As we strolled into Nice airport we pulled our bags after us with a great deal less enthusiasm than on the way out. We reluctantly made our way to the check in area and were met by an Air France official whose husky Gauloises drenched voice greeted us with the unlikely phrase Would you like to make some money?
Hello, good afternoon! I replied what did you just say? Visions of Air France running a corrupt web of prostitution and drug smuggling filled my head. Before my imagination had too much time to gain momentum he explained that the flight was overbooked and if we flew via London arriving in Amsterdam an hour later than planned we’d each earn €125 and the great respect of the company. My Occasionally Sleeping Friend and I looked at each other and quickly decided that the great respect of Air France was easily worth a delay of one hour.
Before we knew it we found ourselves on a plane bound for London and I glanced about myself to see more than a few passengers wearing masks in the hope of avoiding the dreaded swine flu (still known in the Netherlands as Mexican Flu incidentally). As the sunny French countryside had still not cured my dramatic consumption I decided to have a bit of fun. After a particularly impressive bout of lung evacuation I asked my OSF in an overly loud and concerned voice if he had packed the Tamiflu in the check-in bags or our hand luggage. I then sat back safe in the knowledge that I had just made the entire plane nervous and impatient for the flight to end. Ah well, at least Air France still loved me.






