©melimOi

Dial M for Murder:

In the original: Tony calls Margot to get her out of bed and give the murderer his chance.

I don’t believe in ‘deserving’ a holiday, but just over a week ago, when I was on that plane, I desperately needed one. “I don’t have time to go on holiday”, I kept saying to myself. It was almost painful to get on the plane. I think I secretly hoped I would miss the flight, which probably helped me decide to wait until the last minute to get on the plane. That and the fact that I’d hurt my knee two nights before while dancing to 90s pop until 4am, which now called for an aisle seat.

So here I am on the plane and spot an aisle seat next to what appears to be a nice couple (they weren’t). This couple is actually on the plane with at least 10 other people on that plane including their 7-year-old twin boys, sat in front of us. The plane hasn’t moved yet that one of the kids (let’s call him: the child) has already made his brother cry and his mother has asked him for her phone back at least 4 times. The airhostess has to ask him 3 times to switch the phone off and take his earphones out. Oh and on top of that: “I WANT CHIPS!!!!” from the moment he sat down to the moment the trolley actually got to our row (approximately an hour).

By the time we finally take off, I am screaming inside, and by the time the seat-belt sign - or as I now call it: the Light of Liberty - is switched off, I’m almost eating my hair. In less time than it takes the child to yell “I WANT CHIPS!!!” for the 97th time, I’m listening to Grizzly Bear’s Shields and I’ve started reading Caitlin Moran’s Moranthology. As I laugh out loud at the “Bear and Puffin” story while enjoying one of the best albums of 2012, I can safely say that I am in my happy place (as a friend will describe it today).

Suddenly, it all happens. I’m on page 23 of Moranthology. Caitlin Moran is describing how her caffeine intake is making her have an imaginary argument with a newsagent when I suddenly feel great pain on my thigh. The child has emptied his entire cup of hot chocolate on my leg. My book is soaked and at that stage I am torn between screaming with pain and smacking the child’s mother with my book as she is yet to apologise. The hostess takes me to the back of the plane where I am kindly being offered a bag of ice cubes and some anti-burn gel. The mother has followed me: “Can we get some wipes to clean the seats?” I hear her say before adding: “Did it burn you? I’ve got some on my jeans too.” Why didn’t I smack her with the book? I lock myself in the bathroom. I am soaked and my skin looks like the tomatoes from that Daft Punk music video. I sit down to try to calm down. I’m having in my head the argument I can’t have on board a flying tin can, thousands of feet above the ground. “This is this morning’s cup of coffee preventing me from having a massive outburst while on the plane” I tell myself. “I am actually living the situation I was just reading about” (I’m not). “Caffeine has possibly just saved me from being sued for beating up a woman with Caitlin Moran’s face printed on a hardcover.”

I eventually go back to my seat accompanied by my now best friend the ice bag. “He’s sorry” she says “I bet you won’t want to ever drink a hot chocolate again?” I’m ignoring her. The child keeps on asking her to not tell anyone about it: “He’s scared I’ll tell the rest of the family!” I want to give her a lesson in parenting but see the state my poor book is in. It’s ruined! My dad will later say: “You can still read it, you’re fine!” He obviously doesn’t realise I have a problem. I can NOT have a book that looks like it’s gone on holiday and asked his friend Nutella to rub some sunscreen on its back before heading to the pool. Right now I’m looking at page 23 and all I want to do is cry. I’m already planning to go back to Waterstones on my first day back in the country to buy a new copy. Forget about the potential second-degree burn, have you seen the state of my book?!?!?!