Arlo’s Holiday Rant

And what’s wrong now? I’ll tell you what, apart from everything: people on planes. I don’t mean other planes, as in planes of existence, because I’m more than happy for them to occupy whatever construct they’ve constructed for themselves. It wouldn’t do for them to be taking up space on my fluffy cloud. I mean aeroplanes, where it’s difficult to avoid rubbing shoulders with people you would normally rather send into orbit in a shoddy spaceship fashioned from biscuit tins.

What is it with these imbeciles? And in particular, why? Why do they fight like land-based piranhas for a window seat and then spend the entire flight with the blind down? Why do they push and trample so rudely to be first, first, first when it makes not one jot of difference to their progress through the hideous halls of Hades? It’s a mystery to me, and Toyah … remember that one? It’s a mystery, oh it’s a mystery … which was always a bit of a mystery to me too until I realised just now that she was singing about air travel.

Anyway, not only are most of my fellow passengers far too fat to squeeze into the tiny little seats … they really should book two for themselves and their belligerent bottoms … but their choice of clothing for the trip is beyond comprehension. Do they usually dress is such a bizarre fashion? What is it with people going on holiday that makes them think they need a quasi-sporting get up? They clearly never take any exercise at any other point in their lives. Do they honestly believe that the confines of an aeroplane is an ideal environment in which to make a start on their fitness regime? Because what you do mostly on planes is sit down … so like the rest of their lives then. Mind you, having just experienced the vast reaches of Palma airport I’m surprised they make it through. It’s at least fifteen square miles big. But maybe they don’t make it at all. Maybe they’re still there, huffing and sweating and having to rest every thirty yards or so, despite their athletic attire. It must cut their holiday short by days … not that I care. The only downside of this for me is that I can’t enjoy the reduction in their numbers in Britain because I’m not here either.

Worst group of travellers ever: those bound for Alicante.

Best thing about going on holiday: the South West quadrant was still standing when I got back.