Over the years, I've become very accustomed to being the only knitter on a plane.
(As a side note, the only downside to knitting rather than reading or working on a plane is that people think you're available for conversation. I need a little badge or sign that says "No, I don't want to talk to you.")
As usual, on the way out, I had a nice chat with a lovely older woman who recognized what I was doing, and wanted to chat. Again she confirmed my little sociological theory: her mother was a serious knitter, who produced many practical items of clothing for her family over the years. And now the daughter won't pick up a pair of needles if her life depends on it. Your mother's drudgery can never become an activity of pleasure.
On the way back, however, I was pleased to see two women, (upper 20-something, I would estimate), knitting away. Both seemed to be beginners, but only one was working some kind of horrible novelty yarn on big needles. The other was a good distance into a scarf in a nice grey wool.
Me, I was Lizarding like a fiend. Pics shortly.