should have. I arrived at the gate and marched up to the gate staff with all of the arrogance of a drunk businessman but none of the charisma. I failed spectacularly to acquire an upgrade and, being drunk, my emotions were more dramatic; I slumped in a chair and, with tears of disappointment in my eyes, I started to moan and grumble to myself.

On the aircraft, I ended up in a window seat and that’s when the alcohol began to take its toll. I dozed off in the most uncomfortable position imaginable with my head jammed in the window indent, my mouth wide open, a snore rumbling from that massive open maw (the poor woman next to me later informed me of this) and my tongue lolling out accompanied by a torrent of dribble.

I missed my food, water and a film that I actually wanted to watch.

I awoke about three hours into the twelve hour flight. The aircraft was in total darkness and my cheek was stuck to the plastic window by a thin layer of my own saliva. For a second I had no clue who I was or where I was. And then, when the headache announced its presence, I remembered.

I was crammed into a seat that was meant for toddlers.

I had a banging headache.

My back was in agony because it had repeatedly scrapped and bashed the armrest.

My knees felt as if somebody had repeatedly hit them with a mallet.

I felt slightly nauseas from one too many beers and lack of food.

My bladder was quite literally about to explode.

I didn’t want to go to the toilet at all; I just wanted my own bed. Alas, I had no choice and had to negotiate my way past two strangers.

Next to me was a woman in her forties who was not too tall and could just about stretch out and sleep. She was snoring lightly.

Next to her, on the aisle seat was a big fat oaf of a man whose gut was so enormous that it scraped the seat in front. He required a seat belt extension to circumvent his monstrous belly. And he was fast asleep and snoring like a lion with a very bad cold.

I wondered how the woman next to me could cope with the noise of this Michelin man and then it was clear to me – she was wearing earplugs.

My humiliation was complete. I had to wake up this poor sleeping woman and the sack of blubber next to her in order to get past them both. Needless to say they were both angry; the woman because I had woken her up from a deep sleep and blubberman because he had to crowbar his huge mass out of the seat so that I could get past.

After the trip to the toilet I returned to my seat and remained awake for the rest of the flight with a headache, an aching body and a battered ego.

I will never board a plane again with too much beer in my system.

I wish I could say that I would never again fly long haul in economy class. Alas I will, in the next month or two on a business trip to China. I am looking forward to going back to China but the journey there and back will be Hell on Earth – or should I say Hell in a Metal Sausage.

I’m sure that the manager I mentioned at the beginning of the post, who incidentally is a very nice bloke, will compare my journey to a night in the Hilton.

He is right, of course, but only if he is comparing it to trying to sleep in a tiny shower stall, while trying to eat the shower curtain, in a room full to the brim of noisy fat people and snoring lions.

Travel Trauma - Flying (Part Three)

Yet another trip to Johannesburg and yet more travel trauma. To be fair it wasn’t that bad this time. However, all of the elements of a long haul flight that I despise were as insufferable as ever.

When you board the metal sausage, more commonly known as an aircraft, and you are like most people booked into economy class, or as I prefer to call it, “cattle class”, you are struck by several things.

At first, you are greeted by the cabin crew. Now this isn’t a bad thing because the vast majority of them are very attractive females. However, I feel their apparent euphoria at greeting three hundred passengers, none of whom really want to board, is sometimes a little false. Their mouths are smiling but their eyes are totally bored and frustrated. After all, they have to look after these people for the next ten to twelve hours. And given some of the passengers they have to deal with I do feel sorry for them.

When I get to my seat, which is usually an aisle seat so that I have the freedom to get up and walk around whenever I choose, I pray that the seat or seats next to me are empty. Why? So that I can spread out and if incredibly lucky, lie down for the duration of the flight and sleep. Sadly that happens once every other blue moon and I find the seat next to me occupied. Of course this is something I don’t mind if I am with my wonderful lady partner. Otherwise I have to sit next to and sleep next to a total stranger for the next ten or so hours in a seat that barely fits my width.

Before you jump to the obvious conclusion, that my middle-aged spread is rather large and still growing, I can tell you that I am not fat. I am average in every way; height, length and breadth so in theory these seats are designed for a person exactly like me. Wrong! They are designed for the lower end of the statistical distribution. I squeeze in and immediately appraise the person next to me (as I know they are appraising me).

