Flying Cats

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I, Cat Madigan, have had an epiphany.

I hate flying.

It involves sitting down for hours, with little entertainment. And thanks to my mother, and her philosophy that yelling will make us faster, the only carry on luggage I remembered was my iPad and some pens and paper. None of the pens were working, and I had to switch said iPad off when preparing for takeoff and landing.

I have also learnt why people tell you not to fly when you have a cold.

Because it blows up your MOTHERFUDGING EARS!

So while I am waiting for the hearing to return in my left ear, I’m going to tell you about my journey today.

I was rudely awoken at four in the morning, and it was an awakening that involved coughing and spluttering, as I had a cold. My mother was not impressed. You see, the reasoning for us leaving to La La land was because I have National All Schools for athletics, which are held in La La land. However, I’m not as good at winning events when I have a cold, so my loving mother was in a foul mood on the way to the airport. So was I, now I remember.

Afterwards, my mother and brother decided to be in an exceptional chipper mood. I’m sure you can understand how the following would sound to one devoid of sleep and tea.

“Oh boy, this is gonna be awesome!”

“Holiday, holiday, we’re going on a holiday!”

“Sing with us Cat!”

Fudge no.

I don’t know when I’m going to get wifi, but I pray I live long enough to post this and get Papa Willis and Flash to save me.

As a conciliation, Daniel is reacting to flying worse than I currently am. Not sure whether deep down my imagination is trying to make me feel better, or my Delusions have a mind of their own. But Daniel was seated next to my brother for both flights. He wasn’t particularly happy about this, but it was the closest one to me that wasn’t taken.

I had to take two flights today; only the first one had television, and that was only for a while. When they were switched off for landing, I finally saw what happened to Daniel.

He looked green in the face, and was vomiting in the vomit bag. Tigger, of course, didn’t see. I grimaced. Not good, hmm?

“Shut up,” he mumbled back.

The second one was worse. I’m not sure how, but Daniel had somehow gotten ahold of a wine bottle from the trolley. I didn’t see what it was, but it made Daniel sing his favourite song…

And IIIIIIII Will Walk Five Hundered Miles, And IIIIIIII Will Walk Five Hundered M-bleeeeeeeugh!” Daniel was behind me this time, instead of across the aisle. “Next time, we’re taking a boat, I don’t care,” he swore drunkenly.

It was then that my left ear blew up. It has been at least two hours since then, and my hearing has still not returned. Back then, it was killing me. It pops up every now and then, which is hell.

My only source of relief is barely even that. My mother insisted on me buying a nasal decongestant spray, which I stick up my nose and inhale. And it makes my already sore brain hurt even more. I also bought some pills, and for some reason, my mother was adamant about me buying the ones called Sunafed. Even though the chemist with a degree in chemistry recommended a product which works exactly the same and is five bucks cheaper.

We arrived at LaLa land in the evening, and we took a bus to our backpackers hotel. Where, thank Christ, there is wifi! I can update all you imaginary readers on my hearing or lack thereof and Daniel’s drunken stupor, which may well last the whole trip.

At any rate, it’s time to continue being sick.

Mad Cat

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