Dear Richard

Dear Richard,

Last week, it seems the United States celebrates some day called Thanksgiving. From what I can tell it is basically an excuse to eat as much food as they possibly can while watching American football and then waddling the next day to a mall to spend all their money. To escape the madness I spent some time in Puerto Rico. A lovely place and all the more so because Virgin doesn't fly there.

On my return to Los Angeles a man was seated next to me who is apparently a film producer. It sounds glamorous, but in Los Angeles everyone who has ever given a dollar to anyone considers themselves a film producer. Well over the course of the flight the man became more and more incoherent. At one point he was just mumbling. Of course I immediately suspected he had eaten some of your airline's food and had been sickened, especially considering the number of trips he took to the bathroom. His wife, a film actress name Brittany Murphy sat next to him throughout the flight and seemed to think that his incoherent babbling was perfectly normal. My they must fly your airline frequently.

Well, his condition alarmed the flight crew enough that when we arrived in Los Angeles paramedics rushed the plane. Oh it was exciting. The lights and the drama. It was then I suspected that perhaps I was in the midst of a movie. I don't know if I have told you previously Richard, but I have dabbled in the theatre. Bit parts to be sure, but it is in the blood. Alas, it turns out there was no production and he was dreadfully ill despite the claims of his horribly bleached blond, puffy lipped wife.

From what I understand, her husband was transported to the hospital.

(Thanks Deedee)