Are you sitting comfortably? Good, we’ll begin our story that has very little to do with Brooklyn Decker. In June, 2008 FHM boarded a flight from New York JFK airport to London Heathrow airport. It was the second stage of a journey back from Las Vegas.

What’s that? What had we been doing in Vegas? Well, first we went to Creech Air Force Base and became one of the first journalists to step into the ‘cockpit’/control room from which the RAF fly the Reaper MQ-R unmanned drones over Afghanistan. Then, we visited Nellis Air Force Base, where a British squadron was engaging in training exercises. And then we transferred to Caesers Palace, where we bought a bottle of vodka for £300.


"Told you. I mean, he's written my name, but that's it"

Because of this we were pretty down when we got to JFK, and this depression was deepened by the fact the airport is the world’s worst. Seriously, it makes Gatwick look modern.

In a bid to make ourselves feel better we went to Sbarro and bought a large slice of pepperoni pizza. Big mistake. The cheese savaged the top of our mouth and the grease dripped down our white shirt, staining it irreparably.


"Nope, still nothing about me. Can you believe it?"

Things literally couldn’t get any worse. And then they did. Our laptop’s battery ran out, meaning we’d miss multiple deadlines and have our botty smacked when we got home. Worst. Day. Ever.

Then it happened. Then we walked onto the plane and sat next to – f*** me – Brooklyn Decker. Seriously. The 23-year-old supermodel was across the aisle from us. And do you know what? She was a decent laugh and as attractive in the flesh as she is in these bikini shots, which were taken for Sports Illustrated’s iconic and incomparable Swimsuit edition. Best. Flight. Ever. Apart from that one where we sort of joined the mile high club with a stranger. But that’s another story for another time.


"OMG! Finally, there's my name in the last paragraph"