The Ankle-Crossing Air Hostess

"Oooohhh! Saucy, Joanie! Actually ... I was sorta hoping we might all pile down to Brighton, tonight. You know ... hit a few of the brill pubs and clubs there ... But, if your 'that' keen, on your dishy barman ... If you're 'Hoping' to 'Anchor' yourself to him, again ...?"

"Oooohhh! Catty, Pammy! Ha ha ha! Tell you what, Pammy ... waddayasay we all take a vote on it, later. During dinner, at the Airport Hotel - the Gatwick Travel Inn - I think Crewing have got us all booked into, for the next three nights."

"Yeah, Joanie, we're booked into the Gatwick Travel Inn, again. I kinda like it, there ... The place is friendly ... laid back and relaxed - and not stuffy or pretentious, like some of the other billets that Crewing check us into. There's a good atmosphere in the bar, too ... especially when the rugger or the soccer is on telly. The beer's not bad either - considering. And ... there's always the chance of ... 'meeting' someone ... If you get my drift ... Ha ha ha!"

Unfortunately - for me! - the 2 Qantas Airlines Air Hostesses, Pammy and Joanie (still unaware of my presence), had narrowly missed the previous Air Crew Bus.

"Jeeze, Pammy! My feeeeet ... are ab-so-lute-ly killing me!" exclaimed Joanie feelingly as, standing at the coffee machine, she repeatedly rapped the carpeted floor with the heel of her right, slightly tight-fitting, Qantas Airlines issue Flight Duty pump, by means of persuading it to loosen itself from her screaming, half-crippled foot. "Ooohhh! That's better, Pammy!" she sighed in blessed relief, as she proceeded to wiggle and splay her bare toes luxuriously.

Joanie performed her relief-giving exercise for some moments, while she busied herself in pushing the relevant buttons on the coffee machine. Then, when the coffee machine started to dispense her coffee, Joanie held the coffee cup steady to prevent the possibility of a spillage and, as she did so, she folded her pink-painted toes under, in a tight scrunch. Then: and in a sort of ... resigned, gesture that suggested she now realised that she would have to wait a bit longer than expected for her coffee cup to be filled, Joanie settled down to her short wait, by leaning her resting knee forward: a movement, that caused her creamy-coloured arch to wrinkle up in several folds. This also had the effect, I noticed, of exposing the whole of the sole of her bare, sun-kissed foot. Her 5 toe pads, the ball of her foot, and her heel, I saw, all had a pinkish-red hue, and slightly hardened skin ... Maybe from lots of barefoot walking, I mused idly.

Joanie was an 'Out-Doors' sort of girl, by the looks of things. And, she was no stranger to a surfboard, either, I guessed ... Riding the waves, and waiting for 'The Big One' ... Anyway, she didn't get a figure like that, from playing dominoes! A typical Aussie Gal, I thought (stereotypically, I suppose).

"Strewth, Joanie! Mine, too," exclaimed Pammy, as she furiously wiggled and scrunched and splayed her toes, for her colleague's benefit ... as if doing so, was to provide incontrovertible proof of her claim. "Oohh! ... My new pumps, Joanie ... They've ... they've been playing merry hell, all night ... with my poor little tootsies! Jimminy Cricket! It's a heck of a ways to England, from Straylya!"

After sitting themselves down to wait for the next Air Crew Bus - cups of coffee in hand, and sitting on the same padded bench that Miss Samantha and her 3 BA colleagues had just vacated - upon at last noticing my 'unobtrusive' presence (or, more to the point: what was printed on the front of my white T-shirt, in bold, red letters), one of the Qantas Airlines Air Hostesses - Joanie - exulted "Now, Pammy ... This ... this is what I call ... 'Hospitality'!"

"Well ... stone the ruddy crows! It certainly is, Joanie!" agreed her colleague enthusiastically, as she lifted her legs and, looking at me, meaningfully, she dangled her Qantas Airlines issue Flight Duty pumps from the tips of her toes. "You have to hand it, to them, Joanie ... you can always trust the Poms to do things in style. I hear that our own Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, is talking about following the Brits' lead ... and having footboys installed in our own Comfort Stations, back home in Oz."

