Apart From The Drama How Was The Flight?

Hello. So here I am, basking in the heat and warmth of Singapura, as Java calls it, chilling, relaxing, eating and drinking.

The flight over, my third in the new A380, was performed with the Singapore Airlines calmness, serenity and quiet efficiency that I am rapidly becoming seriously accustomed to. There's something pleasantly effortless about the way an SQ flight operates, as if it's a gentle river flowing steadily downhill. Everything slots into place nicely and one thing smoothly follows another.

This flight was late taking off, something that anyone who flies Sri Lankan Airlines regularly will be used to, but the tannoy announcement while we were all sitting at the gate raised some eyebrows, four to be honest, those of the woman sitting opposite me and my own black rather nicely formed ones. It went like this:

"Blah blah blah we are sorry for the late departure of this aircraft, this is due to the late arrival of the cabin crew".

Then, they said it again. It was a clear statement of responsibility, of almost shaming the crew to their customers. I could imagine some poor steward rushing out of the hotel while hurriedly doing up his trousers, probably with toilet paper dangling, all because his alarm hadn't gone off at the right time. The result was that he brought shame on all his colleagues, probably to their families and friend as well. Mass suicides and lifetimes of dishonour would no doubt ensue.

At least I think that's what me and the woman opposite were thinking and that's why we looked at each other and did a raised eyebrow thing. Well, that's what I thought, she may well have been flirting with me, I wouldn't know really, I'm crap with all that stuff.

The smoothness of the flight was jolted ever so slightly by two of those calls over the aircraft's PA for a Doctor. I've only ever seen this happen once before in my life, when I was with Academic Bro, so twice on one flight was exciting.

The first time (on Friday's flight) was because some young fat Aussie woman about four seats in front of me had managed to pass out briefly as she was walking to the toilet. All evidence was that she was fine so I feel justified in writing about it in mocking tones. I didn't see her fall but I saw the scene a little while afterwards. There were some people huddled around her and she was loudly trying to convince everyone that she was fine.

I'm no Doctor but my Mum is and Academic Bro is, though he's a Dr of Geography or something, but I feel that I was qualified enough to know that Oz bird was okay. She was too loud to be ill. The aircrew felt differently and put out the call for a Doctor. I assumed they found one but lost interest and went back to my iPod and the Pendulum album I've been listening to.

You can imagine my surprise then when, about two hours later, they put out another call for a Doctor. I thought it was a bit strange. Wasn't the previous one good enough? Did the patient die so they figure they better use a different fellow for the next emergency? Did the first Doctor say that he'd only do one emergency? Or what? Then, in slightly tangential mode, what would happen on a plane if they can't find a Doctor? Maybe they lower their expectations and ask for a vet, perhaps if there's no vet they go for a mechanic. The possibilities are baffling.

Then, about fifteen minutes later the call for a medical person was repeated, with another surprising twist. This time they said:

"If there's a Doctor on board please come forward, there's a sick passenger" none of that was surprising, the next bit was

"In seat 55c."

A whole planeload of passengers subtly did what I did; turned as if I was casually stretching to see what, or who, was going on in seat 55c. If I was a Doctor I would have done the sensible thing, checked out the occupant to see if they were good looking enough to warrant treatment from me. If I was a smart member of the cabin crew I would have chosen a particularly good looking seat occupant to use their seat number just to find a Doctor. Then I would have grabbed the Doctor and sent them over to the ugly sweaty bloke having a loud heart attack in the corner.

As it happened I couldn't quite see the poorly occupant of seat 55c. I imagine he or she was focussing on dying / throwing up / fainting and a bit pissed off about all the people suddenly turning around and staring at them. I left them to it and settled back into my seat.

The rest of the flight was uneventful. I read some masculine literature, not even porn. I bought a particularly testosterone filled book at the airport, all about some kind of super hero called Jack Reacher. This book, evidently one of a series, probably won't be up for a Man Booker prize, but really should be up for a Man prize. Our hero, a fellow called Jack Reacher is about fifteen times as hard as James Bond, Indiana Jones and that Bourne fellow put together. On top of that he's got the intelligence of a Nobel prize winning scientist and the woman pulling abilities of Joey from Friends.

I suppose it's fair to say I see something of myself in him, but I don't want to brag. Anyway, the book's crap but more addictive than nicotine, betel and a few string hoppers all mixed together.

The plane landed, I strolled out into the Singapore heat and will tell you more later....