This week I picked a row with the airline for not having reserved my complimentary stay at the hotel. A service offered due to my unfortunate 22 hour layover. The problem was with my travel agent in Korea, and could only be remedied from that side. Not looking forward to 22 hours with no sleep (excluding the time in the air and on all the respective busses)… the flight loomed ahead of me and I wasn’t feeling very adventurous at all.

That very evening horror struck and I contracted (although I certainly hadn’t hired him) some microscopic villian with a Napoleontic chip on his shoulder, waging war on all my digestive faculties at once. I tried to poison him with Valoids and Immodium, but he very swiftly dealt with my meagre attempts, and expelled the poison at once (He seems to be a clever bug)!

I spent most of my Monday evening trying to organise diplomatic talks in the bathroom, by making use of the toilet as a sort of megaphone-like device, but he thwarted all attempts at negotiation, instead, retaliating with more blows, each more severe and demeaning than the last. I suddenly wished that I had studied harder at French and didn’t spend so much time making fun of my teacher. Bonaparte was gaining ground. Soon all of my bits, wobbly and non-wobbly became a kind of mush and finally at 1 am, while on the phone with my boss in Korea, I waved the white flag.

There was no way I was going on a plane with my new-found arch enemy. I lay in bed in the single position I was permitted. A prisoner of war on a hunger strike. I envisioned images of myself suffering added blows while in economy class on a plane in turbulence. I could see myself, bent over a little, running between rows of chairs in a tiny isle for the little cubicle at the back of the plane. Nervous… allright, ANGRY stewardesses are hissing at me to “remain seated while the seatbelt light is on”. Bonaparte, lifts a hairy arm in victory as his bicorn slips slightly to the back and he shrieks with delight!

Suddenly I gave a shudder, which disturbed the peace of my enemy who sent me running for the megaphone once more…

Luckily allied forces came to my aid and moved my flight to Thursday. I adopted a scorched earth policy. First starving the fiend and then feeding it one last dose of poison.

Small outbursts of rebellion occured on Wednesday, but were quickly brought under control. Once again I declare flamboyantly, “Let them have cake!”…and I am. At the airport, in the nice quiet Business Class lounge by lamplight.