"Yeah, I've heard that, as well, Pammy. Bring it on, I say! I think Julia got the idea from the Brit Prime Minister, David Cameron ... I heard that it was actually their Home Secretary, though ... Theresa May - you know ... the one they call the 'Shoe Lady', on account of her snazzy shoes that she wears all the time ...? - who dreamed up the footboy scheme in the first place ... Just like a true Sheila! Ha ha ha! And Theresa May recommended the scheme to her PM ... Didn't you notice, Pammy, how Julia and David were cosying up together all the time, at the recent Commonwealth Summit meeting, back in Oz?"

"Yeah, I did, Joanie ... But I just thought they had the hots for each other, didn't I? Ha ha ha!"

Turning to me, one of the Qantas Airlines Air Hostesses, Pammy, said, "Well, footie ... this is my first experience with an English footboy ... and, I can't wait to get started! What's your name, Pommy footboy?"

"My name is David, Miss Pammy," I replied respectfully.

"Well, David, my little Pommy footfriend ... just in case you haven't noticed already, me and Joanie are a couple of your regular Sheilas from Down Under. And now, you're going to get a bluddy good whiff, of mine and Joanie's hot and sweaty, stinky, Aussie Air Hostie feeeeet! Well ...? Waddayareckon, Buckaroo? Whadya say to that, Davy, my little Pommy footie ...? Are you up for it, cobber? Too bad, if you're not ... eh?"

"No worries, Miss Pammy," I replied in kind.

Pammy and Joanie threw their heads back, and laughed delightedly.

"Yeah! Thataway, Pommy footboy!" chimed in Joanie happily. "I had a feeling, Davy ... that you weren't gonna to be a big girl's blouse about it!"

The 2 Qantas Airlines colleagues were immensely pleased, it appeared, with my taking-it-in-good-part attitude, with regard to the 'proceedings' in hand. (Not, that I had a lot of choice in the matter!) "Come on, Pammy!" urged Joanie. "We'd better crack on, and make good use of Davy, here, while we can ... The rest of the girls will be here, any minute, and they'll all want their turn with the Pommy footboy! Me first, though! Ha ha ha!" claimed Joanie.

In a flamboyant, extravagant expression of ecstatic, anticipatory abandon, Joanie flicked her Flight Duty pumps from the tips of her bare toes towards the far corners of the Comfort Station. "Come here, Davy ... Come ... to ... Joanie!" she commanded, in a playful, sing-song voice. "Let's have you on your knees, then, all nice and convenient for me ... my little Pommy footboy! On your knees, Davy ... at my stinky, Aussie Air Hostie feeeeet!" ordered Joanie exultantly.

"Yes, Miss Joanie," I replied, respectfully and obediently.

Submissively on my knees, at Joanie's feet, Joanie firmly planted the sole of her right, bare foot on my obediently proffered face, placing the undersides of her long, slender toes over my nostrils. "Now, Davy ... Come on! Go for it! Have a bluddy good whiff! Ha ha ha ha ha! Have a bluddy good whiff, Davy ... of my stinky ... Aussie Air Hostie feeeeet!" instructed Joanie. "Ha ha ha ha!" she laughed ecstatically.

At seeing my eyes all-but bug out of their sockets, from my utter, sheer shock at inhaling the incredible, devastating stink of Joanie's ... between-the-toes, foot scent, Pammy and Joanie again threw their heads back ... and giggled hysterically. "Oh, Davy ... Don't be such a 'Girl'!" squealed Joanie delightedly.

A minute or so later, the ("Rest of the girls") duly arrived in the Comfort Station ... And they had ("Their turn with the Pommy footboy.")

