Archive for the ‘Journal’ Category

So as you know I lost my luggage. Here then is the story of that fateful Saturday and really, truly, what I went through.

OK so first thing you need to remember is …. still sick. Seriously that guy did a number on me and have another blog in me about how ill I am as I think I may have turned into the walking dead and they forgot to tell me. For the moment, just know that I cannot walk anywhere without sweating buckets. There’s more but it can wait.

Oh you gotta be f***ing kidding me. I just wrote spiels on what happened and something went wrong and I’ve lost about three pages of writing. I am seriously cursed. I tried. I don’t have it in me to do it again tonight.

Oh I could just cry.


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My apologies for the last post.

The situation, which I will go into detail in the respective blog post, was that my hand luggage was lost on the bus in transit to Charles De Gaulle airport. In it, amongst many other things, was my cords for the laptops and phones.

I was trying to write one last post before the battery on the comp died. I did so but, in my efforts to get it out, as literally I had seconds to write something, I was vague and not able to articulate fully and some of the comments indicated their concern for my health or mental state or both or whatever.

Believe me, if I ever top myself, I will announce it clearly here.

I am still searching for the bag. I do not believe I will ever see it again. I have spent all my time in London trying to locate it. I am beyond pissed off about it. I really am sick of being shafted all the time.

Anyway, I am sorry for any worry the last post caused. I am back on track after paying 60 quid for a new lap top cord.

Now to answer the emails enquiring if I was ok, thank you for those who showed concern. I appreciate it.

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For reasons  I will get into when I can, this is all I can write tonight.

Not happy. Clock is ticking.

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To fully appreciate this story, please remember at all times that I am feeling like a dog. Score out of ten wise I am a three. I have a raspy voice that is rapidly dying on me. I ache all over. And if someone had paid me ten quid I would have stayed in bed and curled up and died rather than traversed continents.

Anyway, whining over.  I got up at 0630 (yay) to be there for a 9 am flight from London to Heathrow.  I arrive there in plenty of time, plenty of time!!!!, to find that, for some reason the automatic teller won’t read my passport and I have to queue to see a real live person. A real live person who loves to natter it would appear. Each and every time. I waited in the line for thirty minutes while he served two (!!!!) people. Everyone thought he was marvelous as he was filling in the customers on every possible detail of their trip however I was glaring at him, wishing him dead so that someone less verbose would come and serve.

I finally get to the talky man and he tells me that I needed to be here half an hour earlier as I will have to run like the wind to get to the connecting flight (by this time they are boarding.) I give him SUCH a serve however my rubbish voice diminishes any possible threat I could have made and I sound more like a dormouse with PMT than anything.

I do indeed run to the airport gate and again thank God that someone in every airport in the world decided that the best temperature in any airport is subtropical.  Why???? Seriously why does it have to be so humid in airports? Do they want everyone to be drowned in sweat while they travel? Surely it costs the airlines money to have clean up the sodden sweat marks off the seats.

Anyway, as this is already an epic and I haven’t even go to the thing I want to discuss yet, I do get there on time and take a trip in what must be the oldest plane I have ever flown in. It still had ashtrays in its seat handles.  We miraculously arrive without dying and I enter Charles De Gaulle Airport and go through customs. As I finish customs a man in uniform motions for us all to go “this way” which we do and, before I know it, I am outside in the real world.  I look for a baggage carousel to pick up my suitcase and, sickeningly, begin to realize that the luggage is behind the barriers I was just ushered through.

I find a sign regarding baggage so I walk there in the dim hope that my luggage was there. Now I don’t know how long Charles De Gaulle airport is but let’s say five miles. Where I am is about ten foot from the beginning of the five miles, where the luggage was proved to be about ten foot from the end. Fortunately the airport had embraced the “lets make it feel like a rain forest” policy so I could keep myself amused by how many ringlets of sweat were forming on my body.

I do indeed, finally, find the luggage department only to be told that I had to be back where I had arrived and discuss my issues with British Airways.  Despite feeling completely crushed at this, I rally myself that I am walking for Britain and I must be shifting some weight even if it is sweat.

I return to British Airways and am told by a woman that I have to re-enter the boarding area and obtain my bag there.  I am HIGHLY dubious about this but she is insisting so, for no apparent reason, I try to reenter the boarding area. I get past passport check but my boarding card is naturally no longer valid and I have the wrath of the security people who want to know why I am trying to get into the boarding area so I can blow things up, presumably. I explain to four different people, who between them have enough English to understand what I am trying to do, and they tell me to return to British Airways and get them to sort it.  (To be honest, I am not sure why British Airways couldn’t sort this. Surely I wasn’t the only traveller who was ushered out to the exit by well-meaning or malicious security people. I had a bag claim stub. It shouldn’t have been this hard.)

