By no means was Gwenog Jones a body language expert, but then again there was no need to be when the reaction was quite so obvious. But he hadn't technically said anything about his obvious reaction to the topic of flying, and she wasn't here to play amateur psychologist, or berate him for his idiocy. She'd probably do the latter quite happily but that would likely only result in her losing her drinking companion.
"Sometimes I read the shit about me to see how much they got right," she said. She'd got a thick skin and the insults pissed her off more often than they hurt her. "Even interviews manage to get it wrong, which I think is bullshit." She curled her lip in disgust. "I mean, just because I decided that my body belongs to me and I get to choose what I do with it, whether that's enjoy wearing not many clothes, swear a lot, or having the audacity to have casual sex!" She'd raised her voice slightly at that last and stuck her middle finger up at the few people who looked over with exactly the sort of po-face she was imagining the journalists possessing.
"And this is why my publicists get pissed off with me," she said with a snort, stretching her legs out below the table. There may have been a time when her original publicists had refused to work with her any longer. "Thanks though. I decided it was my life and since I fly well a bit of a scandal wasn't going to stop me very easily."