Did not sleep on the flight to London

So much for melatonin and valerian root. I almost dozed off a couple of times, but that was about it. It was one of the most miserable flights I've ever been on, and would have topped the list were it not for the women sitting on either side of me, who were friendly without being overly talkative--we all had our own headphones and two of us had iPods--and non-territorial where the arm rests were concerned. The plane was a large one with two aisles and a bank of seats in the middle, and I was in the center of the middle bank, in row 30. The way the rows were laid out, seat-seat-aisle-seat-seat-seat-aisle-seat-seat, my seat was the only one in the row that was neither a window seat nor an aisle seat. Which isn't such a bad layout, but sucks for the 14.3% of us who end up in the middle. The reading lights over the center bank of seats weren't working, nor were the call lights, nor, apparently, was there any air. It was hot. The heat of the plane set off my own internal furnace, and I was in a sweat almost continuously. By mid-flight my jeans were wet clear through and my thin knit shirt was clinging to me. I was itchy and fidgety. My back started to hurt. I couldn't sit still for 5 seconds. Halfway through the flight the video programming failed and never came back on. You'd think they might turn the lights back on so people could read, seeing as how we had nothing to watch and the reading lights weren't working, but they didn't, so the only thing left to do was try to sleep. Right. Was there a time when it was fun to fly on a plane? I can't remember. At least they served us a meal.