I’m not the best flyer in the world and especially now after I sat a twelve hour flight with a turd in me boxers after hitting “slight turbulence” on the way home from Florida. But I do fly regardless and I must say I don’t look forward to it and most of the time I would sooner staple my ass cheeks to a Dodge Viper. I don’t wanna know what I’m eating on the flight, nor drinking, watching, sitting and shit. I don’t care about duty free, reclining seats, bargains or what the in-flight movie is. All I wanna know is three things…

1. Will the plane take off?

2. Will the plane stay in the air?

3. Will we land where they said we will land?

The language they use is surreptitiously patronizing too, planes are never late… they are delayed! Why can’t they just be honest and say “sorry guys, but the plane is late… so please feel free to sleep on the shite metal seats in the waiting area… oh… and cheers for your cash!” Another poor choice of wording is “terminal” Now my ass already drinks the toilet water at the mere thought of flying, so why use the word terminal… why not area? District? Zone? Or even Sector… Terminal for fucks sake… cancer is terminal, AIDS is terminal, watching Richard and Judy is terminal… flying off on holiday shouldn’t be!

Why do they always tell you what could go wrong once your strapped in and squashed next to the window by a forty stone dinner lady? They never say a goosing word when your buying your ticket, they wait until your strapped in then they talk about the possible “emergencies” you could suffer. Now when I’m on a plane the word “emergency” is a tad flippant to me… CRASH!… is a much better word as I should imagine if there were an emergency it world last all of about three seconds, as I should suspect that’s how long it takes for 350 tons of metal to drop out of the sky.

“If we put down on water…” they say as they show us how to use a sodding life jacket. “put down” again replaces the word crash deviously and pointlessly. You “put down” a cup of coffee, you “put down” a television remote… you can’t put down a sodding Boeing 747! If you try and put down a bloody plane from 5000 feet the fucking thing will bury itself into the ground quicker than an Beaver with a rocket strapped to it’s scrotum.

The flight safety card makes me laugh too and for those who aint seen one I’ve supplied one for ya to laugh at. Now you’ll notice that the crap pilot has managed to “put down” on the nicest and flattest piece of the brightest blue ocean that exists anywhere in the world. Have you noticed how the 350 ton plane floats effortlessly on the surface? I don’t need to say anything like for that… if the missus can sink a metro in a lake then that fucking pilot cant keep a Boeing 747 afloat in the Indian Ocean. There is one thing missing on that flight card… little black fins!

If you land in the middle of the ocean after a crash, there’s gonna be people covered in shit, sweat, tears and more importantly BLOOD! If you get on a plane and the flight card has fins on it then chances are I was there long before you! But have no fear… if you do crash in the ocean your life jacket has… wait for it… a WHISTLE! Praise the lord Jesus fucking Christ I’m so glad, a whistle to blow while surrounded by three hundred screaming and crying surviving passengers, four hundred sharks with more teeth than the entire Brady Bunch and waves a mile high capable of flattening buildings… but don’t fear… you have a whistle.

The one thing that survives a crash is the black box… it’s bomb proof, fire proof, water proof and pretty much everything proof… so why don’t they put some fucking wings on it and let us sit in the bloody thing!

Up until a year ago I had always wondered what the American dream was all about, everyone goes on about it like it’s one of life’s little awards to be American and all that and I just got curious. One breezy cold summers day me and Sarah, along with a few of her family actually went to Florida which had me more excited than an Essex girl at cock sale because the furthest I’ve ever been was Spain, so jetting to the other side of the world was a new experience and we were determined to enjoy it.

So there we are sitting down waiting for 600 tonnes of metal to magically float into the air with us strapped securely inside, Sarah buzzing off her tits and my sphincter gasping at for air and trying to chew it’s way through my boxers. The captain reassuring us in his own friendly way that we are only going to be in the air for twelve hours, 12 FUCKING HOURS! It takes a second for a nut to fall out or a wire to short itself out and my mind is going overtime. I sat there and worked out my chances of survival before we had even taken off and I was shitting it to say the least, I worked out that we would be in the air 43,200 seconds with each approaching second having the possibility of death tagged to my toe… I was bricking it big time.

We eventually crawled into Philadelphia as promised twelve hours later and I was a tad confused. I was always shit at geography but even I knew Philadelphia sounds nothing like Florida, so I asked the missus and she cheerfully told me that we had to get on another plane from Philadelphia to Florida… ANOTHER FOUR HOURS!

So there we are walking around Philadelphia while we waited for the next flight in an Airport that looked exactly the same as the one we left twelve hours ago, so we decided to pop outside for a smoke. We found the exit and stepped into a whole new world and fuck me the heat hit us like brick wall. Now this is going to sound incredibly stupid but the thing that shocked us the most is that how “American” the place is, yes I know it’s America but I wasn’t actually expecting it to be exactly how it is on TV for some bizarre reason.

Me and Sarah just gazed around us in a sweltering heat that had no sun, yet strangely the sky was littered with thick black thunder clouds. It looked like a winter in England but felt like one of our hottest summers. We chugged away at our fags as yellow cabs sped past, movie sounding police sirens echoed in the distance and armed police nodded at us as they walked past. It was a totally surreal experience and it was definitely a whole new world, but inevitably it was time to jump back on the wings of death for another four hours of total shit your pants flying and I weren’t looking forward to it in the slightest.

14,400 more seconds of potential death awaited me and I was pissed big time, not only that but nobody told me that the flying bucket of bolts had a light on the bottom… as we started to fly through the fucking Florida storm complete lightning bolts cracking off left right and center, the lights on plane lit up the clouds we were flying through and thought we were on fire.

"It's okay, it's Florida's Monsoon season" I heard someone say cheerfully, how the hell was that supposed to cheer me up. If by some chance of a miracle we did survive we will then have to spend the next two weeks dodging hurricanes, flying cows and ending up under a house in Oz.

Eventually we landed and after fighting our way through the barricade of questions and eight foot tall armed police guarding customs we ventured on to the streets of Florida… at 3am in the morning!

Things from this moment on just got stranger... I'll continue this post very soon...