As the ("Rest of the girls") duly indulged themselves with the highly agreeable attentions and ministrations of the Comfort Station footboy, Pammy and Joanie chatted away companionably ... "I'm sure looking forward to frocking-up in my new black dress, next week, when we go to Hayley's birthday shindig, Joanie. And, just you wait ... oh, just you wait, Joanie, until you see my new heels ... you're gonna just die of jealousy," predicted Pammy confidently. Pammy then stared, fixedly, into the middle-distance, as if watching projected images of the scene of that future, highly gratifying event, being 'screened' for her delectation.

"Ha ha ha!" laughed Joanie. "Yeah, Pammy ... I've been looking forward to Hayley's birthday do, as well. You can sure rely on Hayley to put a good spread of tucker on - too good, maybe ... It's too easy to overdo it. You know what they say, Pammy: 'A Moment On The Lips - Years, On The Hips' ... There's a lot of truth to that ..." observed Joanie philosophically.

"Oh ... but, Joanie!" exclaimed Pammy. "Never mind, about 'Years, On The Hips' ... I always feel as if I've spent years, on my feeeet ... after going to one of Hayley's parties! You know ... standing up, all evening long ... Clustered together, chin-wagging, in intimate little groups ...? On your feet ... the whole time ... eating and drinking, from her little round terrace-tables ...?" described Pammy feelingly.

"Pammy ... you are SO right!" agreed Joanie fervently. "Hey! You know what, Pammy ...? Wouldn't it be the coolest thing ... wouldn't it be dead brill ... if Davy, here ... could be at Hayley's little shindigs, and perform a sort of ... 'Table Service', for us ...? Ha ha ha! You know ...? He could go on 'Foot Patrol' ... Going from table to table ... and being all of the Sheilas' little 'Foot Pet' ...? We could all keep on taking our turns, with him ... over and over, until the party ended ... Resting and massaging our poor feet, on his little Pommy face ... while he sat there, for us, on the floor, cross-legged ... right behind us! ... Well ... wouldn't that be the coolest thing, ever ...? Pammy ...? Wouldn't that be dead brill ...?" urged Joanie, insisting on Pammy's 'feedback'. Which she duly got ...

"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed Pammy delightedly, highly amused, at Joanie's shindig 'Foot Pet' 'vision'. "Joanie ... are you sure you haven't been putting the amber nectar away ... when my back's been turned ...? Ha ha ha ha! ... Hey Joanie ... maybe you've got something there ... Maybe we should kidnap Davy ... I'll hide him in my Dolley Trolley, ha ha ha! We could take him back to Oz with us, as our very own, Pommy foot pet ... Hire him out to all the other Sheilas, for their own shindigs, ha ha ha! I could sure use the extra wonga! ha ha ha! ... But, yeah, Joanie ... I think you're right ... it would be the coolest thing ever ... And, yeah ... it would be dead brill ..." opined Pammy, in all seriousness. And once again, Pammy stared, fixedly, into the middle-distance ...

And, so it went on ... For 12, long, miserable hours. On that first, wretched, interminable day ... The first day: of my 6 a.m. - 6 p.m., 7 days a week, 28 days Foot Service Duty sentence, in the Cabin Crews' Comfort Station, at Gatwick Airport.

So, 'busy', had all of the day's Air Hostesses kept me, in performing my humiliating Duties that, it was only a few minutes before the 6 p.m. Air Crew Bus was due to arrive at the Comfort Station, that I remembered about The Footboy's Daily Record Sheet.

As no members of Cabin Crew were present in the Comfort Station just then, I strode over to the Bulletin Board and, with trepidation, I retrieved the red clipboard - and the Footboy's Daily Record Sheet.

There were actually 3 sheets full of comments (which would turn out to be roughly the daily average), of some of the Air Hostesses who had used the Comfort Station on that - my first day.

It still came as a shock - but no surprise! ("This is what you get, for dropping litter!") - when I read the very first entry in my Footboy's Daily Record Sheet. Which was the comment, as written by the first of the 4 British Airways Air Hostesses: Miss Samantha - the ankle-crossing Air Hostess ...

