Ten hours into the flight. I can see deep red on the horizon to the east.
For the last couple hours I’ve been sitting on the floor, with the laptop on the seat or tray table, depending on how I need to stretch my legs. The person sitting beside me probably thinks I’m nuts, but I can’t sit in a seat for 13 hours. It’s just impossible.
I did one very smart thing this trip: I brought my travel mug. This means the number of trips to the galley for coffee are cut in half, and if we hit choppy weather, I’m less likely to spill my drink. After a couple bad experiences having to sit for a couple hours on coffee I’d spilled, I’ve become very fastidious about my seat space. Nothing makes you pay attention to where your drinks are than having had to wear one across the Atlantic….
I could get used to this whose business class thing. Too bad I probably won’t have that chance.
[To the tune of Fleetwood Mac, “Big Love (Live ’97),” from the album “The Very Best of Fleetwood Mac“.]