Saved by the Queen

The Ryanair flight back from Manchester from Dublin should have been straight forward. After a three day break in the Lake District with my old friend Lucy, we boarded the flight. Lucy had not flown for ten years because she has a fear of flying. More specifically, of the actual take off.

We shuffled onto the blue and yellow plane and found the only seats available for us. They were on the wing of the aircraft. Lucy began to panic, "Isn't this the most dangerous place to sit?" she asked the slick young Italian air steward. "I do not know about that" "But you must know!" "I do not know about that" "But you are the air steward!" "I don't know about that. Sit down please".  We sat down. I did up her buckle and slipped a sedative into her mouth. She was dribbling with fear before the pilot had even started the engine. 

That was until a few moments later, a young man sat down in the seat the other side of me. He was agitated. Sweaty. Wringing his hands together and playing with the gold Claddagh ring on his middle finger. I looked at Lucy to my left, eyes wide open. Fixed on the emergency escape plan clutched in her hands. She was slipping slowly into what could be mistaken for a catatonic state.  The drugs that her doctor had given her were working. I could relax. The flight attendants started to go through the emergency escape procedure.

Suddenly, I became aware of the guy to my left slowly rocking to and fro, head in hands. "Are you OK?" I asked him. "I hate this shit. Flying. I go feckin' bezerk when we land. Can't help it. Last time I did this, I swear feckin' cold air came in. Like there was a feckin' leak. The sides of the plane started splitting open as we came into land. That's what it looked like to me anyway. No-one else saw it. But I did. I hate the feckin' landing bit. I go a bit feckin' crazy, see?" I could see alright. It was a feckin' disaster. The poor man, a bar man from Dublin, was petrified.  

What should have been a simple 40 minute flight was turning into an episode of One Flew Over The Cuckoos nest. I had two of the most terrified people on the planet at that moment beside me. Lucy to my right frozen rigid at the thought of taking off and the young psychotic man to my left trembling with fear at the idea of  landing.

Lucy put the inflight magazine over her face as the plane prepared for take off. She did not inhale for a full five minutes. I did not attempt to move the magazine, there was a chance she'd lash out. As we crossed the Irish sea, it dawned on me that there would be a ten minute period when neither neighbour would be terrified. Somewhere between taking off and landing. Ceasing the opportunity, in a Dr Phil kind of way, half way into the short flight, I nudged them both and introduced them to each other. They chatted furiously about their fear of flying. "It's so real" "no-one else understands".  The conversation was interrupted by a Ryanair angel pushing a drinks trolley. 

The order went in. Two whiskies for the man to my left, a diet coke for me and a gin and tonic for Lucy. I opened the bottles for him and watched as he threw them both down his neck. Soon, the pilot announced that we were ten minutes away from landing. "Do you want one of her tablets?" I asked him, pointing at Lucy who standing up in her chair,  pointing at a man a few rows behind us and shouting out "Oh he's LOVELY. LOOK Annie. LOOK! Looks like Colin Farrell! Would you? Could you?" "Shhh. SIT DOWN" I hissed, grabbing her by her jumper, forcing her back into the chair and clicking her in. She had survived take off, now she was in a trance like euphoric state. Unlike the man to my left who was quivering and looking worryingly angry.

I had to distract him, all I knew about him was that he was a barman. "What's your favorite drink?" "Wha? Wha? Er, whiskey". "Have you ever served anyone famous?" "Wha?" "LOOK AT ME. CONCENTRATE. HAVE YOU SERVED ANYONE FAMOUS?" we could feel the plane getting lower. Every time there was a strange noise, he jumped up, terrified.  I repeated my question, "HAVE YOU SERVED ANYONE FAMOUS?" "What? Oh, I, uh" he was looking around with terror. "Bill Clinton. Bill Clinton! I served BILL CLINTON". Now he was getting really tense, other passengers turned to see what the fuss was about.

Even I was beginning to panic now. This stranger had warned me that he went 'bezerk' when the plane landed. I was the passenger sitting next to the crazy guy on the plane. I had to act fast, this man looked like he was about to kill someone. How could I calm him down? It had to be something that would shock him out of his fear. Fresh from the UK, where every single thing from teapots to slippers were covered in a Union Jack for the Queen's Jubilee, I was inspired by HRH. "LOOK INTO MY EYES! Have you ever served the Queen?" "Wha?" "THE QUEEN! Have you ever served the Queen of England?"

He looked nervously at the door to the cockpit. "Wha?" "THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND. ELIZABETH THE SECOND". Pulling at the gold gain around his neck he muttered, "NO! Can you feel cold air coming into the plane?" getting angry. "Did you see her on the TV?" "wha?"  "WHAT WAS SHE WEARING WHEN  SHE VISITED THE GUINNESS STOREHOUSE IN DUBLIN?" "Wha?" "WHAT COLOUR WAS HER DRESS?" "I can feel cold air. Theres a leak". I tool his face into my hands. "LOOK AT ME!" He tugged at the cross around his neck, trying to see past my face and out of the window. I blocked his view. "I dunno, green?" "NO, try again" "Red?" "No" "Grey?" "NO!""Feckin' PURPLE?" "NO!" "ORANGE?" "NO!" "FECKIN' WHITE?" "NO!" "BROWN?" NO!" "Feckin' black?" "NO!"

The plane was about to land. A loud bang and a bumpy noise and we hit tarmac.  He fell back into the chair, I let out a sigh. Lucy was almost asleep on the other side.  "What color was the feckin' dress anyways?" he asked as he got up to leave. The truth was that I didn't know, I didn't care. I was exhausted.  But as you can see here, if anyone asks you, you'll know it was feckin' blue.