A lot of the time I’ve been lucky to sit next to a normal person on the aircraft. However some have been strange or demanded my attention for most of the flight. Let me give you some examples:

One guy I was unfortunate to sit next to had, I think, been expecting to travel business class but found himself with the rest of the cattle. He was appallingly rude to the cabin crew. He complained about the wine, told a stewardess that her service techniques were unacceptable, demanded, again via the stewardess, that the gentleman in front sit with his seat in the upright position for the entire flight and was generally obnoxious. He was a man who expected the best but had been forced to endure what the rest of us had to suffer. The one time he spoke to me I ignored him in case I said something I regretted. However, I did make my feelings clear by taking the opposite stance when he had a pop at the cabin crew. For every complaint, I offered praise. When he said something was crap, I said it was fine. He was an arrogant tosser of the highest order.

Another time I was sitting next to a man who I felt really sorry for. He was a good six inches taller than me and also extremely well built (I’m being very kind here). He was in a state of total discomfort for the entire flight and I offered to exchange seats so that he could sit next to the aisle and spread his legs a little. He refused my offer. When the meal came, I had to wait for him to finish because his elbows were everywhere. Incredibly he did manage to fall asleep but sadly for me, he leaned right over towards me and snored like a lion with a sore throat and catarrh. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.

On one flight from Hong Kong I found myself next to a sweet old lady whom I initially thought was harmless. She was slightly nervous and we exchanged one or two pleasantries before the flight taxied to the runway. I don’t mind talking to the person next to me but when I want to stop conversing I expect that person to respect my wishes and basically shut the hell up. This old lady refused to shut up even when the entertainment started. I hinted to her that I didn’t want to talk by putting my headphones on and watching a film. Did she take the hint? Absolutely not! She spoke to me constantly at just the right volume to invade the movie soundtrack. Frustrated, I gave up on the film and succumbed to her wishes (basically because I’m a wonderful chap and not the kind of anarchistic rebel my heart desires me to be). She told me her life story for the entire duration of the flight apart from maybe one or two hours when she dozed off. It was obvious that she hadn’t flown long haul for many, many years and was very nervous. Furthermore she was returning back to England after several decades in Australia to celebrate her brother’s eightieth birthday. When we landed back in Manchester, I had had virtually no sleep and was almost drugged with insomnia. My mind had barely enough energy to allow me walk. It was then that I discovered that she was a special needs passenger requiring a wheelchair and that she had about a thousand tons of luggage. What could I do? As I have said, I’m a kind chap and volunteered to assist her. With the help of a member of ground staff, I lifted her into a wheelchair and then wheeled her to baggage reclaim via passport control and ended up collecting all of her luggage from the belt and wheeling her through customs. When we arrived at the greeting point there was a veritable army of relatives waiting for her who screamed in delight as I pushed her through. Tears flowed and she introduced me to her daughter as “a toy boy she had picked up on the flight”. There were hugs all round and dazed, I found myself being hugged by all manner of strangers.

The fact that you have to try to sleep in these awful seats can be a source of embarrassment too. The reason I choose an aisle seat is so that I can get up without disturbing anybody. Other people do not share this viewpoint though. I have been prodded, clambered over, shouted at and fallen upon. Its worse when you have children next to you because they insist on getting up at every opportunity. Even when you are sitting next to a nice young lady, it can be awkward. On an earlier trip to South Africa I awoke to find myself staring at a rather attractive young lady who was fast asleep and whose face was literally three inches away from mine. Thankfully she didn’t wake up herself.

One of the major irritations is the fact that you cannot sleep unless you are extremely tired. There is no room for legs if you are as tall as I am. I cannot lie on my side because I end up smashing my knees on the seat in front or one of the arm rests and I can’t stretch my legs into the aisle because people kick me, stamp on my feet or trip over them. The noise of the aircraft is intrusive. Being a light sleeper this causes me additional trauma and restrict my sleep even further. That said, there are those annoying people you see who can sleep anywhere and anytime. I’ve sat next to a man who started sleeping almost as soon as the aircraft took off and I swear he never woke up for twelve hours. He didn’t even move and spent the entire journey snoring softly. I envied him and wanted to wake him up out of pure envious vindictiveness.

So what was this latest flight like? Well I was sitting in the aisle seat next to two American teenagers whose parents had wisely chosen to sit on the row behind. The boy, about fourteen, would not shut up and even annoyed his sister, who was about sixteen. In the end, his father gave him a sleeping pill so I managed to have some peace. The person in front of me pushed her seat back to its limit, restricting my leg room to a bare minimum. I smashed my knees several times and was kicked by passers-by twice. But I did sleep, mainly thanks to a set of noise reduction headphones I bought for my mp3 player. I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies.