Sleepless And Seattle

Artists' impressions of D. B. Cooper and Pither (aka Terry Fuckwit)

It's gone 2am and I can't sleep - even if I wanted to!
I made the mistake of nodding off on the settee after dinner - a common Friday night occurrence - and woke at around midnight. Dragging myself upstairs to bed I found that the Comfydown Feathersleep 675 had been entirely taken over by three of my four dogs and attempts to lift the quilt and squeeze in were greeted by muffled growls and bared teeth.
I stumbled back downstairs, just as the soon-to-be ex-Mrs Pither was coming through the front door after HER traditional way of spending Friday nights. Today (sorry, yesterday) was the birthday of one of my godson's as well as the 60th birthday of a very good friend of ours and Mrs P had been to wish both well. Quite what a six-year-old or a pensioner were doing celebrating until the small hours was not explained but STB EW seemed to have had fun and promptly retired to bed.
I was left in the lounge with a cup of tea and the telly, as well as with "the rickety armchair" as, during my brief absence, my alsatian had taken over the settee and greeted my attempts to get back on it with muffled growls and bared teeth.
As I sat there, wondering who the Hell it was who actually paid the mortgage, a documentary came on about Dan (aka D. B.) Cooper. Never heard of him? Well, he was an ingenious cove who made off with $200,000 from a North West Airlines 727 in 1971 after telling the cabin crew in flight that he was carrying a bomb in his briefcase. He demanded four parachutes and the cash when the plane touched down in Seattle and then ordered the pilot to fly to Mexico (haven't you always wanted to do that? Like telling a taxi driver to "follow that car"). The plane duly headed off again for the sunny south with the cash and parachutes on board - he had asked for four, saying the others were for crew members, so that he was guaranteed to get a serviceable one and not one which when you pulled the ripcord you looked upwards to see someone's laundry and a packed lunch flying out.
Somewhere over the Pacific North West, no-one knows where, he leapt out of the plane through the back stairway and was never seen again.
Now, I'm not normally a big supporter of armed robbery, hijacking, demanding money with menaces or crime in general but I say............"Way t'go Dan, way t'go!" What a wizard wheeze! Why didn't I think of that? No-one was hurt, the only people to lose out were the fat cat airline bosses and he instantly created a ripping yarn which has deservedly been passed on and on ever since.
I then sat and seriously considered trying to pull a similar stunt myself the next time I fly abroad. The trouble is, not only do I NOT have that touch of derring do essential for such a heist, bad luck follows me like flies around a cow's arse!
I mean, what could go wrong? Well, for a start, trying to find spare batteries and an alarm clock which work here at Pither Towers, let alone explosives, would be impossible. Then, the briefcase I use for work has a dodgy clasp and so my "bomb" would have fallen out on the 501 bus before I'd even got to the airport. Even if that didn't happen then there would doubtless be some strike by air traffic controllers in Paris which would leave me sitting around the departure lounge for 12 hours with a load of sweaty, drunken, Corfu-bound chavs - and a slowly ticking explosive device!
Say I managed to get on the right plane at the right time, instead of taking off for Washington state we would obviously be diverted to Luton because of a baggage handlers dispute somewhere.
Even if we actually managed to start crossing the Atlantic, I don't have that air of menace and authority needed to get this masterplan off the ground. No? Picture this scenario:

Pither: "Stewardess! I have a bomb in this case - yes, the case which has just come open again - and I want £345 and a parachute."
Stewardess: "The Duty Free trolley will be coming round in about an hour."
Pither: "You don't understand. This is a.......no thanks, I don't want a pillow......or another individual fruit salad.......hold up."
Stewardess: "I know. I'm sorry about that. It was those baggage handlers at Luton."
Pither: "Look, will you just take this sodding note to the pilot?"
Stewardess: "He's very busy just now. Can't it wait until we land?"
Pither: " That wouldn't be ideal for me."
Stewardess: "Shall I get my colleague Rupert to help you? Rupert! Oh Rupert...!"
Pither: "Oh, what's the bloody point! Look, just give me a pillow and another fruit salad and we'll call it quits."
Stewardess: "Happy to help."

As for the trickier parts of D. B.'s stunt, they don't even bare thinking about. Knowing me I'd parachute down into a police station, if the parachute opened at all, or I'd get blown back to Luton by strong cross winds.
No, on second thoughts, I think skyjacking is not for me. Bed, however, is. Dreams of derring do can go to Grantham.