'In my judgement, this footboy - David - is a wimpy, pathetic, litter-dropping liar. He is a sorry specimen of manhood, who won't own up to his offence (he was caught red-handed by the Litterman, I understand). Since this footboy: continues to shamelessly deny his guilt; show no remorse; no sign of repentance and, no sign, either, that he will change his ways ... I strongly recommend that he must serve out the full, 28 days term of his Foot Service Duty sentence. Indeed, I consider a 28 days sentence, for this footboy, to be far too lenient: he will offend - drop litter - again ... I am sure of it!' Signed: Samantha - British Airways Cabin Crew.'

Aw, hell! This was a great start, wasn't it! Just great! What a damning indictment, by the cruel, vindictive Miss Samantha - the ankle-crossing Air Hostess. ("This is what you get, for dropping litter!").

Aw, hell! Just wait, till Mrs Jepson read it. Mrs Josephine ("Not tonight, Josephine ...") Not ever! Jepson. ("Anything less, David, than 90%, and ...").

Anxiously, I moved on, to read the considered comments of Miss Samantha's 3 BA colleagues, as officially recorded on the Footboy's Daily Record Sheet - the Official Document, that could, all too easily, become my 'Doomsday Book'!

'In my view, Samantha has called it Spot-on. And I fully endorse her opinion of this unrepentant, litter-dropping footboy. Signed: Laura - BA Cabin Crew'.

Then ...

'In my view, Samantha has hit the nail on the head. The footboy - David - needs to learn the errors of his ways. And, in my judgement, for him to do that would take much longer than a mere 28 days ... Signed: Lindsey - BA Cabin Crew.'

Then ...

'In my opinion, the comments of my BA colleagues are sound, and I whole-heartedly agree with them. Especially, with regard to the leniency of the footboy's 28 days sentence ... first offence, or not. Indeed, I feel that this footboy - David - would be a perfect candidate, to be made an 'example' of ... The Government's 'Keep Britain Tidy' litter initiative being, as it is, still in its inception, this would, I feel, send out a loud and clear message to all would-be litter louts: 'DON'T. DROP. LITTER ... OR ELSE!!' Signed: Celia - BA Cabin Crew.'

Aw, hell! Well, this was just great, wasn't it! Just wait, until Mrs Jepson read all of that! A 90% 'Satisfaction of Conduct Rate? Ha! At this rate, I would be old and grey, gaunt and haggard, by the time I finally got released from my Foot Service Duty, in the Cabin Crews' Comfort Station ... When I was too old and frail, too worn-out, too decrepit - too knackered - to be of either use or ornament, any more, to the Air Hostesses ... When I was only fit, to be casually and carelessly discarded, like one of their crumpled, used-up sandwich wrappers - simply 'dropped' - like one of their pieces of litter ...

And, I remembered ... that I had let my feelings get the better of me: that I had given voice, to my bitter resentment; that I had shown my gross disrespect ... 'after', Miss Samantha and her 3 BA colleagues had already made their original, scathing comments, in the Footboy's Daily Record Sheet ... That, I had disrespected them, 'after', they had already officially recorded their damaging - damning! - comments, regarding the 'satisfaction' of my conduct!

Aw, hell! What? I wondered ... would the 4 grossly disrespected BA Air Hostesses say about me now? What would be their officially recorded comments, next time? Aw, hell!

So much, then, for my chances (if, they even existed!) of an early release from my Foot Service Duties at the Comfort Station, for "Good behaviour!" So much, then, for keeping my "Nose clean"! So much, then, for behaving "Well!"

Aw, hell! Well ... this was just Tickety-Boo, wasn't it! Aw, hell!

I became consumed, by bitter resentment and seething outrage. My blood was boiling ... I fumed, inwardly, at Miss Samantha and her 3 BA colleagues ... Well, thanks a bunch, you lot! Thanks a heap ... Have a nice time, won't you, sunning yourselves on the beaches! Have a nice time, won't you, enjoying the nightlife! Have a nice time, won't you, getting drunk! Have a nice time, won't you, seducing the pilots! HAVE A NICE TIME!!

