Thursday, 16 April 2009

Really high

I flew to New York over the Easter weekend. It was lovely, but I won't bang on about the exceptional time I had in the Big Apple. Instead, I'd like to discuss the matter of flying.

Now, on the way from Heathrow to JFK, I had the choice of about thirty films to watch on my own little screen. I watched three movies in total. One was an Oscar winner, one was a mildly humorous buddy movie, the other I can't remember. Oh, wait, it was the first half of a movie I'd read the book of. I love movies, so this whole setup was a dream. Furthermore, there were quizzes, games, great TV programs to watch and recent albums to listen to, all at the press of a button. Entertainment-wise, I was the equivalent of a christmas turkey. I was being fattened up on entertainment until I was a wobbly, entertained mass, ripe for the digital oven.

But it didn't end there. Within an hour of taking off, I was given a warm ham, cheese and egg wrap to shove in my gob, complete with refreshing beverage. I like ham, I like cheese, I'm a fan of warmth and I even like eggs. It was like a perfect welcome in a floury tortilla.

I barely had time to digest my last meal, when the main course arrived. Pasta, bread, cheese, crackers, chocolate. All served with a cool beer. Was this some kind of sick joke? I was being treated like a king! Food on tap, free beer at the click of my fingers, moviefilms being beamed directly into my eyeballs and some kind of special, not altogether comfy chair. I felt like an over indulgent Stephen Hawking.

More beer soon followed, and all I had to do was ask politely! In fact, I probably could have asked slightly impolitely and I'd still have got it! Crazy fools! I was even given a choc-ice before the flight was through! I didn't even know they still existed.

Before I knew it, I was in New York, fully fed, suitably quenched and utterly entertained. Planes eh?! Faaantastic!

Well, that is, they would be if they weren't essentially a hollow tube of steel, hurtling through the air at hundreds of miles an hour, thousands of feet off the ground, with my squashy pink body rattling around inside it. And in that respect, they're immeasurably fucking horrible. Can't win 'em all I guess.

Monday, 6 April 2009

Man's best friend

Dogs rule. I'm pretty sure that's just a fact. I've done extensive research into it, made pie charts, produced Power Point presentations and drawn pictures with a pencil. All the results said "Yes". That's as conclusive as it gets in my book.

You really can't beat chilling out with a dog. They're always around for a bit of companionship, they're always happy to see you (and not just because they're hungry), they scare off intruders and they're just really bloody great.

Admittedly, little rat dogs like chihuahuas are rubbish. If you want something that small and pointless, buy a guinea pig. At least guinea pigs don't look like their eyes are about to do a runner.

And don't get me started on cats. I'll be honest, I've not taken the time to meet every cat in the world, but those that I have met have all been sly little buggers with three things on their mind: 1) food, 2) scratching something/one, and 3) more food or I'm fucking out of here. Seriously. Spiteful, selfish little buggers. There's a reason they're always mean in Disney films. Big Walt knows his shit.

I've just spent much of this evening hanging out with a Great Dane called Megan. Lovely, well-behaved, gentle animal, despite being 6ft tall on her hind legs and probably capable of destroying and small town if she wanted to. Just a smashing young lady.

Yeah, I'm a dog person. It's official.

++Update++ I forgot, I do actually know one nice cat. Misty. Seems remarkably docile and even owns a cocktail bar in Hove.