Flight 1462 to Edinburgh, Sunday night. Late boarding, we’re stuck in the ass of the plane. There’s an older chav-like female sitting in the window seat, reading some very pink magazine full of all the important information on world events one should be familiar with such as Britney Spears’ latest alleged lover’s name, the latest photos of Julia Someone-or-Other, and tips on how to do a French manicure at home for only £3.50.