Heathrow, 17-01-08 and a fear of flying

From early on yesterday afternoon some of my work colleagues (particularly those in management and who require me, on occasion, to do a spot of international travel) were advising me not to look at any news websites. Of course, any such comment meant I was immediately logging on to see what was going on.

And I saw that a plane had crash landed at Heathrow just a few feet short of a runway. Aside from a few minor injuries, everyone was A-OK.

So I challenged a couple of people – what on earth was wrong with me seeing that a plane had crash landed at Heathrow? I kind of knew the reply, and was not disappointed – “well, it is not going to help with you fear of flying, is it?”

See, this story is precisely what is going to help me with my fear of flying. Because, truth be told, I not afraid of flying. In fact, I am not afraid of crashing. What I am afraid of is dying in a plane crash. Or more particularly, being devoured by a ravenous fire ball in mid flight or plummeting from the skies at a rate of knots only to become a fine human pate when the plane hits the ground/sea. That’s what I’m afraid of. It is not the flying, or the crashing. It is the relative certainty of death in the event of a crash that does my head in.

So actually the Heathrow story is good. Some reports say that the plane lost all power, came in far too low, but was directed to relative safety by the pilot. The crew then evacuated the plane quickly and speedily, whilst the emergency services were on the scene in seconds. This is a text book example of what you want to happen if something goes wrong on a flight.

Everyone walks away. Yeah, for some reason, I’m ok with that outcome.