Friday morning, it’s early, about 6.30 a.m. and the weather is bleak. The wind is from the NE,90 kmph, the rain is driving down in great gusty sheets as we sit brewing over our coffee. Will we fly or not. Our day has kicked off with a mix of building excitement and dread that we may not even get off the ground. Panda is not happy. She knows that something is afoot, the bags have been packed and this means it is not all about her. Ever seen a dog sulk? Dee says she will spend the next two days in bed. Bonnie has no idea and Spike thinks it’s heaven. His benefactor, Shirley, will be in charge. That means copious amounts of love and affection. Bullshit! It just means more food.
All fear and trepidation dissolves away like a fruit tingle on the tongue as we board the Dash 8, that miraculous creation of “modern” technology. Miraculous only in that it has the capacity to leave the ground and navigate south to eventually get us to Mascot. It takes us an hour to get through baggage check red tape, Domestic to International via the machinations of Qantas staffers that either don’t care or don’t know how to get our packs through efficiently. We eventually get a trolley. Four dollars to go 50m as it turns out.
So eventually we board Flight BA 306 or QF 319, that unusual hybrid that results from international cooperation between airlines which means it doesn’t matter who you book with it’s where they want you to go that matters. Cattle class British Airways and the best of British luck to you. The poms behind us gave a running commentary of every inane subject that came to mind, and some that most wouldn’t think of in their most tedious boredom. My prattle of course may be the result of that unexpected diversion to Singapore and subsequent 1 hour stopover that would see us at Heathrow some 29 hours after leaving home. And next it’s the bloody French!! What have I got myself into?
No really, we are in Heathrow awaiting our French Connection, looking forward to our adventure and life isn’t really that bad (except after the interminable joys of long distance flight). I am sure Dee will put her usual positive spin on all and much more succinctly I expect. So it’s au revoir and buenas noches from me for tomorrow it is “gay” Paris.
Well for starters, it’s not a spin but reality … well mine anyway. Yes the flight was arduous but the end is nigh. Hopefully we’ll have this much to say about the places we see, but at the moment we’re in the airport, killing time. We both just had a double shot of coffee and sandwich for $30 – a bargain here. Gordon Ramsay has a restaurant at terminal 5 in Heathrow (where we are) but we couldn’t come at $10 for a coffee.
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