Diary of a Longhaul Stewardess
I’m having a bit of a wicker moment. A wicker plate fetish to be precise. I went to the market in Nairobi with Caroline, another stewardess on the flight. Yes, I know I keep throwing names at you but that’s what’s it’s like. You go to work and have to learn the names of a whole new set of work colleagues every time. Most of them I’ll never see again in my life which is really weird as they share the most intimate details of their lives with you because of this reason. Think hairdresser's chair for confessions and quadruple it. You passengers may think we’re just polishing the counters when we’re in those galleys but really we’re divulging our inner most secrets and we’ve only just been introduced. Caroline's secret is that she's married but has been having an affair with a steward for two years now. I asked her why she didn't just leave her husband but she replied that this way of doing it was much more exciting. See, everyone's at it. It was only the first sector out of Heathrow and I found out her lover is meeting her when we get home from this trip and they're off to Paris for two nights of passion. She's lied to her husband about when she gets home!
I don’t mind Nairobi. A lot of crew don’t like it because the expenses are poor but it’s lovely to have a bit of heat coursing through my bones. So, we’re at the market and I see all this wicker work. Like knitwear, I love wicker work so I bought masses of wicker plates. Ok, I know you’re going to ask…what the hell? But I reasoned they would be very useful to put a paper plate on when I have all those summer BBQ’s. Feminine logic at it’s best, eh?
I need to make plans. All this renting is just wasted money and the whole man thing is so unreliable. How do I know I’ll ever meet anyone and settle down? Now Matt is off the scene with no sign of a replacement it doesn’t look as though I’m going to be able to rely on the ‘girl meets prince and lives happily ever after’ scenario. I don’t want it just yet but it would be nice to know it’s hovering in the future somewhere. SJ texted to say she’s thinking of getting back together with that bastard who dumped her not long ago, Sam’s still working on her boss and Debbie, well you know about her. So as I’m going to be the lonely old maid with only my cats for company I’d better make sure I’m one who lives in comfort. I must save for the future. I like to think I’ll have my own place one day and be able to entertain like the Queen. Okay I know she probably doesn’t serve the cucumber sarnies at her garden parties on paper plates encased in wicker work from the market in Nairobi, but I can dream. In the meantime they will be essential for a house warming party. Saving is so boring – it was only twenty plates, not so bad surely? If I have more than 20 guests I'll just ask them to share.
When I got back to the hotel I had to squash and squeeze, eventually sitting on my suitcase, to fit them in – it was just at the moment of trapping my finger in the side of the case whilst questioning my rash decision to buy them in the first place that my phone pinged with a text. Ed! Maybe I won’t have to be an old maid after all?