SYD to LHR on a Plane
Jan 21, 2004, 2:31 am
#46
Join Date: Mar 2001
Location: SYD
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<font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">Originally posted by GoldFlyer:
Part 8 should however be up later tonight, SYD time of course.</font>
Part 8 should however be up later tonight, SYD time of course.</font>
Jan 21, 2004, 3:41 am
#47
Original Poster
Join Date: Dec 2002
Location: In Exile
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Posts: 2,496
Part 8
Captain Merri saw me spread across the floor and opened the door wide; his eyes followed mine, which were fixed on Oz, rapidly approaching down the aisle. The Captain turned as white as a sheet realising that he was about to be shunted like a train caboose his marriage brought closer together than it has probably ever been. The Captain threw his clothes in the air in a state of alarm and shielded his body in a move that reminded me of a modern dance routine, his arms stiffly held in front of his groin and his head arched high, the veins on his neck protruding down into his chest – it was serious and comical in one and a wry smile tinged my lips.
It wasn’t the most dignified of entrances and once the screaming duet realised that their unexpected journey had come to an abrupt halt, compliments of the Captain, Oz lifted herself up from Mr. Gravy-Shirt and looked around the scene before her. Her eyes were wide with terror as if she had been to hell and back and indeed she most probably had been. Her hair dishevelled and uniform warped across her body. I stood up and helped her to the ground, falling under her weight and depositing her and I unceremoniously on the floor. Oz looked up to see Captain Merri push the trolley away from him. She took a moment to run her eyes up and down the vision before her, I feared for what was to come knowing that Oz had realised the hideous dress code of her newly betrothed. I was surprised when she burst into uproarious laughter. I knew it was the socks.
It was at that moment that the snivelling Mr. 6 arrived in the galley, gaily festooned in a combination of strawberry yoghurt, fruit salad and Danish pastries. It appears our journey’s destination and end had combined, flanking the still prone Mr. Gravy-Shirt, spread-eagled on the trolley. I grabbed Oz by the hand as passengers from the cabin appeared in the galley, each taking a moment to study the scene and joining in with Oz in uncontrollable laughter. Captain Merri was less impressed and pushed past the gathering faces, uniform in hand and marched up the aisle towards his station in his oh so bad taste G-string receiving great applause from the cabin as he passed.
Mrs. Gravy-Shirt arrived in the galley, slightly more upright than I had imagined. She looked down upon her husband with an expression crossed between pity and annoyance. To her credit she scraped a cherry Danish from Mr. 6’s jacket and twisted it satisfyingly into her Husbands face, grabbed a bottle of vodka from the floor and walked back to her seat.
I felt my “Why” experience was complete and longed for the cosseted comforts of my personal suite. My lips were parched and I was thirsting for a decent bubbly and a soothing Valium to settle me from my ordeal. Oz grabbed my hand and pecked me gently on the cheek. We lifted ourselves off the floor and she led me by the hand saying, “Mr. GoldFlyer, I believe we require a drink”. We strode forth as the passengers regained their seats. Reaching the Business class. I saw for the first time the students in earnest action; busily writing an essay entitled “The Last and Final…something”.
Nirvana at last and my seat beaconed in the starry optical effect of the spacious sanctuary. Oz kissed me gently and I sensed the warm tenderness of her lips with well-chosen duty free lipstick. For a moment I thought I should pass over to the easy comfortable life of man and woman but was jolted by her fragile state and realised that love and heartbreak was the same the world over. Purser Gaylor approached seemingly recovered sporting her individual blue tinge with slight shyness but a smile brightening her face. CHAMPAGNE and a real glass, like gifts from the gods in her hands. I fumble for my pill feeling fabulous again at last.
In my childlike joy I dive deep into my tote and clumsily spill forth my boarding passes that I so valiantly guarded from the clutches of Mr. 6. Purser Gaylor retrieves them gingerly from the floor with a wary eye on the seat controls. She glances at the documents and a strange expression creeps across her face. Mr. GoldFlyer, she proclaims, I believe you are in the wrong seat your boarding pass for this flight indicates you should be in seat 68E, you should be in “Why” she proclaims. I look puzzled at her and make an animated movement to the effect that I might be sitting on someone. Oz grabs the documents and surmises that indeed I do have a “pass” for seat 2K but for a flight taken the year prior. I look at them innocently wondering what the fuss is about. Oz and Purser Gaylor then nod to each other and say in unison, “Welcome aboard Mr. GoldFlyer, can we get you anything else?”
I realise that we are close to Singapore, and light refreshments will be offered prior to arrival. I settle into my seat and breath a heavy sigh. What an incredible trip.
After a satisfying service of finger sandwiches, petit fours and Champagne the cabin arouses to the sound of Og carting a trolley full of gifts. I’m impressed at the generosity and help myself to a selection of perfume (for Oz) and other rather enticing gifts whilst Og chats to the passenger in the seat in front of mine - such a shame that again, they were unwrapped. Og looks to me and says "Duty Free" to which I respond that I felt rather exhausted and couldn't possibly do anything more.
The plane dips and the masses behind stir in an uneasy sigh. We are descending into Singapore and below, tiny lights are visible, pretty fishing boats hauling their load of fishes ready for a city hungry for their taste. Captain Merri’s voice crackles over the sound system to rapturous applause from the passengers and a recant of that touching hymn of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” cleverly adapted to include directions to the cockpit. Captain Merri mutters something incoherent and his voice is gone. The sparkling tropical lights of SIN spread before us and we land in a chorus of laughter and applause.
