Space Cadet

I’m writing this sad excuse of an epistle while sat at 37,000 feet surrounded by people I neither know, want to know or indeed would on first appearances choose to associate with… and yet we are sat so close our limbs are touching and I can tell that the person to my right has recently eaten something fruity and the person to my left although smelling of mint has one or two body issues.

This is my idea of hell. Not only breathing the recently expelled air of several hundred strangers and looking around me strange is the operative word, but at a long legged six foot, spending hours squeezed into the tightest of confined spaces is torture.

Why do we accept these conditions? We sell the idea to ourselves that it’s all down to economies of scale, the only way to achieve and maintain cheap flights. But is it worth it? Perhaps it’s me. I know as I get older I am becoming more antisocial and hanker for my own space. In fact awaiting me at the other end of this tortuous flight isn’t some swanky five star hotel but a villa in its own grounds far away from my travelling companions and more importantly with its own pool without other peoples screaming kids and daily sun bed shenanigans.

I’m not a snob and I haven’t had any kind of upbringing that would single me out as privileged. I work hard for everything thing I have and do, but what is becoming ever more evident to me is the importance of personal space.

I recently spent a glorious day in London with my eldest daughter who wanted to experience Carnaby Street, Piccadily and Soho and several times during the day had to point out to her that she was stood far too close to the person in front while queuing. She had no idea even at the age of eighteen what constituted a comfortable distance to leave between herself and the next queue-ee.

And while we’re on the subject, space awareness is sadly lacking in other areas of the high street. Now I’m no misogynist, far from it, but why do women exit a shop and not look left or right and then stand still? I’ll be strolling along in my long legged six foot frame minding my own business when suddenly a stationery body appears right in front of me requiring a quick shimmy and side step to avoid an embarrassing collision. Any journey along Oxford street in London or any major shopping facility for that matter has turned into some odd disco dance routine. Perhaps it really is just me and as a designer of spaces I’m more attuned to distance and environment and it’s not as high on the list of everyone else’s priorities.

Well cabin cramped hell soon to be over as the pilot has announced its wall to wall sunshine and thirty degrees down there. I shall let the madding crowd jostle their way off the plane and resist the temptation to bleat at them as they are herded onto their resort buses while I pick up my hire car and head to the spacious sanctuary that will be my little piece of heaven for a week.

The weathers here… wish you were lovely.