Plane Exhausting

Travelling with Rachel is tough. My telly addict daughter chooses the moment we embark on an 8 and a half hour flight to lose all interest in in television. Usually I can't get her to turn CBeebies off, but when I am actually encouraging her to watch something, she couldn't care less. She likes what she calls 'fulms', especially 'Wiz and Woz' (Wizard of Oz) with the 'wucked wutch.' British Airways actually offer the choice of CBeebies programmes and loads of kids' films and music and stories, but she was having none of it. Actually her IFE (In Flight Entertainment) screen didn't work, so I had her on my lap watching mine. She was being so fickle though, watching less than a minute of something before demanding something else. It was exhausting. The cabin crew kept trying to restart her screen but it kept failing and in the end, I told them it was highly unlikely I would be able to watch anything myself anyway, so not to worry.

I should explain, I was flying alone with the two girls so there was no other adult to pass Rachel to when she got annoying (- which was from the word go). Mark and I had planned to travel to Grenada as a family on stand-by tickets, but as the departure date came closer, the plane began to fill up, and we ran a greater risk of not getting out at all. We had been invited to stay with my uncle Richard and partner Rick who had rented a house there for six weeks. We thought to play safe, us girls would try to go out on Sunday's flight and ease the pressure on the seats left on Tuesday's flight. I was quite willing to go first, if it all worked out, a 10 day, rather than a week's holiday in Grenada was definitely something I could live with. (Mum had gone there for a week and ended up not coming home at all.)

Anyway, a couple of hours into the flight, midway over the Atlantic, Rachel starts up with "I want to go home, get me out of here!" She is on a loop. "I want go HOME, I want GO HOME." I start to feel like I had abducted her. I try everything; food, drink, toys, colouring, stickers, little walk down the plane, but she won't be distracted. Reasoning is hopeless. She complains of tummy ache but won't go to the loo. She was scared witless by the loud flush when I had to go. She also, unbeknown to me, had a slight wee accident which I didn't discover until later when I managed to persuade her to use the toilet. She is tired and stretches out over my knees. She reaches up to play with the catch that holds the tray in place, unclips the table and it falls down and hits her smack in the face. Tears ensue. Eventually, she falls asleep in my arms and I manage to watch about three quarters of Johnny English - Reborn.

All too soon she wakes up and it starts again immediately, "I want go home." I look at the flight information and note with despair that it we still have 5 and a half hours to go, until we land in Barbados (where we have another hour stopover before flying on.)

Later, after a few rounds of Old McDonald Had A Farm, with the help of the animal glove we have, she cheers up, and we take Emilia down the plane to the loo. Emilia likes to go in on her own but doesn't like to lock the door, so I have to stand guard. It occurs to me now, that the light doesn't go on unless you lock the door in these aeroplane toilets, so poor girl must have been sitting in the dark in there. Rachel shouts loudly through the door "Don't forget to wipe your bottom and wash your hands!"

The other problem flying with Rachel is that she can't keep her seatbelt on, so that is an argument we have to have over and over again. The meals are a good time waster and keep Rachel busy trying to open the milk sachets and pouring drinks. She wants to drink all the milk and I have to keep asking for more, so there is some left for my tea. Trying to open enough sachets to fill a cup is irritating and time consuming but hey we've got plenty of that, so I don't argue the point.

The food is actually surprisingly good, which is just as well really as my compulsion to finish up anything the children don't eat, even extends to food I don't actually like. My lunch consists of 3 Goats cheese salads, the first two of which I really enjoy, by the third one, less so, followed by most of a Shepherds Pie and Cajun chicken dish. Emilia manages two plastic bowls of chocolate profiteroles and I only get a whole one to myself as the lady who was sitting in front gave us hers.

I don't think I have ever spent so much time getting up and down to visit the loos on a flight before. It was a good job we did not have anyone to squeeze past. At least three of the times that Rachel professed to needing to go, were when the seat belt sign was on. I had to make apologetic faces at the cabin crew and undertake to go at 'my own risk.' As far as I was concerned the risk of not falling in with Rachel's plans is far greater.

I read aloud the nine stories in the First Experiences book, 144 pages worth, at least three times through in various orders. I also allowed the girls to drink miniature cans of lemonade, a treat which probably accounted for the number of toilet visits. They joined the group of noisy Italians who were queuing up at the back of the plane, for more alcoholic miniatures. That is certainly one way to while away the journey, but unfortunately not an option that was open to me.

We also had to harass the cabin crew for more juice. Rachel was frightfully peeved when she discovered I'd finished her juice off rather than sitting there with an open cup waiting for her to take one sip every 10 minutes. 'Where my juice? Get 'nother one. You 'noying me.' So off we go again down the back - where she gets one for herself and one for 'Belia - not you!'

Also, she decides as soon as the IFE is unavailable, on the ground in Barbados and during take off and landing, she is suddenly desperate to watch CBeebies. Contrary or what?

On finally landing in Grenada, we are leaving the plane and she turns and says with a wave 'Bye, bye air plane - that fun!'

We waited for ages in the queue for immigration and I realise it is now about 11pm in England and she has not slept much more than an hour the entire day. She is tired and starts up complaining again. "Want go home" - this time I am grateful though, as it seems that everyone else in the queue also wants her to go home, and we are propelled to the front by the friendly, noisy Italians.

Once through, we were met by Mum tanned and energetic, and more than willing to take her on. Rachel continued to bounce off walls and swim and explore the hotel until 2am English time.

I am really hoping we are all, including Mum, on the same plane, on the way home, otherwise, I might insist that this time I'm taking the boys.