No place like Rome
Look, I understand that the man is an expert and was just trying to reassure us plebs but, up until he actually opened his mouth, I was mainly concerned with the discomfort – and specifically attempting to stop a cup of scalding coffee from jumping into my lap – as our plane was enveloped in an ominous grey fog somewhere high over France and, without warning, subjected to a series of seismic jolts.
“Only bad turbulence,” I reminded myself, one hand gripping the armrest and the other trying to hold the coffee steady as the blood visibly drained from the face of the elderly lady to my right and her companion began to silently mouth a prayer.