COOL air blows over my face. I close my eyes and relax, allowing the gentle
stream of air to carry away the tensions of the morning. The professor鈥檚 pocket
knife triggered the sensors at the security gate, but he sent me on ahead,
saying he鈥檇 catch me up once he鈥檇 been searched. And now I鈥檓 sitting here, an
empty seat beside me, almost hoping he doesn鈥檛 make it. Travelling with the
professor is never easy.
A commotion at the front of the plane tells me he鈥檚 on board. He waves to me
and then elbows his way past a long line of passengers standing in the aisle,
busily thrusting coats and sweaters into luggage lockers. He sits down with a
thump. 鈥淭ogs-off travel,鈥� he says cryptically. 鈥淎viation without
insulation鈥攊t鈥檚 one of humankind鈥檚 greatest achievements.鈥�
I鈥檓 studying the glossy plan in front of me to see where the emergency exits
are. But the professor has other ideas. 鈥淛ust think,鈥� he says, 鈥渨e sit here,
half undressed, while this enormous air conditioner whisks us through an
environment as cold as Siberia and as airless as Everest. Wonderful isn鈥檛 it?鈥� I
mutter something positive, but all I can think about is standing on top of
Everest without any clothes on. I pull on a jumper.
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At last we鈥檙e off. For a few quiet moments I relish that wonderful feeling of
being pushed back into my seat, and then we鈥檙e climbing at what seems like a
very steep angle. We bank sharply and turn, and one or two passengers moan
softly. 鈥淒on鈥檛 worry,鈥� sings the professor, 鈥渋t鈥檚 just a temporary difference of
opinion between your balance receptors and your visual system.鈥� I鈥檓 not
worrying; I have the window seat and I鈥檓 having a great time鈥攕o far.
My ears pop, but my attention is distracted by the professor shifting
uneasily in his seat. I ask him what鈥檚 up. 鈥淭he cruel legacy of Robert Boyle,鈥�
he says. 鈥淧 is inversely proportional to V.鈥� I look mystified,
so he begins to explain. 鈥淭he pressure鈥檚 falling in here,鈥� he says, waving his
arm, 鈥渟o all the gas in my intestines is expanding. I knew I shouldn鈥檛 have had
those Brussels sprouts.鈥� For once I鈥檓 glad my nose is blocked. I turn away,
mentioning the expanding air in my inflamed sinuses.
鈥淢mm yes, poor you,鈥� he says briskly. 鈥淲ell look on the bright side. Just
think how much worse it would be for both of us if the cabin weren鈥檛
pressurised.鈥� He decides to calculate just how much worse, and announces that if
the cabin was unpressurised his intestinal gases would have expanded fourfold.
鈥淢ind you, without an oxygen mask, I probably wouldn鈥檛 be conscious for long
enough to worry about it,鈥� he says.
I gaze out of the window at the clouds drifting below. I want to shift my
feet, but find the professor鈥檚 briefcase and laptop are taking up all the
available space. 鈥淪o you see,鈥� he drones, 鈥渢he air pressure inside the plane is
about four-fifths of normal atmospheric pressure鈥攏ot ideal, but it鈥檚 safe,
and over three times the pressure outside. It鈥檚 as if we were at 2000 metres
when we鈥檙e actually at something like 10 000. So we don鈥檛 get decompression
sickness鈥攜ou know, the bends and all that.鈥�
To hear him talk, you鈥檇 think he was teaching a biology class, not sitting in
tourist class. 鈥淏ut the lower air pressure does mean that there鈥檚 a bit less
oxygen in the blood than usual, though not much less鈥攖hanks to the
wonderful properties of haemoglobin. You鈥檙e not likely to feel anything unless
your effective altitude is 3000 metres or more.
鈥淥f course, if the pressure drops much lower than that you鈥檒l start breathing
faster and feeling a little woozy. The brain is very sensitive to oxygen
shortage, you know.鈥� This sounds alarming, and clearly I show it. 鈥淎h no, you鈥檒l
be OK as long as the cabin stays pressurised,鈥� he reassures me. 鈥淎fter all,
you鈥檙e not a smoker and you haven鈥檛 got lung problems, or circulatory
disease鈥攃onditions that interfere with your oxygen supply.鈥�
Someone in the next row turns around suspiciously. 鈥淢ind you, people claim
they get drunk quicker in aeroplanes,鈥� the professor continues. 鈥淚 suppose if
you鈥檙e already a bit on the squiffy side before you start quaffing鈥︹�� His voice
trails off as the steward appears. He orders his customary gin and tonic, and a
mineral water for me. 鈥淭he other thing is that people on aeroplanes drink at
funny times of day, don鈥檛 they? Cheers.鈥�
Cogs crunch
I look around and see that lunch is slowly making its way down the aisle. As
it happens, I have already eaten lunch, and I can almost hear the crunching of
cogs inside my circadian clock. I grimace at the thought of jet lag, then sneak
a glance at the professor, expecting him to launch into a homily on the
importance of hygiene in airline catering. Mercifully, he鈥檚 thought of something
else. 鈥淛ust think,鈥� he says, his mouth full of cold roast beef, 鈥渙f the amount
of plastic packaging that goes into making airline meals for a billion
passengers every year.鈥� But my mind is fixed on BSE and salmonella, not plastic
trays and Cellophane. At least we鈥檙e travelling tourist class鈥攄idn鈥檛 I
read somewhere that food poisoning is more likely in first class?
