Foreign 1: Of What Is Known As...

Whereas I would have been content to sit in the departure lounge, someone has decided we should first board the plane and then wait 40 minutes for taxi clearance. We're going fucking nowhere in seating unfit for battery hens and in close proximity to people I neither know nor like. The pilot has the cheek to thank me for my patience and understanding, because I don't remember expressing either of those sentiments. This in addition to my two particular hates of air travel: 1) the inability to move in any direction other than toward the screens showing the latest Hollywood drivel 2) Personal hygiene is hindered by the difficulty of washing hands and face (more so on the 5 hour flights to the Canaries) without having to disturb everyone else and standing directly in everyone's view waiting for the toilets to become free. I do not like, to quote Bender, being "wrapped in grease".