"End of the World" is not a prophacy you want to see as you take your seat on a plane, but in headline form on the front of the Sunday Express it at least serves as a more welcome reminder. If ever there were a day to leave this country behind, the day after England crash out the World Cup is it; thus escaping the hyperbole and blame-mongering that will dominate the coming days' media.
My requested window seat is inevitably in the centre of the plane, but respite and space come my way as the oriental woman next to me switches to the vacant row in front once we're in the air. I steal her aisle seat, but my extra space joy is shortlived as a quick lesson in karma ends with the same oriental woman almost removing both my knees and nose in one fell swoop of her reclining chair.
When you're 6ft 3" like me, leg room is a premium for a seven hour flight. I expect a struggle to fit in my seat, in the same way I expect the plane to have two wings but then my discomfort is increased by looking at the seats which are blessed with leg room. Two rows in front of me are seven such seats; three of which are occupied by babies or toddlers. I don't pretend to know what the criteria are for being awarded these seats, but i would have liked to have thought having fully grown legs would have been on the list.
Space aside I think I like Air Canada. Maybe its the pilot's voice over the intercom; so relaxed I am imagining a cockpit with an open fire and rocking chairs. Or maybe it is the way the flight attendant attempts to fix the faulty projector by hitting it very hard with his fist... seeing me look at him he says "I just fixed the engines the same way". Worryingly I find it all too easy to believe.
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