The professor goes off to the toilets again, while I shuffle my feet, aware
that my shoes are getting tighter. My ankles must be swelling up. I鈥檓 still
wriggling my toes when he gets back. 鈥淥edema!鈥� he cries triumphantly. 鈥淵ou
should have been moving your feet to keep the circulation going.鈥� I try to
protest, but he sweeps me aside like a jumbo jet thundering down a runway. 鈥淚t鈥檚
very simple,鈥� he says. 鈥淏lood pools in your feet, fluid seeps out of your
capillaries and hey presto you鈥檙e swelling up like a balloon.鈥�
A cup of coffee and a brandy now nestle side-by-side on the professor鈥檚
table, but something tells me he鈥檚 about to launch a new cause for anxiety in my
direction. 鈥淥f course, that鈥檚 not your only problem,鈥� he says. 鈥淵ou encounter
more cosmic radiation when you fly鈥攊t鈥檚 worse the higher up you go.
Obviously it鈥檚 more serious for aircrew and regular passengers than it is for
occasional aviators like us. Even if you spend 100 hours in the air a year, you
still won鈥檛 get nearly as high a dose of radiation as someone living in Cornwall
or anywhere with naturally high radon levels.鈥� I see an opening and suggest that
professors always seem to be travelling, but that doesn鈥檛 stop the flow.
鈥淚鈥檓 more worried about catching diseases from the other passengers,鈥� he
booms. I see the person in front looking around again, and feel suddenly
embarrassed. 鈥淚鈥檓 talking about infections that spread via droplets鈥攆lu,
TB, that kind of thing. I gather the authorities take this very seriously.鈥�
Someone coughs a few rows away and I shudder, but the professor motors blithely
on. 鈥淚 believe it has actually happened with TB. It鈥檚 not that surprising when
you think how close we are to one another in here.鈥�
Strangely hot
He pauses dramatically. 鈥淢ind you, the air conditioning helps protect you.
All that pressurised air starts off in the engines, so it鈥檚 pretty
hygienic鈥攁lthough some does get recirculated, I believe. Anyway, the air
changes in here every three or four minutes, you see鈥攎uch quicker than it
does in other places.鈥�
But the reassurance comes too late, as it always does. That鈥檚 the trouble
with travelling with the professor: for him, knowledge is power, but for me it鈥檚
just something new to worry about. I always end up feeling anxious. Right now my
heart is thumping and I am strangely hot.
I knock back some fruit juice. 鈥淰ery wise,鈥� he says, 鈥渟tick to the
nonalcoholic stuff.鈥� I point out that I鈥檓 driving when we arrive. 鈥淲ell, it鈥檚
not a good idea to drink alcohol and coffee anyway,鈥� he says, 鈥渢hey鈥檙e both
diuretics. And the last thing you want to do is get dehydrated. All this moving
air inside the cabin isn鈥檛 exactly humid, and so you鈥檙e bound to get a dry mouth
and eyeballs.鈥� The person in front turns round again and I think I hear an
exasperated sigh.
We start to descend. Suddenly, everything sounds muffled. 鈥淧ressure鈥檚 rising
again,鈥� bellows the professor. I suck on a mint, but I鈥檓 still having trouble
with my ears. A baby starts crying a few rows back. 鈥淭he pressure inside your
ears is now lower than outside鈥攕o you鈥檝e got to open your Eustachian
tubes,鈥� he says. 鈥淭he trouble is, their anatomy means the tubes don鈥檛 pop open
so easily during descent. Try pinching your nostrils and swallowing.鈥� After a
few attempts my ears clear and I am surprised once more by the loudness of the
professor鈥檚 voice.
He is still holding forth on the anatomy of the ear when we touch down.
Suddenly a large well-dressed man leaps out of the seat in front and turns on
the professor with wild eyes. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 take any more,鈥� he says, his voice
trembling with anger. 鈥淵ou and your blasted in-flight lectures. Can鈥檛 you just
shut up for five minutes?鈥�
Sensing that violence might be imminent, I stand up, ready to intervene. But
the man draws back, startled by the bewildered expression on the professor鈥檚
shining, schoolboyish face. He sighs heavily and turns to me. 鈥淲hy do you put up
with him?鈥� he asks.
鈥淚鈥檓 used to it,鈥� I reply, 鈥渨e鈥檝e been married thirty years.鈥�
鈥淢adam, you have my sympathies.鈥�
鈥淲hat a strange man,鈥� mutters the professor, as we enter the terminal. But he
soon recovers. 鈥淭he Eustachian tube is utterly fascinating. Do you know anything
about Bartolomeo Eustachio? Of course anatomy was all the rage in 16th-century
Italy鈥︹�� I stride on ahead, and I鈥檝e got the passports.