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The Second Last Continent

November 1, 2010

cruz290.jpgWe push back at 1135. The plane is full. A three year old cries in the seat in front of me. A spoilt brat I grump to myself, who does not want to be strapped in and would rather sit in Mum’s lap. Little prat, I am ready to box his ears. Might as well give him something to cry about if he is going to try that simpering whining on.  Come travel with me kid, we’ll have you sorted in a flash. I am consoled, partly, by the exasperation of the flight attendant whose Spanish lapses into English in frustration at not just the kid but especially the indulgent parents who want to hold him in their lap. He is about to call the Capitan. Ah, this has the prospect of being a long trip.
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