As much as I'm not a patriotic Briton, I do love British Airways.

The food, even in economy class, err, sorry "World Traveller" (call it what you like, there's still fuck-all leg room) is very good. True to their Britishness, they don't hold back on the alcohol. It's all free, and you can have as much as you like, be it beer, wine or spirits. So far, I've managed a modest V.A.T and a small bottle of red with dinner.

Frankly, though, seasoned trans-Atlantic travellers such as myself know not to over-indulge in the free booze, as in addition to the usual affects of alcohol on the body (I'm mainly talking about dehydration here), you have the aircraft's so-called air conditioning system, sucking every last drop of moisture out of the passengers. At least, the ones in economy class.

We're currently 3796 miles from Heathrow, and our Boeing 777 is showing a really quite good range of movies and programs. Being a Triple-7, everyone has their own TV screen and a choice of 12 channels. You can really tell that we're on British Airways and not United Airlines, if only because they haven't censored the crap out of the films.

I'm watching Insomnia whilst I type. Al Pacino is doing his husky-voiced grizzly cop routine, and Hilary Swank is looking like a really convincing female impersonator (drag queen). Robin Williams has yet to make his entrance, but my eternal optimism says there's every chance he won't be his usual manically irritating self-absorbed self.

...meanwhile, a couple of hours later...

So, the second movie I've chosen to watch the end of, is Eight Legged Freaks. As B-Movies go this has all the necessary ingredients for a rollicking good time:

• An entirely predictable plot.
• Lots of shock moments
• David Arquette
• Big spiders

The acting is nothing to speak of, but then that's not why people watch this sort of movie. It's all about the spiders, and boy do them lads have all the best moves. Robin Williams could learn thing or two from them.

It's now 3am Mountain Time, and I had four hours sleep last night. It's 10am Greenwich Mean Time, and in a couple of hours, I'm facing driving an unfamiliar hire car, in London after being awake for all but four of the last 45 hours. That's OK though, because a quick jaunt down the M4 at speeds of no less than 80mph with all those other cheery British motorists will get enough adrenaline flowing around my bloodstream to keep me awake until the evening.

I don't bother trying to sleep on the flight. There's no point. I'm not someone who moves about much in their sleep, but there's so little room in economy class seating that it's impossible to relax enough to be able to sleep. Honestly, all those animal rights activists want to quit worrying about veal calves being put in crates, and switch their energies to the far more inhumane confinement of air travellers.

Just to reinforce what worthless scum us coach class travellers are, the plane's safety film constantly showed us pictures of the Business and First class accommodation.

Having worked in the airline industry (on the IT side) I don't resent the Business and First class travellers, because the exorbitant fares they pay keep the cost down for the rest of us.

Mind you, the lucky sods have fully reclineable seats that turn into beds, real cutlery, and the cabin crew will rub their feet for them. In economy class, the nearest you can get to that, is if you're not careful coming out of the bathroom, and they run over your feet with the drinks trolley.

Having given up on the video entertainment, I now have my soundtrack provided by a minidisc of Groove Armada. If you don't know them, think laid-back post-club Sunday morning. Easy listening for Generations X and Y.

Talking of morning, I'm about ready for my breakfast. Now where's that nice British Airways lady, with the properly made tea?