Anyway I again present to British Airways who, this time, give me a form saying why I need to reenter and again tell me to go present to the security at the entrance.  This seems even more ridiculous so as soon as I get there I present said form and watch them scoff openly.  My voice is completely dead by now. A man, in broken English (and way better than my French) tells me I need to go to Customs and discuss my predicament with them.

I enter customs and meet a large black man who is dismissive of me that I cannot speak French, though to be fair by now I couldn’t speak. I write what I have done down for the man who reads this. He queries that I have left my luggage behind. I nod affirmatively. He then tells me I am a stupid boy for doing so and he will have to help me.  What you need to know about French Airports is that it is guarded by Army men armed with machine guns. At this exact point I wished for an army man to be present so I could insert their machine gun into this man’s rectum and fire happily

I clearly get quite homicidal when I feel sick.

Anyway, ultimately after I give the man my meanest wither, he directs me to a customs officer who lets me in to retrieve my baggage. The end. Sooooooooooooooooooooooo fricking simple but for some reason that took two hours while one department played blame the other department.

So I catch a train to Disneyland and am completely and utterly exhausted. My mother is beside herself that I can’t speak. So of course, they keep asking me questions. Ha!

The day improved. The day definitely improved. As weary as I was you cannot help but be charmed by Disney.  That and the bitching Thunder Mountain Railroad ride which is seriously awesome.

I was in bed by 9. Dead by 910. More tomorrow.

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There have been lots lovely things over the last weekend. However everything has been overtaken by this fricking illness. I can no longer speak at all. At all. Swallowing hurts all of my throat, like swallowing rusty razors. I have a temp, sweats rigors, sputum. I have to travel to France tomorrow and all I want to do is lie in bed and die for a while.

So here’s an old draft blog to amuse you while I recover. I just want to sleep.

Dear Noah,

We could have sworn you said the ark wasn’t leaving till 5.

Sincerely, Unicorns

Dear Twilight fans,

Please realize that because vampires are dead and have no blood pumping through them, they can never get an erection. Enjoy fantasizing about that.

Sincerely, Logic

Dear Icebergs,

Sorry to hear about the global warming. Karma’s a bitch.

Sincerely, The Titanic

Dear J.K. Rowling,

Your books are entirely unrealistic. I mean, a ginger kid with two friends?

Sincerely, Anonymous

Dear America,

You produced Miley Cyrus. Bieber is your punishment.

Sincerely, Canada

Dear Yahoo,

I’ve never heard anyone say, “I don’t know, let’s Yahoo! it…” just saying…

Sincerely, Google

Dear girls who have been dumped,

There are plenty of fish in the sea… Just kidding! They’re all dead.

Sincerely, BP

Dear Rose,

There was definitely room on that raft for the both of us.

Sincerely, Jack

Dear Windshield Wipers,

Can’t touch this.

Sincerely, That Little Triangle

Dear Soccer Fans,

B B B B B B Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z!

Sincerely, Vuvuzelas

Dear Saturn,

I liked it, so I put a ring on it.

Sincerely, God

Dear Rubik’s Cube,


Sincerely, Colorblind

Dear Santa,

Please tell me how you managed to stop at three Ho’s.

Sincerely, Tiger Woods

Dear Boys Wearing Skinny Jeans,

I. Can’t. Breathe. Sincerely,

Your Balls

Dear Romeo,

My death isn’t the only thing I’ve been faking…

Sincerely, Juliet

Dear Fox News,

So far, no news about foxes.

Sincerely, Unimpressed

Dear Prince Charming,

You’ve got some explaining to do!

Sincerely, Cinderella, Snow White, Rapunzel, and Sleeping Beauty

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It’s 430 pm on Friday afternoon and I have been awake for seventeen billion hours. I have passed tiredness and am now happily psychotic from sleep deprivation so this blog should be jolly, at the very least.

I left for the UK yesterday from Adelaide at 130 pm. Arrived in Melbourne at 1540 which by my calculation should have only been an hour, allowing for a half hour time difference, and so not sure where the other half hour went.  I elected not to buy duty-free at this time as, again by my calculations, I had a two-hour layover in Singapore.  The take off from Melbourne was delayed for 45 minutes as currently Melbourne only had one runway.  Subsequently I had a lovely view of taxiing airplanes arriving and departing. Because of this delay I only managed to get fifty minutes  of time in Singapore.