But, when I moved onto the next series of Air Hostesses' comments, as officially recorded on the Footboy's Daily Record Sheet, I received a totally unexpected, but very much-welcome boost. A very much-needed, revitalizing, proverbial 'shot in the arm', in fact. When I read the following testimonials ...

'Stone the crows! Davy is a heck of a Good Sport - and he's a Fair Dinkum little footie, too! Davy is The Best! Signed: Pammy - Qantas Airlines Cabin Crew'.

Then ...

'Strewth! I swear that Davy was just starting to enjoy sniffing my stinky, Aussie Air Hostie feeeet! Ha ha ha! Davy is a cracking little Pommy footboy! HELL, YEAH!! Signed: Joanie - Qantas Cabin Crew'.

Then ...

'Davy is a Super Trooper! He's a STAR! Good old Davy! Signed: Angie - Qantas Cabin Crew'.

Then ...

'Davy is The Business! A 5 Star footboy! Mmmmm ... he gave me a Real Tootsie Treat! Mmmmwah! Thank you, Davy! Signed: Candy - Qantas Cabin Crew'.

The last, of the Qantas Airlines Air Hostesses' comments, read ...

'Hmmm ... Well ... what can I say, to add to Davy's long list of brill qualities ...? I agree with the rest of the Sheilas. Davy is a First Class footie ... a real Pro, ha ha ha! No, really ... Davy is a Bonzer bloke - not one of your typical Pommy whingers! And, trust me - he had plenty of reason to whinge!! ... PS: Me and the rest of the Sheilas are already looking forward to our next Flight into good old Gatwick! Ha ha ha!' Signed: Gillie - Chief Stewardess. Qantas Cabin Crew.

Upon reading this series of Qantas Airlines Air Hostesses' comments regarding their opinions as to the satisfaction of my conduct, as officially recorded in the Footboy's Daily Record Sheet, I was overcome, choked, distraught - in bits. I was actually hurting, deep inside. But, this time - in a 'good' way ...

Aw, hell! Tears of sheer, pure, heartfelt gratitude welled in my eyes. Spilled down my cheeks. Aw, Hell!

I thought; as I wiped my grateful tears from my face, that ... It was they - the Qantas Airlines Air Hostesses - who were the "STARS." They, who were "The Business." They, who were "Fair Dinkum." They, who were the "Good Sports." They, who were "Bonzer."

I thought; that the Qantas Airlines Air Hostesses, were The Princesses Of The Skies ... Even if they had - every single one of them - made me take a "Bluddy good whiff!" of their "Stinky, Aussie Air Hostie feeeet!"

I had hope, then. There was hope, after all. There really was light at the end of the tunnel. Surely, I had at least an outside chance, now, of achieving Mrs Jepson's very high, Air Hostesses' comments 'Satisfaction of Conduct' Pass Rate rate requirement? A minimum, of 90%. ("Anything less, David, than 90%, and ...")

As I held the red clipboard, reading through the dozens of Air Hostesses' hand-written entries, I soon realised, that the vast majority of them actually took the 'concept' of the Footboy's Daily Record Sheet very much to heart. And, though they clearly exhibited a no-nonsense, taking-it-seriously, attitude, I was immensely relieved to find that the Air Hostesses apparently wished their officially recorded reflections to be balanced and fair ... Though, of course, some of them were more 'demanding' - had rather more exacting standards - than others.

I was fascinated, by the wide range - the amazing spectrum - of the Air Hostesses' views and opinions ... There were carefully considered critiques; reasoned and reasonable reports; analytical appraisals and accounts ... Pronouncements, that ran the whole gamut: from their lavish praise ... to their out-of-hand denouncements. Their often ... quite detailed explanations, as to how they arrived at their - thumbs-up; thumbs-down; the-jury's-still-out - Satisfaction of Conduct standards, for me, made for highly captivating reading. The scales of satisfaction tipped this way ... that way.