Best Airplane Novel Ever.
Gory and clinical but never erotic, this fantastically entertaining novel saw me nicely through the 7hrs to Kualar Lumpur. It covers all your bases: bestiality, swinging, S&M and roleplay.
The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name is referred to as "Greek Style", which has put me right off yogurt.
The rest of the night flight is a turbulence-filled misery fest. I fall into a delirium of Rhianna lyrics, the conviction that I have not turned in an important essay on King Lear and wake continually from snatches of sleep for perhaps minutes at a time.
On landing, a tropical rainstorm hits. The air smells metallic and raw. The terminal is lined with Starbucks and McDonald's and I am not allowed on the bus with my smoothie. Brenden the Bus Driver ushers me into a battered deskchair and we sit under dripping tarpaulin and swap Japanesisms while I slurp my BananaKrunchBrekkiePower! His accent is probably no worse than mine.
I arrive in Chinatown, pleased to note that there are only a few leprosy-ridden beggars for me to step my privileged white self over, and collapse at my hostel. Loud bhangra music from the lobby awakens me from my slumbers. I emerge, blinking, from my room. The owner, wearing only a towel, is sitting in the common room surrounded by his friends, discussing the best way to use Facebook to get girlfriends. They are watching a loud Bollywood movie, and will not move from this position for the duration of my 3 night stay.
get some sartay in.
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