Friday 14 June 2013

Snoring


There’s nothing better than a good snore, and the best snores come in that magical moment just on the cusp of sleep when you are lightly lucid, aware of your snoring but unable to do anything about it. But I never thought a snore would cause me to be led off an aeroplane in handcuffs and just about to be issued with a police caution for breach of the peace and endangering an aircraft. But more of that later.

For those of you who don’t snore you will never know the almost orgasmic elation of that guttural grunt that signals sleep is just seconds away.

The problem of course is that in reality  sleep is not just around the corner but about to be rudely ripped from your grasp by a grumpy partner who you’ve just woken up with the very thing that is sending you to sleep. As so it was today, although it wasn’t my partner who roused me from my sleep but the hoity-toity British bloke sat in the seat behind me.

I was dog tired when I got on the plane and all I wanted to do was sleep, but sleeping was out of the question what with the yelling child in the row in front and the posh boy and his wife in the seat behind and of course I'd left my headphones at home. At least the baby was becalmed after half an hour of constant wailing but Lord Farquar didn’t shut up for the whole 2 hours, he sounded like a constipated donkey braying for help. Anyone would think that his wife was sitting on another plane so loud was he speaking.

So as the tomato juice and peanuts were served and the duty free trolley ignored by all and sundry, the whole plane had to listen to the old fool blathering on about his golf, his club and his office.

As the seatbelt signs were turned on and the cheery captain announced our impending arrival at London’s Heathrow with a standardised dose of BA drivel, I finally felt my eyes drooping and my brain growing hazy, finally sleep would come. I felt the snore coming, a deliciously deep grumble that meant sleep, blissful, long-awaited sleep would soon be mine.

But no, the next thing I know there’s a hand on my shoulder and that braying voice in my ear. 
‘Awfully sorry young man, but your snoring is terribly loud.’ 
What came next was certainly not my proudest hour but that braying hypocritical voice waking me up was all it took to tip me over the edge. I launched a torrent of abuse peppered with a range of swear words that on a normal day would make me blush. It wasn’t eloquent or wittily worded it was just a range of industrial abuse that that bastard deserved. Of course the attendants were soon in attendance but their warnings fell on deaf ears, all I wanted to do was put that pompous prick in his place. By the time the torrent had waned and my head was cooling I was being escorted off the plane by armed police with a baby wailing in the background. 

So here I sit, in a Heathrow cell waiting for the copper to come back and sign off on the caution, feeling lucky that I didn’t get charged and really wishing I could find somewhere to go to sleep.

      















3 comments:

  1. I love the way you describe such ordinary and boring things like snoring:) what's the motif of next week's stories? can't wait:)

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  2. Not sure if there is a motif next week but tomorrow's story is about the dangers of burying your mates :-)

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  3. ohohoh.... sounds spooky:)let's wait then:)

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