They caught my attention immediately. Probably aided by the fact that I was watching everyone with the eye of a bored bloke who might then write about them with the hope that a load of strangers will read his words. But that's not important.
They were two adults and a child, white and walking with an unusual combination of style and humility. The entered the lounge and sat a few seats away from me. They were cumulatively trendy without the look being over the top.
He wore all black, jeans and a shirt thing with white Converse style trainers, but they weren't Converse, they were even trendier.
She wore blue jeans, slightly faded, with a white top and white Converse hi tops. She had blonde hair and looked a bit like Keira Knightley with more curves and a few more years. I tried not to drool. It was hard enough to concentrate on staring.
I reckon they were in their early thirties.
The child; a boy I believe the species was, looked about three years old, maybe ten, I'm never sure with kids' ages. The thing was dressed casually yet clearly with clothes chosen by its style conscious 'rents. Little jeans and a child's pair of Vans trainers, I kid you not.
What struck me about this family were several things. First was that they looked comfortable and relaxed. They were definitely tourists. They wore good looking clothes but they didn't look as if they were trying too hard. From the way I've described them above you've possibly got the impression that they looked like a trio of white trashy clothes horses strutting around arrogantly.
They didn't at all. Each of them showed the way to wear good looking and a la mode clothing, though I'm certain the child didn't have much choice in the matter. They appeared so relaxed and normal, as if they'd thrown on the first items of clothing they could find that day.
The second thing was that they just couldn't have been British, which kind of saddened me. Generally I like the sense of style that many more fashion conscious Brits demonstrate, even somewhat optimistically counting myself as one. But the sad fact is that the average holiday making young family age Brit in Sri Lanka is the sort who looks to the Rooneys as role models.
No, they had to be Scandinavian, or maybe even worse. Maybe they were Italian.
I continued my observations until we boarded the plane.
I liked them even more at this point. You know when they ask for old people, those with special needs and people with young children to board first? And there's always an old person or two in a wheelchair, some families with young kids and a few Sri Lankans who have pretended not to hear or who have attempted to pass off their thirty something year old civil engineer son as a small child.
Well this couple, I'll have to come up with a name for them, didn't attempt to board, despite the clear and indisputable evidence of a young child. I liked that. Unless it was because they didn't understand the English.
At some point I strolled away to board the majestic ship of the skies that is a SriLankan Airlines Airbus A340. I took my seat, a window one, and looked to my left at the centre aisle next to me. Can you guess who was sitting there? Yes, you've got it in one. It was the four members of Abba, without their manager Stig Anderson, who sadly died of course in 1997.
I jest. It wasn't Abba, but it was them, the sexy Scandinavian family, possibly Italian.
On my left, on the other side of the aisle, was Mr Style, to the other side of him were his wife and child. (assumptions I know, but probably reasonable ones) In the name of science I continued my observing.
He wore black horn rimmed glasses, though I couldn't tell if they had real or clear lenses. On his left wrist was a black leather bracelet with a silver fastening device. He wore a wedding ring and a chunky silver ring on his right hand. He had no watch, a fact I found interesting. Other than that I paid scant attention. Ah yes, his footwear was these beauties. I suppose I'll have to get some now.
I heard snippets of their conversation. It provided me with the biggest sense of loss, of disappointment nay, that I've experienced in a long time, possibly since England got their arses well and truly kicked into oblivion by Germany in the last world cup.
They weren't Scandinavian. They were only FRENCH!!! Would you believe it? The most stylish couple in the world are French. Even now, as I type this from the sanctity of my desk a week or so after the event, it makes me reel a little.
The flight passed and I slept, ate, listened to some music and read some words on the Kindle. all while keeping my beedy eye on the glamorous trio. The wife and child were on the far side so I only saw them sporadically. But this child, it has to be said, was so well behaved that it was untrue.
There wasn't a single tantrum, not even a cry for the whole trip. He played with a toy truck at one point. I was impressed, it was a trailer thing that I would have liked to look at in more detail but I didn't want to intrude. He watched some DVDs on a portable player and generally gave the impression of a cool kid.
At one point the woman took off her Converse Hi tops to sleep. I must admit that I was a tad disappointed in her choice of sock; it was something decidedly normal, but she may not have realised the level of scrutiny she'd be under at the time of choosing. Often there's a logical explanation for these mistakes.
Me and the chap exchanged a few smiles and pleasantries on the flight. I'm fundamentally against striking up conversations on long flights with strangers for fear of ending up with one's very own in flight stalker, but I was so taken that I nearly made an exception for him.
After we'd landed, when we were queuing in the passport control area I had a brief word, complimenting them on the behaviour of their son. They seemed touched by my words and genuinely pleasant.
Fucking cool bastards.
Sexy fucking lounge lizard cool bastards.