The final few passengers straggled aboard and a sulky, petulant-looking BA steward, his orange face creased with sleep, passed through economy slamming up the overhead lockers. Though trained to be cheerful, democratic and polite, tonight, at least, none of these crowd-pleasing attributes came naturally to him. The rictus grin said: Economy, I despise you all.
I had a row of seats to myself and fervently hoped this state of affairs would prevail. The last to board was a young couple burdened with hand luggage and a sleepy child each. Mum and the kids arranged themselves in the row in front of me, while Dad, a huge blond-haired man, squeezed himself into the end seat of my empty row, from where he leaned forward and continued to direct, encourage and make suggestions to his wife and kids. Damn and blast the man. I’d lost my bed for the night.
Then the dad leaned across as far as flesh and furniture would allow, and grinned and grasped my hand with a frankness that made me like him immediately.
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