Boy in the Bubble

I don't have a mid-air blog option so a notebook suffices until I can get at technology. It's quaint and old fashioned but kinda works.

So the plane comes equipped with the usual long haul gear of pillows, headphones and blankets. LCD screens provide the entertainment in the form of film/TV/games. More of that later.

Cal has some sort of junior fun pack shoved at him and I'm kind of thinking so far so airline until food comes around. They give Cal a child friendly meal, a meal he eats negating the need for the pile of jam sandwiches that like Blue Peter I prepared earlier. This impresses me more than a little.

Of the entertainment, there are the usual kids blockbusters, 'Curious George' and 'Ice Age II' but I opt for the classic 'Young Frankenstein'. The only problem is it makes me laugh out loud, a faux pas on any form of transport you don't control yourself. Actually this whole entertainment thing is the boon and bane of modern travel, you can sit in your own personal space so easily but you lose the social conversation with the poor sod sat next to you. I'm sure Jo who is also on her way to New Zealand is more than a little relieved she can escape conversation with me beyond a few pleasantries and to ask me to shift because she needed the bog.

The notebook itself does promote conversation with the old girl behind Monst who has the same model. Turns out she's Ida's boss. Small world or what. Can't escape the NHS anywhere.

02.45 GMT and I climb into the Notpod for a little Goldrush. Nice.

Arrived safely in Dubai, we hit a buffet breakfast in which pork is noticibly absent. I wasn't aware that beef bacon was feasible as an option and having eaten it it should perhaps be a culinary experiment left alone. The veal sausages were OK though.

Stop here is for a couple of hours. Enough time for the Dubai airport shopping experience which we skip and a quick change of clothing following an extremely welcome shower at the leisure club of the hotel that sits in departures. The power shower is better than the massage chairs of Manchester. If you find yourself travelling through Dubai for $13 you get clean and pummeled by the jet of water. Much revived by the experience.

Here's summat I hadn't bargained on, a stop in Melbourne. The planes. A bit like a local bus, goes all round the world on its way to where you want to be. It's now twelve hours to Melbourne, the stop in Melbourne is to change crews and presumably refuel. This is probably as well because I don't fancy a swim with knackered cabin crew throwing hissy fits all over the place.

Having previously slagged off the whole personal entertainment thing I now make the most of the vast choice I have so chill to Miles Davis' 'Kind of Blue' (yes I know I usually mutter things about jazz being musical masturbation but inconsistency with music I'd fine).

Behind me on the plane sits Major Dennis Bloodknock who is a frequent flyer to Australia usually with BA/Quantas. Apparently they changed their frequent flyer programme (should read the Tesco points story available from the Fade Library) and he lost out big style. Somebody told him Emirates were OK but he's not impressed. From what I overhear this is due to the security demand he remove his belt which led to his trousers falling down. He's generally not impressed with Dubai which when he was soldierin' was a nice little desert kingdom and didn't pander to nancy tourists.

Seating on this leg of the journey is awkward. We're at the back of the plane at the point where the central seating drops from four seats to three. Everythings is therefore slightly off centre, the arm rests are rigid and don't move so sleep must come in an upright position. Distinct lack of leg room to, even for a short arse like me. Still 11.19 hours to Melbourne, yipee!

5519 miles to Melbourne and I watch 'Kinky Boots', I remember the doc it was based on. Predictably I enjoy it as a film even though it retreads the 'Full Monty' ground. Apparently we're somewhere near the Maldives about which I know nothing. I do however know there are no black sheep on Mauritius which is nowhere near where we are now.

For years the punchline to a joke about durex machines, I now listen to Johnny Cash. We're only 8 hours from Melbourne. Some where in the Indian Ocean nearby is Gan. Deep joy!

Down to the last three hours to Melbourne, feels like its been that way for at least three hours. My head is all over the place trying to make sense of what time it is now. We are due to arrive at Melbourne around 05.30, my watch says it is 23.59 and apparently its around 4 in the afternoon in the UK. Time for tea then! At least we are now somewhere over Australia between Bunbury and Albany.

So we visit Australia, all be it an airport. It's like visiting London and getting no further than Heathrow! Raises an interesting question, is an airport soverign territory or do you have to clear customs to have visited a place? Grab coffee and some travel pillows.

Flight to Auckland a mere three hour trip. I kip most of the way. Clear customs with some of the friendliest officials I've ever dealt with. Sort the car and upgrade from a Ka to a Focus. Monst does a top job of navigating us to the New President. Sort out parking and then while Cal and Monst kip, a very knackered me goes in search of places to grab food later and to the Maritime Museum as the schedule suggests. Nice gaff, need to bring Cal here tomorrow. Grab food at the Mai Thai as a takeaway.