I’VE used this column before to explain about some of the weird and wonderful press releases that come to us in Mail Towers, and there was one from a firm last week which caught my eye.
A well-known comparison website carried out some research asking people about the things which really wound them up on a flight.
Crying kids came out top of the list, followed by youngsters banging the back of the seats.
I understand where people are coming from with the seat banging and maybe the parents should have a little word, but at the end of the day, kids cry.
Dogs bark. Women moan. Kids cry. That’s life.
According to this survey though, just under a quarter of the people quizzed said they would pay £50 extra if they could be guaranteed a seat away from any travellers with young children.
They’d be better off buying two bottles of Jagermeister in Duty Free and before they know it, they’d be sound asleep and oblivious to any unruly kids.
I know they’ve tightened up security on planes with the increased threat of terrorism, but I don’t think they’ve banned Jager Bombs just yet.
If I was sat on a flight to somewhere hot, looking at a fortnight away from work at an all-inclusive hotel, I’d quite happily let a screaming kid sit next to me.
I’m more offended by the cantankarous old farts who turn up in their three-quarter length shorts and Jesus creepers (with socks) looking like an extra from Howard’s Way, that press the bell for the trolley dolly every five minutes asking for another gin and tonic before realising they’ve lost the use of their legs when they stand up to go for a pee and spend the rest of the flight snoring and dribbling with their seat in a fully reclined position regardless of who is sat behind them.
It’s hard enough being 6ft and sitting in what is essentially a metal smarties tube with wings in cattle class with 300 and odd other passengers wedged in with you without some big gadgy deciding to see how far back his seat will go before the seatbelt signs have gone off.
But no aero annoyances got anywhere near the crying kids, and I think that’s quite sad.
My advice to the kids would be to keep on screaming.
And if the miserable old sods don’t like it, next summer they can book a barge on the Norfolk Broads or somewhere equally as dull, put their seats back and enjoy the peace and quiet all they want.