I have been to Singapore a few times and each time I have arrived at the further most point of the airport from the shops and Qantas club. This has a knock on effect. It means I have to run from the gate to the Qantas club. Then run back. The shower at the Qantas club is remarkably refreshing after a long flight however there is no ventilation in the cubicle and so getting dressed everyone gets reallllllllllllly hot and sweaty.  After I grapple with putting on the anti  embolic stockings any benefit I get from the shower has been null and voided. By the time I ran back to the gate I was sodden in sweat.

I travelled in Premium Economy on the first leg of the trip. The nice thing about Premium Economy is there is somewhat more leg room which is vital in the long journey. The seats aren’t particularly comfortable and have a modest seat pitch. Still when compared to Economy it is positively spacious. Also no one sat next to me on this leg so there was more room again. unfortunately Premium economy has a fixed divider between passengers so there was no opportunity to spread out.

Food is served on crockery, you are given real cutlery made of metal and have wines in proper glasses. The problem was the food was only just warm. I didnt expect boiling hot foodbut it quickly became cold.  The food is much better than economy though still pre-prepared.

Despite not having time buy any duty-free, I get to Singapore Gates and was given another upgrade to business class.  No idea why this time but I wasnt questioning it. The only unfrinatunte thing about business class was the guy next to me had a cold which he happily gave to me. (I don’t care what you say, Nicola. he gave me it. I woke up with my throat on fire. I am dying, dying i tell you.)

Business is remarkably similar to Premium Economy except that the food is better prepared. Still some pre preparation however salads are made at the time as was breakfast.There is  choices for dinner and the opportunity to have dinner given to you alter in the flight, allowing you to sleep straight away. No one did this however.  Breakfast was also prepared at the time. Clearly both were prepared a while before they were delivered as, again, it was positively cold.

I’m not sure what the story was with the heat on the food. Maybe there was a problem with the thermostat. Food offered was impressive though.

Oh this isn’t funny at all.  My cousin has just walked past and said “did you know your eyes are completely bloodshot cos youre so tired?” So lets pretend this was funnier than it was and normal service will be resumed tomorrow.

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Get The Message

Some filler stuff before the big trip. Much to do however I am surprisingly on track and ahead of myself.  However I am going to be low key on this thing prior to the massive undertaking of writing about the holiday as I do it. It nearly kills me. It really does. Lots of work so forgive the easy next few days.


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As part of the stat display, I am given a list of phrases or words that people type in that leads them to this blog. Mostly these phrases or words are self-explanatory (to no-one’s surprise, circumcision is a popular and frequent word) however some of the phrases that lead people here completely baffle me.

Here then is some of the (quite baffling)  terms that brought  people to this silly little thing…

style homogenisation

Well yes. I have loads of style. Now. I found a blue polyester t-shirt the other day. I had pangs of nostalgia…

cartoon man standing still

Truly I have no idea. I certainly mention cartoons and use comics all the time so understand why that would  bring people here. But standing still??? What cartoon character stands still? Sadly I can name three but that’s cos I am a comic geek.

funny map australia floods bloody hot

OK I can understand why people came here. The joke map of Australia was hugely popular. Curiously often when I steal mercilessly from my emails they do better than the rubbish I spout off.

why do australians call english people nigel

Why indeed? My brother named me. Have I told you that story? My parents in a fit of madness asked my then two-year old brother what I would be called. He came up with Nigel and thus I was cursed. I mean seriously, what parents do that? Name a puppy by all means…. They die off after 10 years… I’ve been living with Nigel for 45 years. I was gay before I came out of the womb.


That was really a specific search. That made me smile. Hopefully my beard gave them great joy.

fat women mud therapy

What the hell???? Anyone got any ideas where I mentioned anything remotely associated with that? Cos I’m drawing a blank. Facials? I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that.

funny kids getting beat up

Again WTF???? Seriously. What did I write that made people come here looking for that???? I am completely flabbergasted. Does anyone remember?

hypochondria Meibomian cancer

It had better well be bloody hypochondria. Did I tell you I can’t see the specialist till June??? And I’ve got private cover. Bloody annoying. I learnt from the long wait to see the neurosurgeon with my brain tumour that there is not point worrying about waiting times however, really??? That’s taking the rhymes with diss. Good to know it’s just not me concerned with it though. Misery loves company and all…..

pronouncing macrame

Oh that made me laugh.It’s not just us that struggles with it. Well I don’t struggle at all. I know exactly.

It’s pronounced Mah Crah May. Live with it.

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That is all.

* The noise one makes when one blows a raspberry.

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