High life
Let fly
Tak i
Ihaven't had an altercation in an aeroplane on my way back and forth from Greece in months, therefore it was in- evitable that it would happen sooner rather than later. It was last Monday to be exact, and 1 had the misfortune to be booked on Olympic Airways as BA was fuller than a synagogue at Yom Kippur. Although I had sworn I'd never fly the airline the Greek government stole from the wily Turk, I was desperate to come to London to try am', stop a girl committing suicide over me. Needless to say, there was a delay of an hour — after we had been strapped to our seats. Now we all know how unpleasant it is to have to wait in airports, but waiting while tied down is as pleasant as a holiday in Beirut. By the time we took off I was mumbling out loud about how awful it was to be poor and unable to afford a private jet, thus having to rely on Olympic for transport. There were two people in the row next to mine, a very common fat little man with a moustache and an extremely dirty- looking girl whom I presumed was his daughter. Behind them sat a man wearing a pair of trousers that came up underneath his belly and a see-through shirt with a vest underneath it. All three began smoking furiously as soon as we were airborne. And that is when three stewardesses approached them and began chatting them up. Now I don't know why I listened in — it is not a habit of mine — and I regret that I did. As it turned out, the vulgar man with moustache was the brother of another moustachioed fool, the Foreign Minister of Greece, Yannis Haralambopoulos. You know who I mean, the man who vetoed the EEC resolution to condemn the assassina- tion of 269 innocent people on board that ill-fated South Korean airline. This was too much for me. Greeks being impressed by power, the were at least ten crew members fluttering around those Bolshevik beasts before we had reached the altitude prefere of the Soviet Union's airforce. So I complained in a very loud voice, and asked if there was anyone left in the cockpit minding the store. While overflying the Alps I hoped f°I. turbulence, or perhaps a Swiss fighter to approach us only to see the ghastly threesome squirm. But as luck would have it the flight was as smooth as the Elgin Marbles are, having been in London for the last 200 years, instead of the polluted Athe- nian atmosphere. What bugged me further was the fact that I was — and am sure that the trio had not paid for club class, if they had paid at all. So I remarked to them that as I was paying for their trip, being a heavily taxed Greek, they should at least be less demanding and allow the crew to g° about their business. Then I demanded that the stewardess ask the captain to make an announcement saying that we had on board the brother of the idiot who refused to con- demn the shooting down of an unarmed airline. The stewardess, needless to say, flew away in horror. But worse was to Come. (Incidentally, none of my remarks Were understood by the terrible trio because they spoke no English and I'm afraid my Greek and theirs is slightly different.) Upon landing I was the first to be up and near the exit door. After all, in impending catastrophes every second counts. But one of the stewardesses came over, blocked my way with her ample frame and said that the brother of the minister would leave the air- craft first. Well, he would leave first over MY dead body. I pushed her and him and Sot out, only to be caught up by them in the queue, which they tried to jump. A man from the embassy led the way saying in heavily accented English, 'Pliss, pliss, Grik YiPs, Grik yips.' So I jumped the queue also and asked the woman officer on duty to stun them, but the word vip had, I'm afraid, impressed her. The foreigners waiting in line were too docile to do anything. After all, only in America are people ready to stand up for their rights. So I ran up to the passport control, explained what was happening and asked them to try and delay them purely for the sake of Justice. And I have to admit they were most sYniPathetic, although unable to do anything about it. In the end I shoulder- charged the son-in-law, if that's who it was, swore at the flunkey from the embassy, and drove into London in a very bad mood.
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