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Jack Black joined us on the flight from Manchester to Kos, where an as yet unknown, revealed on arrival apartment awaited. The total AC/DCness of School of Rock made a smoooooooth four-hour flight flyyyyy even faster (Living easy, living free, season ticket on a one-way ride (if only!) / Asking nothing, leave me be, taking everything in my stride / Don’t need reason, don’t need rhyme, ain’t nothing I would rather do / Going down, party time, my friends are gonna be there too!). A fat man sitting next to me opted to avoid buying a pair of in-flight headphones by reading an 800-page Tom Clancy novel. According to the New York Daily News, Clancy’s “fat techno-thrillers satisfy many men like a ballgame and a beer”. Yawn. I’d rather the plane ditched than have to endure such a holiday read horror. Why does flying strike so much fear into people? Why was a full-grown woman curled up, crying into her friends lap, while five-year-olds simply took take off in their stride? And why do small children, their ears popping back to normality on touchdown, like to clamber onto baggage carousels?

We got lucky. M, who had done her research into Kos, knew that Kardemena was a noisy, Brits-on-the-piss, vomit in the street resort to avoid. But, ha-ha, we ended up heading to Tigaki. It was pitch-black when we arrived and we got the sense that our Fili apartments were in the middle of nowhere. And, as tomorrow would reveal, we were!

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