"Mr Kereama." The flight attendant spoke discreetly and yet urgently, "We need help with your wife up the front of the plane please."
Grant and the children had kindly flown in steerage as I relaxed in Business. There had been only one upgrade available, and having had a couple of wines I'd probably somehow convinced them I was the most deserving. I certainly made a ridiculous "first class" shambolic fool of myself. Sleeping tablets when taken correctly can be a godsend, but mixed with alcohol they can send you into a black hole, where you continue to function and malfunction while in complete and utter blackout. You will behave strangely, or otherwise, with no recollection of any of it. I did this not once but twice and both with humiliating and embarrassing consequences.
The meal had been served on the Air NZ flight from LA to Auckland. I'd had a little too much wine in the lounge, decided I wanted to sleep all the way home, and downed a tablet prescribed for me in America.
The next thing I knew my husband was shaking me awake in Auckland hissing quietly at me: "Do you remember climbing on top of your food tray and going to sleep?"
I didn't. I didn't remember it, and I certainly didn't believe it, but my daughter didn't hesitate to recall the humiliation of Daddy having to go in to business class and get me down off the food tray where I was fast asleep and drooling with crackers spilt all over me, the seat and the floor. I had no recollection of anything other than boarding the plane.
