Friday, July 17, 2009

The journey through the skies

I have been propelled through the sky in a tube full of strangers. Arriving,dazed and blurry in Singapore's Changi airport, I went to sleep (at last) on a small square of carpet in between a post and a window. An hour of slumber, much more walking around. Through security ( no water on the other side). More carpet. Live news on the big screen in the passenger lounge(why do they call them that? Lounge suggests an unlikely level of relaxation. We looked more like a room full of zombies on the way home from holidays. "zombie air: the party never stops!")

Heathrow was only 12 1/2 hours away. I have a great deal of difficulty sleeping on long-haul flights, so I settled in for a movie marathon. I flew singapore airlines and chose to manage my journey with the following:

Elizabeth: the Golden age
The Departed
Gran Torino
The Wrestler
17 Again
The Great Buck Howard
Oceans Thirteen
Paul Blart: Mall Cop
Minority Report
National Treasure: Book of Secrets

I don't think my life will ever be the same. In the fugue of exhaustion, close-quarter sauirming and random meal times that passes for the luxury of modern air travel, this vast array of cinematic excreta began to meld together (into one big excretum?). I think I remember Cate Blanchett and her massive hair enter the ring to wrestle Mickey Rourke for his big comeback. Tom Cruise drove quickly through several time periods I. Pursuit of Clint Eastwood for crimes against demeanour. John Malkovich loved his car.he could control minds but not his temper and knew about a secret book hidden in a compartment inside Nicholas Cage. Smart people in suits didn't carry anything ad they sauntered about their business. Then they ran a lot. And hey knew things that their less-well-dressed acquaintances would guess at all too late.

I wanted to wake from my flickering catatonia and warn them. "Hitler isn't dead! He's gone back to school as his former self to learn the healing power of love and basketball" he wil. Ride a Segway and rescue his daughter who's bee stolen by Franco-German Albanian Arabs. The credits brought me back to the plastic world around me. My neck hurt.

I checked the clock. 6 hours to go.

Heathrow. Travelodge and a big bed with my name on it await me.

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