Last week I was lucky as fuck enough to fly to Australia BUSINESS CLASS. The downside of this is that I’m ruined for life now.
I live in London and my father has lived in Australia for some 20 years, so I’ve spent a lot of time on very, very long-haul flights. It’s far from pleasant, of course, being strapped into an upright chair squidged next to strangers and screaming infants for 24 hours but obviously these are first world problems.
I’ve developed a formula, and coping mechanisms, and mainly it all revolves around drinking heavily and knocking myself out with sleeping tablets until it’s all over – somehow managing to keep it together during the layover – before emerging, Gollum-like, on the other end.
It’s all fucked now that I have experienced what it’s like to fly from London to Australia…
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