Pete actually did ok, sleeping for around six of the nine hours. The only really hairy moment was when he realised that we expected him to sleep when he had violent and exciting plans for the touchscreen entertainment system, tray table, safety card, etc. His screams were the loudest I've ever heard and I saw the lady behind put her fingers in her ears. I also realised that I was telepathic, as I heard all those seated around us thinking "I hope to God this doesn't carry on for the next nine hours..."
But it didn't, and Pete was soon asleep. I constructed a fabulous cocoon out of the complimentary blankets, wedged under the window blind and supported by the adjustable headrest, to cut out the light. As the feeling in my legs slowly numbed away and a twitching toddler woke me every fifteen minutes I pitied those who had paid so much more to be in their first class sleeping pods when I'd achieved near-identical comfort back in economy.
Then we got to Somerset, and all responsibility was handed over to Godmother/Aunt Em.
And then we went to Wales - this is my youngest Godson Freddie. We're in disguise.
