I flew quite a lot in the mid 1970's, the most memorable (for all the wrong reasons) was Heathrow to Malaga after Christmas. The aircraft was a British Airways DH Trident. Apart from a late take off, the flight ended with a blind landing in thick fog at Malaga. After entering the fog, the 'plane flew out over the Med before turning to make the approach to the airfield. The next time we saw any land was when we touched down. Cue heavy sighs of relief from the passengers. One other memorable flight was in a Northwest Orient 707 from Seattle to Newark in daytime. Seeing the vast empty land of the prairies was quite awe inspiring. We flew across one state, and apart from a road running from North to South, and another crossing it from East to West where there was a small town, the countryside was empty. I remember thinking, "Who would live there?"
My worst airport experience was at Heathrow on the very first day that strict controls had been imposed on what you could take onto the 'plane as hand luggage. Checking in was a nightmare, and the passenger halls were full of people trying to get checked in. Queues snaked around without any apparent organisation, and I was still a long way from my gate when they got ready to close it. There were about six of us still trying to check in for the flight to Bilbao, and by shoving our way down to the front we got into the departure lounge OK. During the wait, this rather large chap was jostling his way through the crowds, trying to catch a plane to Germany at the other end of the hall. I felt something nudging me, and I turned round to see a large black holdall pushing against me. Holding it was Jens Lehman, the Arsenal goal keeper. I'm 6ft 4 ins tall, but he was bigger than me, so I let him through.
