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 THE FIRST TIME I HEARD ABOUT
DVT, I wanted one. I already have DVD, VCD and Laser Disc. “Is
it Sony?” I asked the stewardess. She didn’t know. Stewardesses
are unfamiliar with DVT or Deep Vein Thrombosis as they get more
than enough exercise pointing out the exits. They also get an aerobic
workout doing safety demonstrations. These demonstrate, graphically,
that the only difference between a stewardess and a wax mannequin
is the latter’s vast expressive range. I might point out though
that it’s not just orange things attached to tubes that fall
from the ceiling 30,000ft aloft. On a flight to India, during a
particularly bumpy patch, a bottle of duty-free Johnnie Walker extricated
itself from the overhead bin and landed with a thud on a sleeping
passenger’s head. The stricken man moaned and slumped in his
seat.
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It is at times
like these that years of cabin safety training kick in. A stewardess
rushed up, leaned forward gently and, delicately, like a surgeon’s
assistant, picked up the bottle and returned it to its owner –
with an apology. The coshed passenger meanwhile slept a lot deeper
than he intended. Deep Vein Thrombosis affects passengers who never
have a chance to point out the exits or smack noisy children. It
mainly affects those flying economy class. Clearly DVT is a blue-collar
affliction. Check your collar before leaving home. DVT can turn
your entire body blue, which can be a real bummer if you’re
wearing green. The only way to avoid creeping morbidity is to demand
a life-saving upgrade to first class where’s room for a quick
nookie – with a wax mannequin.
DVT can turn your whole body blue which can be a real bummer, especially if you happen to be wearing green
Or you can follow
the airline’s fitness channels. On one transpacific flight
many years ago, headphones donned, I listened to a voice telling
me all about the golden light. I was to open my mouth and let the
golden radiance in. I had to throw back my head and keep “drinking”
the imaginary light. This made it a tad difficult to watch the movie
and breathe at the same time. However, the voice was warm and encouraging
and I gulped down great quantities of that golden light till my
stomach was bloated and my body tingled with 500-watt Messianic
urgency. I don’t know what was more terrifying – DVT,
or the endless golden light. This was state-of-the-art Nineties
relaxation and no one at the airline seemed concerned about dull
businessmen mutating into glowing ETs.
These days relaxation
is out. Golden light can kill. Get too relaxed and your legs will
fall off on account of the fact that your blood has curdled for
want of exercise. On a recent flight then I found myself intently
watching an airline exercise video. Soon I was raising my knees,
rotating my ankles, rolling my shoulders and generally alarming
my neighbour who preferred to watch his movie unmolested. It’s
all quite jolly actually, this synchronised can-can, as passengers
glued to their consoles start doing high kicks and swinging their
arms about in perfect unison. Add some music and lip-syncing and
you might actually smile when the stewardess trundles the trolley
up to ask whether you want “por vit rye, or frys bee?”
I like frys bee but unlike conventional Frisbees this cannot be
skimmed across the cabin. At least not when the stewardess is looking.
She might actually change her expression and crack the make-up.
Sinister encodings in the movie credits trigger the biological imperative of 300 passengers who must all head to the loo at the same time
There are other
ways to exercise. On a flight to Seoul I learned a novel technique.
After a wonderful meal I pressed the recline button and gratefully
eased the seat back. My eyelids grew heavy and visions of golden
light flitted across the retina though I valiantly tried to roll
my shoulders. It was useless. Suddenly I felt myself launched forward
with great force as my seat back slammed upright. Bewildered but
unbowed I hit the button again and sank back a full centimetre or
two only to find myself pushed right back with un-Christian violence.
The gentleman in the seat behind me chatted unperturbed with his
companion with nary a glance in my direction. The third time I was
jolted perpendicular I wanted to have a word with him. After all,
he had saved my life. I was within an inch of DVT were it not for
his selfless devotion to fellow passengers.
Other forms of
exercise include frequent visits to the toilet, front, aft, daft
– anywhere – to find one with a green vacant light on.
I am convinced there is something sinister encoded in the final
credits of all inflight movies to trigger the biological imperative
of 300 passengers – who, zombie-like, must all head to the
loo at precisely the same time. Give it up. Empty loos are a fantasy.
To survive DVT just give yourself a hit of Johnnie Walker. Make
sure it’s a sturdy bottle.
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