Travlin On.....

This is the story of two ould farts going to visit their daughter and her partner in Melbourne Australia.

A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.” – John Steinbeck

That wee quote sums it all up, especially if you’re gonna be in a large tin can for more than a day.

We started our travels on a very cold January evening, flying into Heathrow at ten pm. Our first flight of the trip was delayed partly by having to de ice the wings on the plane, and partly because that's the way the airlines work. I think it's great that a flight can be delayed by forty minutes but arrive only fifteen minutes late! I remember on flight from Belfast to East Midlands we were delayed almost an hour. The pilot came on at the end of the flight and told us he had found a shortcut and got us in quicker. How the fuck can you shorten a straight line?

Anyway. Bla bla bla. Stayed in a hotel in Heathrow and got up at five thirty for the fifteen minute bus trip to terminal four. Checking in was simplicity itself. The staff was really pleasant and helpful. This I thought, boded well. We were flying with Etihad Airways and if they were all as nice as these guys it would be a doddle. You've heard the saying "spoke to soon”? Well not me sweetheart. I chose this airline to take us to the other side of mother earth, the down side. Not because they were the best, fastest, or even sexiest. No. Because they were about thirty five percent cheaper than their nearest competitor. I questioned sometimes the wisdom of entrusting my good wife in the hands of a cheap company to take her all that way. Then I thought, shit I've been doing it for years, lets boogie.

The flight from Heathrow to Abu Dhabi was delayed for fifty minutes, we're friggin veterans at delays now.

More de-icing, it was like undressing a wedding cake! The pilot came on and announced that we would have a nice (is there any other kind?) tail wind and the flight would last a mere six hours and five minutes. Hooray, we were off. I’m always amazed at how those big tin cans get off the ground and even better, stay off it for a long period of time.The journey went well, no bumps or swerves. Plenty of nice grub, and even more free drink. The staff was all charmers, except for the one that wouldn’t let me join the mile high club. On my own!I hadn’t mentioned cigarettes the whole way down. Margaret was wearing nicotine patches; about twelve I think, and seemed to be coping well.

We got into Abu Dhabi airport, through all the rigmarole but as we were transiting, it was a gift. No customs or luggage grabbing. Straight through to our next gate via duty-free. We got to the hub of the sales area and detected a strong smell of ciggy smoke. M’s nose was like radar seeking out the source of Val halla, and lo and behold a smoking room beside a bar. Such joy. I’d no Arabic dollars, not the sort of currency one carries. M went into the smokey room and joined several towel headed smokers while I went in search of some liquid. The bar did indeed take sterling at a price. £15 for a pint and g & t only a splash mind you. We’d only been drinking wine on the plane, beer up there is never the same. This meant the drinks were magical, but at fifteen quid, one round would suffice until the plane.

Onto a new plane. Obviously you have to pass through business class to get to cattle class. Our seats were nineteen something and M thought the luxury seats come beds were for us. Alas no my dear “ Keep walking” I said as I watched her eyeing hungrily the business class seating arrangements. This was to be a fourteen-hour epic. We’d all the stuff, books, magazines, noise reducing head phones, Nintendo, neck cushions, sleeping tablets, the stuff the airline gives you. Blanket, eye covers uppers, toothbrush, and inconsiderate old bitches in the two seats in front. I wanted to insert my toothbrush up the crevice of the person fully reclined in front of me. This was throughout most of the flight. The first hour she was normal, like me. I had to put my seat back to able to focus on the screen in front of me. It’s hard to see much when it’s only a few inches in front of your eyes. Forgot to mention the one-hour delay on this flight.

The flight was good, we even flew over Goa but couldn’t see much from 39000 feet at one in the morning their time. The sun rose to another day high above Sri Lanka. You may well ask how I got this information, well dear readers; it was because I was awake. Slept for no more that ten minutes at a time. On the way back home I’ll make a sleeping tablet sandwich. One of those wee fekkers is no good to anyone.

There’s a very strong chance that my readers are fast falling asleep right now. Reading this diatribe. Well my dears, I’m not. Yesterday I awoke at four and that was I for the day. Today I got a lie in. Didn’t getup until four forty-five. As I write this at six in the morning on Nicola / Twevs patio, the Oz birdies are singing merrily, they’re the only merry fekkers at this time of day. The sun is shining, it’s eighteen degrees. In the distance I hear a train a coming, blowing its horn. There’s a tram nearby, the birds are getting louder. Tell me this. How the fuck are you meant to sleep anyway?

Back to day two. Arrived at Melbourne, just twenty minutes late and expecting a load of hassle from the immigration. No logical reason for this. Anyway, sailed through customs and immigration. Waiting for the luggage and these two dogs, real ones, not their handlers, appeared and went up and down the lines of already tired irritable punters. Sniffing and wagging their wee tails in a frenzy. I bent over as if to stroke the wee spaniel and it’s female handler glared at me. She was obviously a jealous type, because I can’t think of her ever getting a stroking.

At last the travelling over, Nicola and Twev stood before us. They marvelled at how unscathed wee looked, how fresh, how invigorated. Not. It was unbelievably good to be down under, no more cramped seating and no more free drink.

Not for another eight weeks.

Day two to follow.

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