Planes, Trains and Bull Sherbert

Zsuzsa is on a plane. Her eyes are wide, her skin an extraordinary shade of crimson and a stream of dirty expletives are pouring from her mouth.

She’s just realised that one of her breasts is hanging out for all to see. She’d been breast feeding, but it’s now been about thirty minutes since nipple and baby mouth were separated.

“I thought we’d agreed not to swear around Mila?” I say as Zsuzsa tucks herself away.

“I’ve spent the last half hour sitting on a plane with a boob out! “ responds Zsuzsa. “I even chatted to the air stewardess about the sandwiches! I think it’s okay to swear!”

The no swearing rule is in response to Mila who has begun to try and mimic what we say. And although Alistair McGowan has little to fear at this moment, we’ve suggested that we replace swearwords with child friendly alternatives. The trouble is that we both have fairly filthy potty mouths so it’s not so easy.

Return this baby to the aircraft door immediately.

“Now I know why the old guy in seat 8C keeps smiling at me!” Zsuzsa adds, as she tries to shrink in to her seat.

Our airplane adventure is all due to the fact that my brother is getting married in deepest, darkest Wales, and we’ve decided that that is as good a reason as any to unleashed our cub upon the British public. So, with seemingly the entire contents of our flat as well as our twelve week old baby full of pooh (she last defecated five days ago), we made our way through security in record time, queue skipping like a frenchman and now here we sit, on the BA flight from Budapest to London Heathrow.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” says the elderly Hungarian lady sitting next to me. She’s been eavesdropping on our conversation and was therefore aware of Zsuzsa’s brazen display of exhibitionism. “Nobody seems to mind.”

I smile at the lady, happy at her reassuring words. About ten minutes later I realise what a grave error this was as she has seemingly taken this simple mouth movement as an open invitation to use me as a soundboard for her never ending world of pain. For the next hour the lady proceeds to unload her woes upon me. A few highlights being that she's confined to a wheelchair due to a spinal injury, has cancer in her left kidney, was deaf until the age of three, has a rare cinnamon allergy, severe diabetes and hardly ever sees her family as they all live in America. I’m about to open the plane door and end it all, when Mila comes to the rescue with her own homemade version of smelling salts. It’s unmistakable and it smacks me in the nostrils. She’s decided that enough is enough and proudly joined an exclusive club of two. That club consisting of people that I know who’ve shat their pants a mile in the air. The other member probably wouldn’t appreciate me unmasking him so let’s just call him Saul.

Thankfully, the rest of the flight goes without a hitch and we’re very proud of our well behaved little madam. She didn’t cry, she didn’t scream, she didn’t make us the broken parents on a plane with the apologetic eyes. As we leave the flight the elderly Hungarian lady asks for our number and suggests we meet up in January. She also asks if she can be Mila’s Godmother.

“Why don’t we take your number instead?” I suggest, terror rising inside.

Our feet touch British soil and I am happy. Soon I can show my family what I've made, but first we have a long train journey to look forward to. To help with a smooth transition I've planned ahead and organised a taxi to greet us at arrivals. I scan the crowd of waiting taxi drivers for my name. Nothing. I decide not to panic. I’m sure they’re here somewhere. I call the taxi rank. They’re twenty minutes away. I try to stay calm. Twenty minutes go by and still no taxi. I call them. The driver has gone to the wrong terminal.

“SON OF A BIN MAN!”

I give him a call. He hangs up on me.

“WHAT AN UTTER BAR STOOL!”

I call HQ. They arrange another driver. He’ll be with us in thirty minutes.

“THIRTY MINUTES! THIRTY FUDGING MINUTES! THIS IS BULL SHERBERT!”

I make a mental note to never use this massive bunch of cockerels again.