They’re really nice about me in the comments. And they all seem to think I’m a man. So that’s cool. You can read it online here or the unedited version below…
Imagine if your last meal on earth was Ryan Air paella.
A lukewarm Ryan Air paella, served up in black, microwave-softened plastic tub, accompanied by an ice-cold €2 Robinson’s Fruit Shoot, with Chupa Chups lollies for pudding.
I once, while flying to the gloriously Carry On airport of Knock (an airport that, at the time, was just a bog-hugging hangar with nothing but a shrine, a pub, and a canteen selling curry and chips) was confronted by just such a menu. I was surrounded by seventeen frantically-praying nuns, two farmers who looked like they’d been stuffed into their tweed suits using a hay baler and an in-flight attendant who I swear was wearing fake teeth. I didn’t buy the paella.