Luckily, hubby is a total sweetheart (and now possibly has an Indian girlfriend/concubine in Jozi) and managed to get us on a Lufthansa flight leaving yesterday night. The only problem was that the flight was already almost full, so we would have to sit in the middle, in the last possible row. The hubby said okay.
On the plane we found out that what really sucks about sitting in the middle of the last row is surprisingly not the close contact with the toilets (even though that is definitely not a bonus either), or the fact that there is just a little less leg room, or that the stewardess never looks at you when she is offering folks more wine (and that really truly blows so much that the poor woman probably now thinks that her name is "ma'am, can I have some more wine, please, MA'AM!"), but the sorry, sorry fact that regardless of the people on the row in front of you being able to lean back their seats so far that you can comfortably rest your front teeth on them should the need arise, you are in fact unable to lean the seats back in the last row, even an inch.
11 hours of flying.
In this time I managed a whole 3 hours of punctuated, neck wrecking sleep, 1 bottle of white wine, and 1 whopping squabble with a group of people hanging about by the bathrooms loudly yapping when I was trying to sleep - about fokken friendship of all things.
I won the fight resolved the issue with an I'll-wring-your-neck eye roll and my tried and tested "I'm this close to snapping. If I were you I would quit while I'm ahead," followed by a menacing display of crazy/evil eye, which left the hubby's mouth gaping, since I don't normally threaten people who I'm in a confined space with for hours.
But then we finally arrived in Copenhagen and this happened:
Life is good again, I'm happy that my hair stands up after wearing a hoodie for 15 hours, which must mean I'm thoroughly defying my Finnish genes, and I've spent a day taking pictures of bicycles and drinking all kinds of coffee.
Freezing weddingpalooza to follow.
