‘Do we get food on the plane, babe?’
She’s no idea. We’re about to take the 3.5 hour arc from lanky Hong Kong to expensive Singapore where we’ll connect to Perth. Perth – btw – sounds like purse with a lisp.
As we bank all wibbly-wobbly over the wibbly-wobbly reservoirs descending into our destination, I reminisce over my earlier idiocy.
Of course we get no food with Scoot. I get no legroom. I cant even drop the table because my knobblers are too cramped. I can’t move to bigger leg room seats despite the fact there are six vacant. The rubber’s shredded on my hand-rest. The window blind is broken. The tissues have walked from the toilet. There’s no announcement when we reach cruise height. The in flight magazine sells 50p Nissin pot noodles. Media console? My arse. I’m surprised this air tube has got two wings.
Scoot. It’s not Emirates. But if you’re reading this, we’ve landed. Yep it got a little hairy up there-y in the air-y that one. Sweaty palms in seat 30F. Bring on Perth.
With all the swanky Cathay Pacifics and Etihads, Singapore Airlines with their proper uniforms and stalwarts like China Airways, we feel very much like the poor kid arriving at the school gate. Thank God for tigerair. If it wasn’t for tigerair we’d be the only airport hobos. Tigerair look really shit by the way.
‘Oh shit. Buckle up.’ Collette just informed me our connecting flight to Perth is Scoot ‘n’ all. ‘Streuth, Sheila.’
Perth, where kangaroos hang-around in symmetry at the cemetery. Where there’s urchins lurkin’. Where Denuardo wears a tuxedo t-shirt. Where cold has a hold on the motion of the ocean and cashed up bogans roam the train-o. Where I can’t seem to get the Manic Street Preachers out of my head. I want to fly and run ’til it hurts because of Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I think I have ADHD. If I could just get out of this bed. Tu ra lu ra tu ra lu ra yeeeeyyy. Come on Eileen. Young Vince is teaching me about Stealth Elf and the Skylanders and Roop is on with the house music.
‘Pete, do you like fun?’
Thanks for reading