I like walking down airplanes. It’s a wholly different sensation than sitting on them. Whilst sat, the experience is so relatable to that of a bus or train or car, that all sensation of the surreal, or even of the incredible, in being on a huge mass of metal being hurtled through the heights of our skies, is almost completely lost. But when you stand and walk the length of the plane, the sensation becomes undeniable. Instead of the previous one or two windows visible at eye level, you now have them all available to your sights, and more, from your new height you see past the horizontal and deep down into the vertical. This inescapable message from the eyes then infects those other messages relaying touch and balance and position, and you immediately feel your legs lighter. All of you now fully realises the miracle; you are walking along an aisle marked upon a bed of metal, which in turn is suspending itself high above a bed of sky. You walk down and then back up again, and you feel like Indiana Jones in the last crusade faithfully crossing a bridge over an infinite descent. And then you reach your seat. And then you sit down. And then you don’t care again.