A Monarch Boeing 737 took me on my first ever flight as a nineteen year-old. Three excited friends and I were off from Devon for two weeks of fun & sun in Benidorm on a ‘secret surprise’ budget package holiday (the secret was that we would not know which hotel we were staying in until we got there)!
None of us had flown before and naively we arrived at Gatwick a full six-hours before our scheduled chartered plane departure to Alicante to have some airport ‘fun’.
London’s number two airport was no comparison to what it is today, let alone a modern day Singapore Changi or Bangkok Suvarnabhumi. In ’83 the only entertainment available was a Space Invader machine with the sound turned down! Within two hours we were bored stiff and inevitably this boredom was compounded further when the flight was over three hours late!
Eventually we boarded and as this was my first ever flight, I eagerly paid attention to the safety demonstration, woofed down the in-flight meal & free beer and annoyed all the passengers within earshot by chatting excitedly with my mates about what adventures lay ahead for the duration.
In the event we had a fabulous time of late nights (daybreak finishes in reality), lazy days and copious amounts of alcohol.
The six o’clock morning flight back home was a far more subdued affair as I started my thirty-hour sleeping marathon to catch up on what I had missed over the previous fortnight!
Awful Photos Of The Four Of Us