August 4th, 1989

August 4th, 1989

Flight from AUH – LHR

At home

Made it through my longest trip to date!

Super easy, eight-hour flight home with only nine passengers in Club World, which meant two hours of crew rest, complete with lashings of Earl Grey and perhaps too many chocolate biscuits (if that’s possible.)

Of course mum wanted to know every detail of everything that transpired during the trip, so I started on day one.

“I met a really nice guy.”

“A steward?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“A pilot?”

“Nope.”

“Who then?”

“A passenger.”

“Who was he?”

“His name is David.”

“Oh, I’ve always liked that name. Where was he going?”

“He was on his way to Delhi on a business trip. I met him on the first leg of the flight we took to Abu Dhabi.”

“Did ye get a chance to speak to him much?”

“After the service was over he came into the galley and we chatted for ages but then guess what else happened?”

“What?” she asked as I took another bite of toast. “ Hurry up, tell me!”

I chewed as fast as I could and took a gulp of tea. “We bumped into each other a few days later in the market in Delhi.”

The sight of mum’s mouth dropping open was priceless. “Ye did not!”

“We did. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Oh aye, that’s really something.”

“We spent the day together and he showed me around the city,” I gushed. “It was amazing.”

“I can tell,” she laughed.

“Guess what else?” I asked.

“Och,” she said, fanning her face with her hand. “I don’t know if I want to know.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry mum, it’s nothing bad.”

“Carry on then.”

“I slipped a note in David’s jacket pocket with my name and address and when we were saying goodbye in Delhi he acknowledged that he found it.”

“So he’s got this address?” she asked, sitting up straight.

“Uh-huh.”

She looked concerned. “What if he shows up here?”

“He won’t.”

“He might.”

“He won’t,” I said, making sure I had her full attention before I delivered the news I knew she’d love.

“Ye cannae be so sure…”

“He won’t show up here, mum. He lives in Los Angeles.”

Her eyes lit up. “He’s American?”

“Uh-huh,” I uttered, gleefully.

“Then he better  bloody  write to ye!”

 

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