So I have finally emerged from a booze and temazapan fueled jet-lagged haze to share some of the standouts of my recent travels. Which I would go so far as to describe as harrowing.
Sure we are all prepared for the London to Sydney thing being 24 hours.
But my reality was 30 hours door to door.
30 very stressful, tiring and, let's face it, malodorous hours.
Cooped up with all those people and recycled air for all that time.
First slight stumbling block came in the form of smiling teutonic-type backpacker who was to sit next to me.
Taking that empty seat that I had hoped would remain so.
I had prayed that if it didn't I would at least not be next to a fatty, a snorer or a talker.
"Vould you mind svapping seats viz my friend, so ve can sit togezzer?"
Not an unreasonable request perhaps.
But then why the fuck didn't they check in together?
Organise it ahead of time ya dumb moll.
"Only if she's got an aisle seat" I snap back.
I love my aisle seat.
I like the sneaky bit of extra legroom you can steal from the aisle.
And I'd prefer my neighbour to have to deal with the awkward moment of clambering over me to get to the loo, rather than the other way round.
She did have an aisle seat.
So I swapped.
Somewhat ungraciously.
Schlepping my hand luggage out of the overhead locker and all the way to the other side of the plane.
And several rows back.
All the while struggling with internal dialogue about possibility of position on plane being pivotal to survival in case of mid air disaster.
And the possible karma attached to the question of to move or not to move.
Got sat next to a chatter didn't I?
He didn't stop the whole time he was awake.
Even talked to me when I had my headphones on.
Headphones I almost didn't get.
Every other seat had them.
Except this one.
"I'm sorry, we've run out".
I explained the situation with the seat swapping.
How I'd left a perfectly good seat with a perfectly good pair of headphones.
Out of the kindness of my heart.
I retracted all that kindness and suggested to the flight attendant that she would have to go and take away the headphones from my previous seat's new occupant and bring them to me.
Strangely she didn't see the logic behind this and was reluctant to oblige.
I advised her that I would continue to hound her until I got headphones.
Even if that meant for the entire 14 hours of our journey.
She had them to me in 5 minutes.
Not that they brought me the pleasure that I'd hoped.
Had the failing AV system didn't I?
Only had one fifth of the loop of available shows working.
So as my chatty neighbour talked his way through everything from J Edgar to My Week With Marilyn, I just watched Evita on repeat.
And despite Madonna's performance being totally mind-numbing and the plane having taken off at 10pm, I was unable to sleep without the aid of 2 temazapan.
Which set the tone for the rest of the holiday I'm afraid.
As did the failing technology.
My seat would not recline on the second leg, for which even 2 more whole temazapan had no effect.
Upon arrival in London I discovered that my locked iPhone could not have a sim card from any carrier other than Telstra.
Memories of $1,500 bill from previous 2 week holiday have me turning off my phone.
Then discover as I attempt to purchase sim card for my iPad that my signature only credit cards will not be accepted.
Try my debit card with pin.
Doesn't work.
Go to ATM.
Doesn't accept it.
I am alone in foreign (albeit English speaking) country with no phone and no money.
The only positive thing to have happened to me since leaving home is being patted down by very cute man of Middle Eastern appearance at Sydney airport.
Searching for explosives.
How does raving queen plus matching Longchamp equal potential terrorist?
You tell me the last time a homosexual blew up a plane.
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