So it doesn't just happen to BA, then?

Hmmm, curiouser and curiouser, this... BA are not the only flight company to experience TV sets buggering-up mid-flight. I am truly starting to believe in evil pixies, because my return journey (chez Cathay Pacific) was also disrupted by mass in-flight entertainment malfunction. It's either evil pixies, or I'm a bad omen. Quick, someone! Check my head for triple sixes!

Anyhoo, I had prepared for this by buying 3 books at Heathrow. I read fast. Un-feasibly fast. In that really annoying - "I can't believe you read War and Peace in half a day" type of fast... Although I've never actually tried War and Peace, it has to be confessed. Mainly because it sounds incredibly dull. War - wohooo... guns, death, tragedy, and Peace - boring, vaguely nice stuff happens. I assume. I could be a real classic. I even bought a cheapo penquin classic version of it from a discount bookstore. I just haven't read it. Maybe I will one day, and be pleasantly surprised.

I once tried reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but it was incredibly well over-written. A whole page devoted to just describing a corridor. Bloody hell - how interesting can a tunnel actually be? I know I'm verbose at the best of times, and I DO love to use at least 195 words when a mere one would suffice, but really....? I found myself a-skipping great chunks of prose and getting the gist of the story by flicking hither and tither. It made almost sense in the end, and watching the movies was great fun, because I got those lightbulb moments every once in a while - where my brain would zing - and I'd think "Oh that's where.....comes from!" PING! Characters would suddenly seem more character-y, and in place with the whole thing.

Anyway, as it happens, if I'm into a book then I'll read incredibly quickly. I positively DEVOUR delightful books in 4-8 hours. I can't help it. If I start reading, and I love what I'm reading, then I'll consume the pages like a great fire...and be un-quenchable in my thirst for more words. It's the only time you can shut me up, quite frankly. I've been known to read-walk, too. It's a great skill, which requires an ability to be aware of one's peripheral environment, and be concious of the potential dangers ahead. Unfortunately, it isn't a transferable skill, because I'm a shockingly bad driver (especially with spatial awareness and parking). I've never even once attempted to parallel park since the day I (successfully!) sat my test.

So, back to Cathay Pacific. They also couldn't fix the problem mid-flight. Again, a terrible shame... I was soooo looking forward to seeing the uber-camp air steward's orange cheeks draining of colour as he wing-walked, trussed up in a Heath Robinsonesque harnessy thingymabob. In the end, I read Stephen Fry's autobiography in about 5 hours, and decided to get some sleep for the remainder of the flight.

After finding several positions deeply unsuitable, I eventually pissed-off the man sharing the FOUR seats we had to ourselves so much, that he moved to the floor! To be fair, he had originally moved from another seat to sit in MY ROW... so he was technically stealing MY SEATS. And he DID say he preferred the floor. He was some mountain-rescuer RAF guy who's probably used to mere bracken for bedding, so I didn't feel too guilty. At some point in the night I progressed from stage A) Squeezing my head and upper body, down to the knees, into 2 seats lengthways... to stage B) Commanding the whole four seats in snore-inducingly bed-hogger fashion.

Unfortunately, during stage A, just my knees were bent over the seat arm... but that put terrible pressure on my intestinal tract. The result - thanks to a pre-existing dose of FIW - was several loud but unavoidable farts. Thinking about it, that may have been the reason RAF man moved to the floor... to avoid my gaseous outbursts.

Nevertheless, in pure brazen-farter style, I carried on pretending/attempting to sleep. The darkness hid my blushes (the few I had). Plus, my noxious contributions to the pathetic air con system had the fortuitous effect of getting rid of a trio of over-animated Italians who were having a typically Italian (i.e. LOUD, HEATED, NOISY, HAND-WAVINGINGLY EMOTIONAL) conversation NEXT TO my HEAD.

At some point I must have fell into a deep sleep, and I awoke to find RAF guy occupying a seat, and myself stretched lazily on the other three seats. Unfortunately, he woke me up to tell me breakfast was being served, which turned out to be seafood congee. To the uninitiated it sounds almost to delightful, exotic, even... but I personally have a more refined palate. OK, I'm fussy, if truth be told. Anyhoo, as far as I can ascertain, seafood congee is the bastard spawn of mushy rice pudding and fish. EVIL incarnate. It looks like the runny, lumpy spew of an infant child, and smells equally unappetising.

Nonetheless, it's allegedly a real delicacy, and can be found all over Hong Kong. Y'know, I have no doubt in my mind it IS a delicacy, as is sushi and dim sum when prepared well and eaten by someone who appreciates it. But for me, like dim sum and sushi, it is unthinkably popular, especially when you consider that it's just soupy ricey stuff. Yuk. Slimey rice. You are perfectly welcome to believe otherwise, of course.

On the other hand (watch out...rant emerging..) I have equally no doubt that those bourgeoisie westerners who frequent Selfridges and other pseudo-cool department store food courts are willing to consume the plagiarised, bastardized, half-arsed, over-hyped, over-priced crappy supermarket versions because they thinks it's going to revolutionise their eating habits and make them look cosmopolitan. Take that weasel-faced 'Dr' Gillian McKeith and her damn quinoa, and those ridiculous magazine diets that suggest you eat everything with chopsticks so that you take smaller mouthfuls (what? even soup?) and therefore eat less. Or the Atkins diet (he died of a heart-attack, y'know. Even skinny people can be fatty inside). Or cabbage soup. Yuk. Farts and hunger pangs... I like my intestinal wind to have some fat to rumble around in, not the cavernous echo of an empty belly. It's not cool. The whole idea is so uncool it's almost at global warming temperature...It's faddy, and contradictory, and IT IS UTTER BOLLOCKS.

To be fair, it IS cool to eat it if you like it. It's especially cool to eat it if you want to try it. It's also cool to NOT eat it if you don't like it. But what's very uncool is to eat it, EVEN IF you DON'T like it, because you think the Joneses next door will think you are decidedly very NOT COOL if you don't. The same applies to everything in life.

Why? Because life's too short to read a book twice, it's too short to endure music you hate, and it's most definitely too short to eat stuff you don't like. Go out and taste the boundless opportunities that are on offer. If it doesn't suit your taste, then go for something else, because for every fruit you try that is bitter, or boring, there is a most delicious and satisfyingly juicy counterpart to tempt you.

Just don't think you have to do it just because someone else is doing it.