Rarely have I had the olfactory experience in an enclosed space, as I have been provided this evening - it's actually gone 04:00 in the morning, but some licence must be allowed at this point. I'm on a plane, I'm always on a plane when I write thus.

On the most rare of evenings, I'm travelling back to the UK with AM by my side, so rare in fact that in the 6+ years she's been with me in Saudi, this may very well be the first time we've journeyed back to the UK together. That much is immaterial to my story this night (see, it's later already)...

We find ourselves behind the subject of the story by a row, he being in 23A, and us in 24A and 24C, with me holding the aisle. To get to the point, there is a problem, a gastro-intestinal problem that is gaseous in nature, and it's not mine. No, this is for Reek-O-Man alone. I'd quote Nursie and use lines like "great and fruitsome flappy woof-woofs", but one's "tiny noseling" believes that Messrs Elton and Curtis were referring to something rather more akin to vanilla and rose petals than I try to describe here. Let's face it, this guy smells like you wouldn't wish to believe. I pity AM, I really do. She has a sense of smell that can out detect the average bloodhound, where I suspect I may have been abducted by aliens who chose me to return me minus all nasal sensory equipment. When I begin to detect there's an aroma in the air, it's already searing steaks on the range for all others in the near vicinity.

The iPod kicks in as it often does at such moments with Chris Rea's "You Must Be Evil" - never has a truer word been uttered. Whether he knows of the offence he causes is unknown, and I won't ask; and of course there is the unwritten rule that says "What goes on plane, stays on plane", but enough already. I can take it no longer... for fucks' sake, get yourself a butt plug or something! Have I spoke too soon? I think he's headed to the bathroom - I'm not following. Not that it matters much, he's left the damned stench behind him anyway. I'm going to sleep, more later...