On the plane on the way back I got so bored that I had a sneaky self-encounter.
According to Wikipedia, this means I have technically joined the Mile High Club but since I was alone and no-one else saw, I don't how much of an achievement this is?
I was sat right up at the front of the plane which means I wasn't sat next to anyone. It was at about 4am and we were over the Central African Republic or something. God, long-haul is so fucking tedious.
Still, it was a novel way to pass about 30 minutes. Yes, it took that long because you had to do a dry-run which meant simulating movements to make sure no-one else was likely to see. These manoeuvres include managing evidence and blanket jiggery tests.
Oh god, not that I'm embarrassed if anyone spotted me during my performance but imagine the shame of having other people think "poor dude, has to wank himself off because he has no-one else to do it for him."
And can I whinge? Thanks... Why is it that there are never fit guys who work on planes? The guy whose job it was to throw the food and warm towelettes at us was just so like they all are. Preened, slightly camp and hair like it's on purpose.
I want to get onto a plane and have some guy called Josh attend to me. Josh would have three-day stubble, a healthy tan with big rugged hairy arms and dressed in a shirt, unbuttoned to show off his ample pec definition.
At dinner time, when outlining the onboard choice, he would ask whether I wanted the chicken or beef. And as he said the word beef he would flex his massive bicep which would in-turn burst from and rip his shirt.
Not that big-hairy-masculine-muscle-bears are my thing but imagine this guy having to check that you're tightly fastened.
And just before taking-off and spending 12 hours in the air together he would lean over you and say "all of my equipment is in the upright position, I hope yours is too..."