Can anyone really sleep on airplanes? If you can, please tell me your secret (but if it’s nyquil I want none of it; that’s just been descension into further airplane purgatory with every swig). My present plan-of-attack is to watch four movies and hope to Jesus there is some earth beneath those wheels soon after. I must admit, however, the proceeding hours of looking and acting much like an alert meerkat are not worth the aerial ones spent with Jason Segel and Emily Blunt (oh my gosh, though, were they FUNNY).
One revision I can speak of with certainty (and dignity, might I add) is to bring moelleux au chocolat with me. What’s that, you say? Oh, just a light, moist muffin-like creation of heaven with a French accent. And a mustache.
No beret, though.