LAST month I spent almost three whole days travelling tens of thousands of feet above planet Earth in what amounted to little more than a mind-boggling, man-made flying oxygen tank.

Don't ask me why, but I started thinking about space.

Now before the Star Wars fanatics whip themselves into frenzy at the mere mention of Darth Vader's realm, start salivating heavily over the newsprint and sweating at the thought of storm troopers, black holes and twinkling space stations with more bulbs than Blackpool, let me just say I'm not actually talking about that kind of space.

You see I'm not talking hyper, cyber or deepest darkest -- I'm talking about the distinct lack of it on board your average jumbo jet, if you know what I mean.

And I'm sure anyone who has ever flown anywhere will know exactly where I'm coming from, though, I must say, if you think a four hour flight to the Canaries is bad you want to try what seemed like 20-odd days to Australia and back.

Fifteen hours in and I actually started praying for a black hole to appear on the horizon and swallow us whole, let me tell you.

Then hysteria arrived and I started thinking we'd already encountered one -- but I think that was simply down to the fact I'd adjusted my watch at least a million times and the tiny aeroplane symbol chartering our progress on the monitor had flickered less than an inch towards our destination.

Then the stewardess began wrestling with the seat in front in a bid to free my upright table and deliver yet another in-flight meal and I knew we were still in the vicinity of earth.

I mean, I can't see Jabba the Hut maintaining his gut on a diet of an Oriental doughnut filled with red beans and a carton of Evian which spills everywhere when you opened it, can you? Mind, as I was already squashed between a load of drunken Dutch making their way home to Amsterdam and various steel trolleys that hurtled down the aisle every hour on the hour, I was quite glad I didn't get the chance to find out.

What made it worse was that on the three connecting flights it took to get home I was sat next to nightmare travellers of the world numeros one, two and three.

Gold medal in the annoying Olympics must however go to the Chinese woman I was sat next to on the way to Singapore who was obviously tired and decided the best way to catch a few zeds was to lean over to my seat and stuff her hair in my face.

I would have Tae-bo-ed her quick smart if I didn't think she was probably a karate queen.

During the time she was actually awake she also bugged me non-stop by clambering over to the toilet about 46 times an hour without waiting for me to move and let her get through.

And if that wasn't bad enough she constantly put her legs up on the seat in front, brushing against me all the time. I was nearly sick. I think this is the crux of the matter where busy planes, trains and buses are concerned.

You see, I for one, need my personal space. I don't want to be sat next to anyone, let alone someone I don't know. And the lengths other people will go to not to sit next to someone never ceases to astound me. One seat left and it's like, sheer panic! That person might be a psychopath.

Or worse, they might try and talk to you! But why? Is it going to kill anyone to pass the time of day with another human being? What do we think they are going to do if they sit in the next seat? Give us bugs? I really don't know.

That said I don't want to really. Personally I'd rather be in isolated bliss. Perhaps destination outer space is for me after all eh?