After our fabulous stint in Virgin’s Upper Class lounge at Heathrow, and another ten hours of airborne luxury (if you ever have the air miles, you really need to try Virgin Atlantic Upper Class), our flight landed, and we all lined up to get off the plane.
Andy nudged me. “You’re not exactly being subtle.”
“What?” I responded, glancing up and then back, to realize I’d been staring directly at Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie. “No, I’m looking at the flight attendant. She has 5 empty hangers and one coat left. Where are our coats?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll have them when we get to the exit,” he said, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.
They didn’t, of course, leaving us like stubborn boulders at the front of the plane, with the other upper class passengers squeezing around us to get off. Eventually Fry and Laurie squeezed by, too.
“Enjoy your trip,” I said inanely to Fry, who smiled at me. “I’m a big fan,” I continued to Laurie, who glared at me like I’d just propositioned him and stalked off the plane.
I felt like yelling after him that I wasn’t stalking him. I hadn’t squished myself up next to the bar just to catch a glimpse of him. I’d had ten hours to peer at him around corners if I was that obsessed. The only thing I was stalking was my own coat.
That strangely unsettling photo is me with my morning Starbucks, sitting the in the most comfortable chair I’ve ever met. I’ll tell you all about it one of these days.
Oh, and if you missed Part I of this saga, you’re probably wondering where Fry and Laurie came from, and how I ended up on an airplane. You can find the answers to these deep and burning questions in a little bit of fry and laurie.