I decided the best thing to do would be to shut-up, and put the camera down.

Circling over Sydney, the Qantas hostess in the jump seat opposite me showed all the classic signs.  Her hands tightly pulling her body into the seat. A light sweat on her brow. A face full of fear. The plane continued its descent. Steadily holding my video camera, picked up from the Akihabara district in Tokyo,  I panned sideways to capture my partner, continuing my documentation of the vacation. "Turn - that - fucking - thing - off .... right - now". With clenched teeth, her usual bubbly voice was more, say, calmly satanic, than normal. The plane fell further, we were going down.

In a Homer-esque moment, I slowly realised I was surrounded by two women, one a passenger, one a professional flight attendant, who were both currently shitting bricks. Scared of flying. Really scared. I decided the best thing to do would be to shut-up, and put the camera down. Out the window, the perfect Australian sun light glistening on Sydney Harbour, racing across the bridge, the downtown area, and the Opera House, would that day, be wasted. I have never again had such a perfect aerial view of Sydney, one of the worlds most scenic cities. Within minutes, the wheels hit the tarmac. The mirror-image scared lady sandwich I found myself in, continued. But now, it was a look of absolute relief. Instantly, well, after no more than a nano-second of being on the ground, both women had returned to normal. To cut a long story short, taxi-ing back to the terminal I had a chat with the flight attendant, and yes, she really was scared of flying. She had been a Qantas hostie for more than ten years.

So, what do I do, when every single flight I take, my drugged and boozed up partner is practically having kittens for the entire duration of the journey? What do you do, when you start a travel blog called No Planes?

Today, I booked a one way flight to Indonesia. For both of us. In about 13 days time, we shall see how that turns out.