ADAM Masterson

I’m in New York City… but only just. Flew in on a nightmare flight an ended up in Boston. Things begun with me thinking I was in the safest of hands. The Captain announced that we had on board the first man to land on the moon, Neil Armstrong, along with several other notable astronauts who formed what the captain called an ‘Aeronautical dream team’. They were in special convoy from Iraq where they’d been entertaining the troops on the front line. The captain thanked them for ‘what they’d done for America and for the world!’

I was sat next to a malaysian family who were excited about their first trip to New York and the girl wanted a picture with Neil Armstrong. I settled in for the flight.

Things didn’t start getting hairy until our descent into Kennedy airport. The flight attendants were called to their seats. I had noticed things were getting pretty rocky it was more than what you’d call turbulence. I had no idea we were attempting to land in fierce 50 knots winds, that’s strong gale force winds well over 50 mph.

My reading mater didn’t help, I was reading about The Mona Lisa. Art critic and esotericist Walter Pater said of it. ‘Hers is the head upon which all “the ends of the world are come” and the eyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought out from within upon the flesh… she is older than the rocks among whom she sits… she has been dead many times and learned the secrets of the grave, and has been a diver in deep seas and keeps their fallen day about her…’ At this point the air the aircraft gave a sudden jolt and I thought ‘Think about something else Adam, something chipper?’.

I looked to my left and the malaysian girl had her own book ‘The five people you are going to meet in heaven’. This didn’t help. To my right I saw an African man holding off the seat in front of him for dear life as if he could somehow protect his skull from impending doom, and a french women in considerable panic.

About me people were beginning to vomit, and I could feel a faint nausea sweeping over myself so I shut my eyes and decided to grin and bear it.

The plane then took a sharp surge downwards which was followed by what felt like a steep drop. It was the strangest sensation an almost out of body experience. I felt disembodied from the aircraft and on my own. The tiniest little vessel in free fall. It felt more like a sky dive than a landing.

I did indeed now feel like a diver in deep seas and their fallen day! The Mona Lisa began to haunt my darkness.

In spite of my nausea I opened my eyes, we were now beneath the mists of the clouds, rain battered hard against the craft and the windows. I could see JFK below. We were about as low to the runway as someone standing atop a seven story building with people and cars more than visible… but man! Our plane was rockin’ all over the place!

The Strange episode got stranger there was another hard surge against the elements but this time upwards! Kennedy disappeared and we were back among the clouds and surging fast is the word. Your blood turns to sand and your veins, all up your fingers, hands and arms, begin to crackle and pop!

After what seemed like an eternity we were back up in friendlier altitudes and things began to calm. Even still one couldn’t help but wonder what an earth was that all about? ‘Oh dear’, I thought, ‘of all the flights to make a hash of it!’

After a while the pilot came over the speaker ‘As you may have gathered we’ve had a failed landing at JFK we are being held in a rotation queue which may take 40 mins (sigh from the passengers) we may even have to land in Baltimore (huge sigh from passengers!)’

‘Come on team’ I thought ‘We’re alive! Can’t all be bad… Roll on Baltimore!’

I decided to leave my book on Mona Lisa for another time and opted for the lighter in flight entertainment. Got involved with a documentary on Michael Jackson called ‘This is it’. For about half an hour I was entertained till our dare devil captain interrupted one of Michael’s Moon walks with ‘Flight attendants take your seats for landing’

‘What an earth!’ I thought ‘a second attempt! our mans a lunatic!’

Now while I appreciate we had Neil Armstrong aboard and his ‘Aero-whatever-it-is-dream team’ this was no time to start playing Evel Knieval.

I braced myself and indeed the second attempt was even more of a disaster than the first. Now I can cope with seeing a few passengers getting the jitters, but when it’s the cabin crew who are catching up with their prayers I begin to wonder?

I tried to look for the positives. If i am going down, I’m going down with neil… It will be a talking point, a big talking point, a world wide story no less. Maybe a few of my pals could plug a mention for me in dispatches… my career could do with a much needed injection of life. I pondered this a while.

I began to indulge the most glorious set of vanities! I could see record sales of ‘One tale too many’ soaring, never having to grow old, all creditors being payed off not least my poor despairing mother! And all that dismal record exec talk of ‘You got great songs, but you need great records!’ Vaporizing into articles heralding my forgotten genius.

I was having a right royal time till our pilot began the second ascent upwards… Ah man! My mouth turned so hideously dry… I was in poor shape! My malaysian friend tapped me on the shoulder for a chat and I was like… No, not now… please!

What a plonker our pilot had become. Fortunately he’d given up on the idea of landing in gale force New York, indeed after his second botched attempt Kennedy cancelled all flights in and out of JFK. We were now headed for Boston, but our pilot had little to say to mask our peril or bring us any cheer. Weather conditions there were just as abominable, but it would have to be a make or break landing as we were running out of fuel!

People were getting cheesed off, I asked one of my cabin attendants how Neil was getting along… ‘Oh he’s fine’ she replied ‘he’s up in 1st getting ratted, loving every minuet of it.’ We all shared the same opinion as to why our captain had kept Kennedy airport open for ‘one more go!’

To make this tediously long story a little shorter we did make our landing at Boston, and as we did, out of sheer terror and relief we all gave our captain a round of applause, not before he’d put us all within an inch of our lives one more time. We were then held at the runaway not allowed out of the aircraft for four hours. By now my spirits and good humour were dwindling. There was even talk of re-fueling and having one more attempt at JFK… at this I despaired. I’d happily have walked back.

When immigration finally let us off the plane, and american airlines finally conceded we would need a bus back from Boston to New York, I found myself at baggage reclaim stood next to none other than the man himself, Neil Armstrong.

As I saw my battered Gibson case coming round on the conveyor belt, I couldn’t help but enquire…

‘Good Flight?’

The stout little man peered up at me from behind his glasses and replied…

‘I’ve had rockier rides…’