Business class to Heathrow this morning. Mmmm… Lovely, lovely business class. Doesn’t happen often, so I have to enjoy it while I can. BMI – gotta love ‘em. Perfect seat for getting some writing done: left hand side of the plane - where there’s only two seats instead of the usual three, so you get an extra wide armrest space in which you can deposit your laptop bag and complementary breakfast box of goodies – and no one sitting in the other seat! Wheeee. Perfect. Get the laptop out and write away at 30,000 feet, free from prying eyes. What could be better?
Only the captain man says on takeoff that there’s loads of lumpy air and he won’t be switching off the seatbelt sign until well past Edinburgh. Which means portable electronic equipment must remain switched off until that point. Which means no writing. Grrrrr… And to add insult to injury the air between Aberdeen and Edinburgh was about as lumpy as a super model’s chest. You could have ironed on it. So it was just a bit of thinking and planning, rather than the full-blown writefest I was looking forward to.
And I’m flying back steerage, so there’s little chance of getting anything done tomorrow on the plane home. AND we’re having project Christmas drinks this evening straight after work. So no writing tonight either.
Phil still thinks I can get book 2 finished by Christmas, but I’m beginning to think he’s wearing some pretty rosy-tinted eyewear. But you never know, I might just pull the weasel out of the sock yet.(fingers crossed and all that)
Labels: Dying Light