Thursday 7 July 2011
Taking a big haul long haul
Well we made it. We're home safe and sound. Singapore Airlines didn't bat an eyelid as we loaded bag after bag, after cot, after car seat, after pram each item exceeding all weight restrictions, onto the carrier belt at Heathrow. We explained our extraordinary amount of luggage, saying we were coming home for the long haul and they looked at us sympathetically.
I almost escaped the UK without shedding a tear – I found I was quite numb saying so many goodbyes – but an angry security official who denied me entry to the gate because of a computer glitch tipped me over. A flood of tears flew from my eyes as I raced back to the check-in desk to seek reinforcements. Eventually I was allowed through and we were on the plane.
I have to say that a long haul flight has never looked quite as attractive as it did this week from my vantage point. I looked longingly at my fellow passengers as they slept, read books, watched movies, flipped through magazines, sipped wine. At their leisure. Uninterrupted. It looked like heaven.
Of course not all of my fellow passengers looked so relaxed. There were others, like myself and Mr G, and those unfortunate enough to be in our immediate vicinity, encumbered by small, mobile, earphone-yanking, blanket-tugging, magazine-ripping, havoc-wreaking, sleep-resisting toddlers. Travelling with mobile babies is one way to really up the ante.
Mr G and I did shifts but the proximity to one another meant even when we were technically 'off duty' we actually just became more attractive to Miss I purely because our attention was averted. If we were attempting sleep, she would grab at our hair, eyes and noses to ensure sleep did in fact elude us, reading a magazine, she would tear at the pages, or watching a movie, in which case she would bash the screen, grab the controller and miraculously turn the film off. It was a rather long 24 hours.
The good news is we're now off the plane. And we're not getting on another one for quite some time. Perhaps when Miss I turns 18. The bad news is we're dealing with jetlag. But still. All is very good. The familiarity of home is a very strong tug. It's been lovely to see family and friends and I've especially loved meeting three tiny new members of the population.
I've been offline because of these lovely distractions but also because I'm barely able to string coherent sentences together at the moment, let alone type a flowing post. So just a quick hello. Hopefully rational thought (and sleep) will return soon.
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2 comments:
I have been eagerly awaiting your first post-Oxford blog! Very glad to hear you are now safely home, even though the journey sounds a bit trying. We are missing you incredibly in Oxford. The place is just not the same without you, Mr G and Miss I. Good luck with the jet-lag etc, and looking forward to more updates. If we can't have you, at least we can have your blogs! :)
Dear NABM,
We (my travelling companion and myself) are thrilled to hear that you are home in one piece. Well - three pieces.
At risk of straying off-topic, I must say that mornings at SWC are not the same without you. I keep expecting you to walk through the door and order a Robercino before supervising Miss I's daily gym workout on the SWC ramp and stairs.
But back to the topic at hand - it sounds as though you and Mr G did an admirable job of providing high-altitude entertainment (and did it in Economy where most of us mere mortals elect to travel).
It reminds me of a(thankfully rare) moment of extreme jealousy where the subject of this emotion was a small boy no more than two years old. I was boarding for the first leg of my Sydney-London-via-HK-24-hour-endurance-flight. As I pushed my way back to cattle class with all the other cows, I saw a tiny little toddler sitting in his own Business Class space (a capsule roughly the size of my Sydney apartment) - his little legs barely reached the end of seat.
Mum and Dad sat in their own adjoining seats, sipping champagne and no doubt discussing reservations at the Fat Duck and investments in Sydney apartments to be rented to chumps like myself.
I realise now that I should not have been jealous - poor Mum and Dad were probably subjected to all the same hair-pulling and magazine-ripping antics that you describe once that plane took off. I should have snuggled down under my economy blanket, turned on my (uninterrupted) movie and been grateful for small mercies.
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