It is statistically proven that aeroplanes are by far the safest way of transporting humans from one place to the other. Few mountainsides in Scotland were ever hit by passenger planes and the surrounding ocean holds relatively few wrecks of aircrafts, apart from the occasional WW2 Stukas. The North Sea, over which most transportation towards Scotland passes, is a quiet beauty and only rarely attracts big storms or even orcanos.
However, accidents do happen. And so to terror attacks. Luckily almost no middle eastern men with an intense stare have entered the plane so far (Yes, an indicator, that these lines were actually written just before takeoff to Scotland). Scanning the passengers for potential bombers leaves the writer with no panic whatsoever. Only some enthusiastic German mountaineers, quite a mass of lardy and sunburned Scottish tourists and a group of dutch boys with terrible spiky hair are getting ready to fly over to the British Isles.
So the travel seems safe. Apart from freak tornados, air defense system malfunction, alien abduction, turbine failure or the sheer incompetence of the crew. Luckily, this is not an Air France flight.
p.s.: The author is aware that he is challenging the universe and its irritating sense of irony. This seems almost like an invitation for disaster. For the grim reaper to snatch the plane and its passengers out of the heavens. For these scribbled remains to be found in the burning and blood soaked mess of plane parts, luggage parts and body parts. Luckily, this is not a Douglas Adams novel.
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