A Ding Dong on the way to Hong Kong

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I had endured an uneventful day waiting in the extremely crowded business lounge in Amsterdam punctuated by periodic grazing of beef broth (basically a beef stock cube in warm water), cheese that looked like Scottish fudge and a meat based product which if I was pushed would guess was pork. However, given the Dutch propensity for our equine friends, I fear I may have been wrapping my gherkin in Shergars' distant cousin. I also polished off some chicken wings, the aforementioned gherkins which were the size of bananas and onion rings, Heston Blumnethal take note! Although you will not hear this from Oz Clarke or in the Decanter magazine, these dishes all matched superbly with several glasses of red wine from somewhere or other.

Feeling extremely relaxed and looking forward to my luxurious business class flight to Hong Kong with a good book, great choice of movies and the latest chart hits to occupy the next 10 hours, what could possibly fly my ointment? I introduced myself to my travelling companion to my right, my new friend who would later that evening very ungracefully straddle me on the way to the bathroom. He was on his way to Hong Kong for a spinal conference. How very appropriate that he chose to travel KLM business class, he will be able to show the attendees at the conference first hand what KLM's shockingly uncomfortable seats will do to a mans back after 10 hours. We got off to an inauspicious start to our relationship, after hearing his accent I waffled on about all the great new whiskies that are coming from the micro distilleries in the US. He stopped me after about 10 minutes to tell me he was from Hamburg, Germany. I think we were both relieved to return to our books.

It was then that I became aware of who I now affectionately refer to as "The Worlds Biggest Asshole". This gentleman was seated across the aisle to my left and I think he may have been Dutch, although my recent attempts at placing accents could have meant he was from deepest, darkest Tanzania. I think he may have consumed a Campari or 3 before boarding the aircraft but I still do not understand why anyone would lift their feet and then return the to the ground with a crashing thud every 2 seconds before glancing around looking for approval from his fellow passengers. His next trick was to loudly tap his monitor with the remote control. As my blood boiled, I felt instant remorse for wishing injury on my fellow flyer, the guy was obviously not the full shilling, a few tinnies short of a 6 pack. Then on closer inspection this remorse dissipated, the guy was just a dick. Mercifully he fell asleep after two hours of The Stomp and I was even mildly amused by his comedy loud snoring. I gained moral victory in the only way possible, by giving him my world renowned death stare as we departed the aircraft. I win 1-0.

In Hong Kong airport as I waited for my luggage I began to get that familiar feeling that always lurks below the surface when I travel with KLM, "Where the feck is my bag?" My mind drifted to Schiphol airport where 2 wasted Dutch guys conversed over my bag;

"Itch that Schotish guysch bagsch again."

"He isch an arschhole, letch leave his bag here again even though we have had 7 hours to put hisch bagsch on the connecting flight!"

As I filled in the missing luggage documentation my mind now wandered from the thought of cigarettes to where I would find underwear that would fit me, I boastfully sniggered to myself.

In my hotel I had the usual struggle of trying to get into the funsize shampoo/shower gel/body lotion bottles provided, this time I was actually grateful to douse myself in that weird smelling gunk. Feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world, I slipped into the same dirty clothes I has pent the last 24 hours travelling in, nice. Undeterred, I marched out into the bustling city with underpants on my mind. Within 20 minutes I realised that boxer shorts are not the undergarment of choice for the Hong Kongese gent. I actually felt a little dirty and disappointed in myself as I fished my hand into numerous large boxes with various mens briefs and thongs before settling on a pair of blue and yellow briefs which looked like something Eric from 29 Acacia Road would wear.

My bags arrived without fanfair the following morning.

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