Flight: Or, As They Say in French... I don't speak French, nevermind.

Let's get some ground rules down:

1. I'm French.
2. I don't speak French.
3. Fish and Chips in the US is pretty consistent with UK Fish and Chips.

Let's talk about Air Canada. Oh, Air Canada, my home and native flight service.

The flight to London was relatively uneventful, aside from the fact that Air Canada assumes you speak French until you indicate you don't, and I flew to Montreal in an aircraft that, in many respects, was modeled after this guy:

That's right folks... I was flying Air Nemo. The plane puttered in with a bum propeller and all the hope in the world. I walked onto the entry ramp thinking, "Hey, at the end of this thing, there will be an airtight passage and a door leading onto a comfortable aircraft." But no, for Air Canada had other plans. We walked outside (OUTSIDE) and jumped onto the Flying Nemo, an aircraft with about as much cabin space as Apollo 11. 

But Nemo found his way home, and soon we were in Montreal, where everyone assumes you speak French until they realize you can't, and then continue because you don't. ESPECIALLY flight attendants, who decided on the 6 hour flight to London that, "hey, this guy's name is Monsieur Perreault, he must speak French." Little did they know my grandparents intentionally kept me from learning the language so they could talk in front of me without me knowing what was going on, "secret agent Grampy" style.

So I watched movies, tried to find a comfortable position for 6 hours, fell asleep at hour 7, landed 15 minutes later, and walked off into the fog of London...
...and it wasn't even foggy that day.