When the worst plane seat becomes the best

Greetings from Oslo, Norway! I'm here for a late Christmas break with my son and his girlfriend who have travelled here from Ukraine. Things have been really tough in Ukraine lately and they were recently caught up in an air attack, which was very scary, so to get this time together in such a beautiful country is a real treat.

Oslo is currently experiencing record cold temperatures, like MINUS 26 degrees! So everyone at the departure gate at Heathrow was wrapped up like Eskimos on Wear All Your Clothes to Work Day.

The trouble was, the plane was sweltering hot, so as I made my way down the aisle people were fanning themselves with the in-flight menus and stripping off layers like chubby snakes shedding skin.

I kept making my way down the aisle with that sinking feeling you get when you haven't paid extra to choose your seat and it dawns on you that yes, you are in the very very back row.

And not only that but you're in the middle seat of doom.

A guy was already in the aisle seat so I had to do the award shuffle past, saying, 'Sorry, sorry!' as I clumped him in the head with my massive duvetlike coat.

'Blimey, I'm sweating like a rapist!' he declared as I sat down. I wasn't too sure what to make of this analogy but hey, it was only a two hour flight and the window seat was still empty so maybe I'd be able to shift over.

Then just at the last minute a guy came hurrying down the aisle, further and further down, until he arrived at the very very end and I realised that I would now be the meat in the worst seats sandwich.

But the worst seats on the plane turned out to be the very best seats, and here's how...

For most of the flight 'Sweating like a rapist', Window Seat Guy and I all plugged into our phones. I also did some planning for my World War 2 novel in progress in my phone Notes. Then, as we arrived over Norway, Window Seat Guy started taking photos of the beautiful snowy landscape below.

I had a serious attack of Window Seat Envy but then he very kindly offered to take some pics on my phone for me. We then started chatting about our reasons for coming to Oslo and I told him about my son and his job in Ukraine.

'Your son sounds like a legend!' he exclaimed.

I'm not sure if it's a writer thing but whenever I see or meet a new person I instantly imagine up a backstory for them. During the course of our flight I'd imagined that Sweating Like a Rapist was an ageing rocker in a band off to play a gig in Oslo, and Window Seat Guy reminded me of my son and his football team friends. I imagined he probably had a Monday to Friday office job and went to watch the Arsenal at the weekend.

Turns out I was very wrong.

'Can I ask you a question,' he said, 'but are you a writer?'

"Are you psychic?' I replied, gobsmacked.

'No,' he laughed. 'It's a bit embarrassing to admit this but I couldn't help seeing you writing something in your notes.'

"Aha!' I replied, mystery solved.

'I use my phone Notes all the time for work,' he continued. 'I'm a chef.'

The minute he said this I felt the magical presence of serendipity, which seems to weave its magic way more often when I'm traveling.

'That's so strange,' I exclaimed. 'I'm about to start writing a book about a chef!'

I joked that it was a shame we hadn't started chatting sooner as I needed to do a lot of research.

'Well we still have at least twenty minutes,' he said, 'so ask away.'

Long story short, we ended up chatting for about an hour thanks to the massive queue for passport control thanks to Brexit (!) and I got some amazing insights into life as a chef.

I also got some amazing insights into Window Seat Guy's real life, which was so much better than the backstory I'd imagined for him.

Working class, from a single parent family he'd left school with no qualifications at 16 and then discovered a passion for chef-ing which led to him working with some of the best chefs in the country.

And like all good stories, the best bit came right at the end, when we decided to connect on Instagram just before going our separate ways.

'Here's my Instagram,' he said, finding it for me on my phone.

I looked at the page to discover that he's a hugely successful Michelin star chef in his own right!

I set off to meet my son with a head full of inspiration and a spring in my step.

And the next time I end up in the worst seat on a plane I'm not going to bemoan my bad luck. I'm going to wonder at what interesting people I could end up sandwiched between!

Until next week

Siobhan