Sitting in row 30, seat D, is either torturous tension or reprieving relief, depending on your aversion to odd meal-times. By which I mean meal times at odd hours, rather than a deep-fried scorpion served with mascarpone cream. The food trolleys – painstakingly laden with foodstuffs whose chemical composition probably more closely resembles the Styrofoam and tin foil that its kept inside – are wheeled out from the secret cove at the back of the plane, where only the uniformed, ill or those seeking tap-water are ever allowed to go near. Yet the service of this styro-food metal is begun at the front of the plane. There is probably a good 30 minutes between the first and last person on the plane getting their food. This is based on: 30 rows x 6 seats x 3-5 seconds per process of hand-to-food-to-tray = 9-15 minutes. Double this because things always take longer than you think and there are people who ask questions, have to be woken from their sleep, need to know whether there’s any chance this food could have come into contact with the inner nut of a monkey nut – each of these people adds at least a minute to deal with. This delay, whether good or no, depends on your personal preference. There is something about travelling, which causes most people to develop a completely new set of eating habits and preferences. Or, more realistically, throw previously generated eating habits and preferences to the wind and go gastronomically “mental”. This of course is in terms of the average demographic of mentality on your average budget airline. (Maybe slightly above budget, they are giving out food after all). This tend towards insanity causes those who would normally strictly eat between 7 and 8pm every day, cut their banana into the same number of pieces everyday with the same number of scoops of yoghurt – these borderline loonies will now freely accept meals at 5pm.