6:30 AM. It was like the old joke: a Scotsman, two Americans and a Spaniard walk into a bar... only this time it was for real, and I was one of the characters. We were having a strong cup of coffee, at the lounge of a private airport that I didn't even know existed, somewhere near London. There was only a propeller plane on the runway, and somehow I knew it was for us. Man, do I hate flying...
I massaged my temples for the third time this morning. A splitting headache threatened to spoil all the fun, if there was to be any. I still had the piece of paper: “airport at 6”, in Jack's childish handwriting. I didn't know what to expect, except that I was to take part in a “brand-new, truly innovative TV program”, the kind to “put these days' trash TV to shame”, as Jack had said. The fact that he was a news reporter, well-known for risking his neck every other Friday, wasn't all that reassuring.
“Oh my, they are all carrying at least one backpack. This can't be good” I thought.
To be continued...
1 comment:
I "bet the farm" that he will jump in parachute. It will be funny for someone who hate flying. I´m wishing to read the final.
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