The Flight

Well, where do we start. I guess Brisbane is the best place. Goodbyes are always so difficult.

Brisbane to Singapore could have possibly been the worst 8 hours of my young adult life. Until we arrived bleary eyed and cold footed into Heathrow. There is nothing like being awake for 24hours and literally the only thing stopping you from entering the country is 4 questions that you answered in a tired, possibly void way which made the Immigration Officer decide to detain us, or the fact we had no returning flight booked.

Told to take a seat, given a piece of paper so we at least felt in the loop and with passport and all identification 'held', we sat. Possibly sat alittle more, then we are told that we are going to go collect our lugguge, so it can be searched. Was slightly disappointed. After watching my bag ripped open and gone through, answering question about my personal belongings and having my personal diary and presents confiscated for investigation I was devastated. Even medication that a certificate from my doctor stated it was to be taken, I was not allowed too, I had to be examined by a complete fuckwit first. Then, bags in hand we are searched, photographed, and put into holding to await an interview which would decide our fate.

Interviewed separately we were unaware of how the other was treated. After being told that my diary was read, and in fact, used against me during the interview, I had felt both violated and beyond contempt. Although unscathed Shelley and I managed to charm the lady and we were finally let through after 4 and half hours of what seemed to be nothing more that a ridiculous amount of fuck-a-round.

It was one of those enlightening awfully objective experiences. You are tired, jet lagged, sick, and then someone tells you because you do not have a returning flight, you may not be given entry and infact, forcibly booked a flight home on the next available. And we thought the plane flight was going to be the most difficult part.

All that aside, England! That land of no please's and thank you's, packaged food (and I mean almost everything) and girls wearing tights when it is ridiculous to consider wearing anything other than the flames of hell in weather sitting at a cool 1 degree. Now, I sit in a tiny flat, seemingly made for someone of my height in Cardiff, Wales. It is getting dark at 4:30 in the afternoon and apparently today sported some blue sky, a rarity amongst this land shrouded in an overcast haze.

Enough from me, this has been a terribly written, jet lagged brief account of the last 30 hours of my adventure. To get here was easy. And, just found a flight to Germany for 4pound, who can complain??