Tommorow I leave for Berlin. The flight is at 5 am and I need to get up at 3:30 in the morning. It is a well known fact that people who get up early in the morning cause war, death and famine. (Banksy wisdom, you can't beat it) And look at me now.
I'm wasted. It's already past 10 oclock and, although I got a pre-emptive 12 hours of sleep last night, I fear I may be completely and utterly doomed for Berlin. This probably wouldn't be such a big deal for anyone else. But those who know me at all know that without sleep, people on crack will make more sense than me. I could go on.
Also, I fear the plane may crash.
Yes, crash. Not a big crash, not with fire and flailing about, but a small one.
With a slight 'poof' to mark the end.
The kind of crash that has you staring widely into the void beneath you, 40,000 feet in the air, with nothing but the words "I fucking knew it" at your disposal.
I say all this because apart from suspecting the plane will crash, I also suspect it will be quite small. The kind of plane that I've come to know is usually piloted by some pinheaded idiot with enough sexual tension to depress a Guatemalan howler monkey.
And a license to fly to go with it.
This opinion is largely due to the fact that the plane that brought me from England to France suffered a similarily gimped pilot. And a similar size.
Alas, the biased opinion.
Anyhow, tommorow proves to be an exciting one indeed. What with the sleep deprived pilot, my sure-to-be halluciogenic state of mind, the possibly drug induced stupor of Zak and his notorious jet lag pills and the relative discomfort of everyone and everything around me.
But I think you get the idea.
Until next time,
JF
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