Never again
Five years ago I was all booked to fly to St Lucia to get spliced with the ex-Mrs PJM. Two weeks of relaxation on a caribbean island sounded great but turned into one of the dumbest things I've done to date.

First there was the small matter of a ten hour flight in economy class. It's not usually a problem, but the journey was blighted by a three year old boy called Oliver. He had the look of a ginger Damien about him and from the moment the plane was airborne he howled, ran up and down the aisles and jostled everyone he could in a hugely successful attempt to make damn sure that no-one on the plane got any sleep. Everytime I shot the parents an evil stare I was met with a smile, a shrug and the comment "Oh Oliver! He's a one". Eight sleep deprived hours later reading the safety card for the umpteenth time I rang for the stewardess. "Can you put the little mutant in an overhead locker?" I asked in dispair as Oliver now proceeded to make airplane noises and engage in a dogfight in the aisle next to me.

Two weeks, one marriage certificate, no sex whatsoever as the air conditioning was on the blink, a new wife who began to make my life an utter misery and a morning spent vomiting over the side of a boat instead of taking pictures of dolphins later I'm boarding the plane carrying our luggage when I feel some extra resistance dragging on the heavy suitcase. I turn around and see Oliver, staring at me while trying to remove my baggage tags. I give the parents a pained look to be met with "Oh Oliver! He's a one!". When I made the check in point I attempted to bribe the check in girl with my remaining caribbean dollars into making sure that the annoying fucker was put at the back of the plane. To my lasting gratitude, she took pity on me and the one satisfying moment of the whole trip was seeing the hyperactive little shit being dragged off to cause misery elsewhere.

And Mrs-PJM? I divorced her a year later. Meh.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Mon 11 Sep 2006, 13:53, Reply)