Twilight Zone

Weary me! Hip hop hooray! Deck the halls with boughs of holly! I’m still in Kuala Lumpur Airport! The slogan of KLIA is ‘The Airport in the Forest and the Forest in the Airport.’ I tell you, I can’t see the wood for the trees.

My flight was cancelled at three in the morning and the passenger body put up for the night in a hotel called The Palace of the Golden Horses. Six hours surrounded by gilded horseshoes made interminable transit seem almost bearable.

Someone must have told the friendly PR people at Air Malaysia that the best way to calm an angry mob is to feed them. Not only have I been bombarded with meal vouchers, I’ve been plonked in front of a buffet breakfast and told to eat. As a point of rigorous principle, I never knock back a free meal. Several platefuls of smoked mackeral later… My circadian rhythms are entirely confused. I am confused. I have no idea what timezone I am in. I have no idea what timezone I left, I have no idea what timezone I will fly into. I have spent approximately thirty minutes of the last twenty four hours in a non-airconditioned environment. I have lost track of how many meals I have eaten. The only physical exertion I have undergone is laps of Kuala Lumpur Airport. I am beginning to feel twitchy and paranoid. Perhaps I am being stuffed like a Christmas goose for a reason. Will my liver be harvested? Are They conducting experiments? I blame Thomas Pynchon.

As ever, watching other people deal with a minor crisis is moderately entertaining. My cohort includes those infused with Righteous Outrage (Who do these people think they are? How can they just cancel MY FLIGHT?), the Bitterly Experienced (I knew it, Air Malaysia… ), the Pep and Information Squad (Look, don’t worry, I’ve just got an update from one of the managers…) . I count myself as part of the Blithe and Resigned contingent. I’ve met a semi-retired computer scientist from Devon who is still wondering whether abandoning his Cambridge PhD on the Social and Economic impact of the Non-Conformists in Victorian England was the right idea. He’s part of my team.

Fear not, comrades. I’ve descended to blather but I’ve still got the Edge. I’ve got a weapon and I’ve got a camera.
Here’s me, post a mediocre croque monsieur, mid mediocre cappuccino wielding what looks suspiciously like a blunt knife. Upon my word, your Honour, it came with the meal.

Friends, I hereby pledge to drink three Bloody Marys on boarding the plane. This will break a long asserted but often feebly regarded rule of mine about drinking in the air. Such is life. Flexibility is the answer.

Over and out.