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Chapter 1: Craig Arrives in Zambia. I hate waking up on a plane. For that matter, I hate waking up next to anyone, however intimate I have been with them before I ' we ' go to sleep. And on a plane, you are surrounded by strangers, heading towards God knows what, in that horrifically vulnerable moment of waking. The lights come on, and you're supposed to eat, you're supposed to be able to function as a human being; but in that deliriously poetic moment between sleep and eating you are totally vulnerable. That Tuesday morning, flying from London to Lusaka, I was especially vulnerable ' I was still drunk. I hate flying, and I had put it off for ages, but I knew that if I was ever to see Cee again I had to fly ' there was no way I could take a month and a half (and to do that would have been pushing it) to travel overland to get there. So I had to fly, and to have the courage to get onto the plane meant spending the Monday afternoon in pubs and bars across London, getting on the plane drunk, and then drinking some more. And then, on top of the fact that I was deliriously, poetically, vulnerably between sleep and waking on a British Airways plane, the thought that Cee had gone back to him crept as subtly as a toxin through me; she had gone back to him but she still wanted me to come out to visit. That rather destroyed the point for me - and meant that I would have to look elsewhere for my holiday shag. There could and would be all kinds of complications. The cabin crew girl looked at me funny, but still gave me a Bloody Mary with my breakfast. I felt that it was the only way to go.