Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Miscommunications
I was flying on an American passenger jet from Dublin to New York at a height of thirty-five
thousand feet when the flight attendant came on the intercom and announced: “Ladies and
gentlemen, we're now switching off the engines, as they don't seem to be working properly.”
Seizing my fountain pen, I started to scribble an urgent note to a well-known English movie
star, to be found later on my body. I was sorry, I wrote, that she had failed to recognise that
we were soul mates. It was with regret that I noted that she had chosen a handsome, talented
young millionaire movie director as a partner, rather than a more obviously suitable person
like myself. Convinced that there should be complete frankness between us, I confessed that
my affection for her had been sorely tried by her disgracefully self-indulgent exhibition of
tears at an Oscar ceremony. I was, however, prepared to forgive her for this unseemliness,
and even managed through gritted teeth to send my best wishes and farewells to her hus-
band. It seemed imprudent to appear before the Judgement seat with hatred in my heart.
I ended by signing my name with a flourish for the last time, put on my jacket with the
obscure sense that one should die with a certain formality rather than in shirtsleeves, and
awaited a sickening thud. I briefly considered ordering a double whisky, but decided that it
was in the best British tradition to go down with a clear head. I would raise my chin high,
but not in order to pour liquor down my throat. It then occurred to me to add a postscript to
my note, assuring the recipient of my unwavering devotion in the few seconds of life still
granted to me, and pointing out on a more practical note that if the public ever got fed up
with her and she found it hard to obtain work, I had a little money stashed away in the top
drawer of my desk that she was welcome to have. If she did make use of it, a modest statue
in my memory would not, I intimated, come amiss.
