Tuesday, 10 March 2009

Flying Without Wings

Living in Portugal and not being a native means my family and friends remain in the UK. Which is a shame. That because:

  • I miss them
  • I love to spend time with them
  • That means flying
  • Which I hate ...

I was thinking about this (today) because I live underneath a flight path in Lisbon (who doesn't) and a plane just flew over, inbound. And in my opinion, it was too low. Way too low. Air traffic control would probably disagree with me because it was coming in to land and yes yes, the only way to land is to descend. But I'm sticking with me on this one. It was low flying.

I've devoted a great deal of time to try and deal with this little 'kink' in my character. I've read up on it, tried hynotherapy, homeopathy, availed myself of anything remotely relating to safety statistics yet inflight...I still shake so bad the damn Richter Scale registers me.

Everytime I fly, it's the same. I have lots of harsh words with myself - though I know I'm not really listening ... Then, once at the airport, I start paddling. Like a duck. Calm on the surface. Underneath ... jet propelled chaos (no pun intended). Usually by this time I wave the white flag, admit I'm terrified and head to the bar.
I won't get into what goes on when I'm actually airborne. Other than to say I'm the one that stalks monitors what air stewards are doing. Because everything's a sign...

Anyway, there ya go, I'm
Aviophobic. At least I'm not alone, I'm in the 40% bracket. Which gives me some comfort. After all, I could be Lachanophobic (huh?), Alliumphobic (I kinda get this one...) or even Chionophobic(this one's gotta suck). The upshot is, whether or not I want to...the fact is I'm gonna have to fly again sometime soon. Watch that Richter Scale...