No sirree,
And no amount of milky beverage laced with Rhohypnol will get me on one either.
Not while Norwich Airport is Under Seige from space monsters, ramraiding our aircraft with their boy racer saucers.
And where's Steven Seagull when you need him?
Probably with that Jizzy Jeff and his French Prince in the Arizona Dessert, punching betentacled beasties upon the bonce, whilst East Anglia falls pray to nightmarish stop-motion extratesticles.
Being so close to the Airport, I fear for me safety - I'll have to get online and download some Slim Whitman for protection.
And now I have to face Brian Ferry on Sunday, with huge tripods arising out of washing machines. Drinking lots of Calpol as it makes them live longer and tipping me out into the briny.
Where no doubt I'll get savaged by sea serpents.
I tell you, if it's not one thing, it's another...
