I'm still not cured of the singularly irritable mood which comes over me- like a miniature cumulonimbus trailing its leaky way above my head- as soon as I step under the 'Departures' (or 'odloty') sign.
This time it hit me in Edinburgh, as I was queueing to go through security. Just seconds before, I had been calmly listening to some soothing Harry Belafonte and slouching towards the x-ray machines (with just the tiniest of hip wiggles).
- Belt please. And the scarf. And the jacket.
And suddenly I was fighting the urge simply to keep going: to continue beyond the boots and the hair clasp and the cardigan, casting off the shackles of passive decency to march triumphantly and pinkly through the security arch as naked as a hippy commune, all the way to the appalled front page of the Scotsman on Sunday.
Fortunately, my middle class inhibitions remain too deeply ingrained.
Speaking of cumulonimbi, I became far more closely acquainted with one than was really necessary whilst on the final leg of my journey between Frankfurt and Katowice. Now I'm no physicist: I have absolutely no idea how all those tons of metal get into the air, and I certainly have no desire to think about what makes them stay there. So when I'm sitting in a window seat and they judder right into the midst of an electrical storm, it makes me just a little nervous. Worse still, there was a worried-looking little girl sitting next to me, so I had to maintain a calm and normal demeanor, even though inside I was about as tranquil as a screaming flock of headless chickens.
When the drinks trolley came around, I asked for red wine, trying to hide the note of desperation.
- How old are you? asked our teenaged stewardess.
There were fireworks, chorus girls and marching bands celebrating in my head. I am twenty six years old.
Somewhere in an attic there'll be a portrait of me which looks dreadful...
In Scotland, the BF and I decided to go our separate ways.
Being a True Gentleman, he let me keep the sweater.
Thank you and I'm sorry for this.
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