Oh Captain! My Captain!
I expect I'm just a middle-aged grouch, but if there is an airline whose hostesses don't tell me the captain's name when we start, and say that they 'hope to have the pleasure of flying with you on some future occasion' when we arrive, it can have my future bookifigs. 1 can only think of one circumstance in which it matters who the captain is, and that is if 'you happen to know he's a rotten pilot. So if after the open- ing announcement ymi see a man about my age, but wearing a bushy moustache and an RAF tie, leap to his feet and hightail it to the door before take-off, you will know that he has recog- nised the captain as old Pongo, who pranged three crates one sunlit afternoon in '44. And the best of luck:
All I want to know is how long the flight will take, and what the temperature is when we arrive. And I wish they'd give that in Fahrenheit. I haven't got around to Centigrade yet.
Previous page
