Ed Force One in all its glory
It was gigantic, gleaming in the midday sun. The body emblazoned with the band’s logo while Eddie’s menacing face was plastered over the tail; it looked fucking cool. As we boarded the plane, 12 huge, dark blue leather seats were reserved for the band, manager Rod Smallwood, family and crew, while a further 60 seats behind those offered more leg room than your average London flat. At the back, souvenirs of their recent shows were stored safely and neatly, including a pile of embroidered sombreros. I resisted the temptation to try one on. Again, another regret that haunts me.
Before take-off, myself and Ashley were offered a tour by our pilot.
“We know exactly each piece is on the aeroplane,” said Bruce pointing at things I didn’t understand. “It’s just arithmetic. It’s like a balance beam. We know where the cargo is, how much people weigh and how much gas. We just crunch the numbers and get on with it.”
As we took our seats, we were offered Pringles (salted), drinks (soft) and were made to feel like royalty by the flight attendants, before a familiar voice burst from the speakers.