Before I start to tell this story, one thing I wish to let you know is I didn't have a fear of flying.
For years, I told friends that flying was as safe as driving your car. Unfortunately, plane crashes make the headlines, whereas car crashes don't.
My first flight to Canada wasn't too pleasant - the flight was - it was the wait at Gatwick Airport that was unpleasant. The airport itself is fine, but I was so nervous I couldn't eat, or drink and I had a wait of seven hours for the flight with CanAir.
I had a dream several nights before about a flight. The dream didn't come back to mind until I arrived back in the UK - fortunately - or I might not have got on the plane to meet my lovely Faye. Faye's worry was that owing to the age gap, I wouldn't visit her. If I hadn't gone, how could I have convinced her it had nothing to do with that, but was my fear of flying?
The dream was about a plane that was forced to crash land on a small island. The crew decided to get the passengers off the plane, and try to make a take-off from a short stretch of flat land.
The engines strained as the plane rolled down the runway, and gently rose into the blue skies. The passengers hope rose as the plane flew off. Days turned to weeks, and with no rescue in sight the aircrew got the passengers together to tell them the truth.
The water on the plane had been drugged, they had a mass hallucination. The plane did rise for a few seconds, but the runway was too short to get enough speed and the plane crashed after its take-off.