Mr. 6 Stutters over the microphone and welcomes everyone to Singapore da de da de da. He finalises his announcement by requesting everyone to remain seated, as “Officials” will be boarding the aeroplane to escort a person of interest from the aircraft. Recognition at last, I think to myself.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 21, 2004).]
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 21, 2004).]
Captain Merri saw me spread across the floor and opened the door wide; his eyes followed mine, which were fixed on Oz, rapidly approaching down the aisle. The Captain turned as white as a sheet realising that he was about to be shunted like a train caboose his marriage brought closer together than it has probably ever been. The Captain threw his clothes in the air in a state of alarm and shielded his body in a move that reminded me of a modern dance routine, his arms stiffly held in front of his groin and his head arched high, the veins on his neck protruding down into his chest – it was serious and comical in one and a wry smile tinged my lips.
It wasn’t the most dignified of entrances and once the screaming duet realised that their unexpected journey had come to an abrupt halt, compliments of the Captain, Oz lifted herself up from Mr. Gravy-Shirt and looked around the scene before her. Her eyes were wide with terror as if she had been to hell and back and indeed she most probably had been. Her hair dishevelled and uniform warped across her body. I stood up and helped her to the ground, falling under her weight and depositing her and I unceremoniously on the floor. Oz looked up to see Captain Merri push the trolley away from him. She took a moment to run her eyes up and down the vision before her, I feared for what was to come knowing that Oz had realised the hideous dress code of her newly betrothed. I was surprised when she burst into uproarious laughter. I knew it was the socks.
It was at that moment that the snivelling Mr. 6 arrived in the galley, gaily festooned in a combination of strawberry yoghurt, fruit salad and Danish pastries. It appears our journey’s destination and end had combined, flanking the still prone Mr. Gravy-Shirt, spread-eagled on the trolley. I grabbed Oz by the hand as passengers from the cabin appeared in the galley, each taking a moment to study the scene and joining in with Oz in uncontrollable laughter. Captain Merri was less impressed and pushed past the gathering faces, uniform in hand and marched up the aisle towards his station in his oh so bad taste G-string receiving great applause from the cabin as he passed.
Mrs. Gravy-Shirt arrived in the galley, slightly more upright than I had imagined. She looked down upon her husband with an expression crossed between pity and annoyance. To her credit she scraped a cherry Danish from Mr. 6’s jacket and twisted it satisfyingly into her Husbands face, grabbed a bottle of vodka from the floor and walked back to her seat.
I felt my “Why” experience was complete and longed for the cosseted comforts of my personal suite. My lips were parched and I was thirsting for a decent bubbly and a soothing Valium to settle me from my ordeal. Oz grabbed my hand and pecked me gently on the cheek. We lifted ourselves off the floor and she led me by the hand saying, “Mr. GoldFlyer, I believe we require a drink”. We strode forth as the passengers regained their seats. Reaching the Business class. I saw for the first time the students in earnest action; busily writing an essay entitled “The Last and Final…something”.
Nirvana at last and my seat beaconed in the starry optical effect of the spacious sanctuary. Oz kissed me gently and I sensed the warm tenderness of her lips with well-chosen duty free lipstick. For a moment I thought I should pass over to the easy comfortable life of man and woman but was jolted by her fragile state and realised that love and heartbreak was the same the world over. Purser Gaylor approached seemingly recovered sporting her individual blue tinge with slight shyness but a smile brightening her face. CHAMPAGNE and a real glass, like gifts from the gods in her hands. I fumble for my pill feeling fabulous again at last.
In my childlike joy I dive deep into my tote and clumsily spill forth my boarding passes that I so valiantly guarded from the clutches of Mr. 6. Purser Gaylor retrieves them gingerly from the floor with a wary eye on the seat controls. She glances at the documents and a strange expression creeps across her face. Mr. GoldFlyer, she proclaims, I believe you are in the wrong seat your boarding pass for this flight indicates you should be in seat 68E, you should be in “Why” she proclaims. I look puzzled at her and make an animated movement to the effect that I might be sitting on someone. Oz grabs the documents and surmises that indeed I do have a “pass” for seat 2K but for a flight taken the year prior. I look at them innocently wondering what the fuss is about. Oz and Purser Gaylor then nod to each other and say in unison, “Welcome aboard Mr. GoldFlyer, can we get you anything else?”
I realise that we are close to Singapore, and light refreshments will be offered prior to arrival. I settle into my seat and breath a heavy sigh. What an incredible trip.
After a satisfying service of finger sandwiches, petit fours and Champagne the cabin arouses to the sound of Og carting a trolley full of gifts. I’m impressed at the generosity and help myself to a selection of perfume (for Oz) and other rather enticing gifts whilst Og chats to the passenger in the seat in front of mine - such a shame that again, they were unwrapped. Og looks to me and says "Duty Free" to which I respond that I felt rather exhausted and couldn't possibly do anything more.
The plane dips and the masses behind stir in an uneasy sigh. We are descending into Singapore and below, tiny lights are visible, pretty fishing boats hauling their load of fishes ready for a city hungry for their taste. Captain Merri’s voice crackles over the sound system to rapturous applause from the passengers and a recant of that touching hymn of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” cleverly adapted to include directions to the cockpit. Captain Merri mutters something incoherent and his voice is gone. The sparkling tropical lights of SIN spread before us and we land in a chorus of laughter and applause.
Mr. 6 Stutters over the microphone and welcomes everyone to Singapore da de da de da. He finalises his announcement by requesting everyone to remain seated, as “Officials” will be boarding the aeroplane to escort a person of interest from the aircraft. Recognition at last, I think to myself.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 21, 2004).]
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 21, 2004).]
Jan 21, 2004, 5:22 am
#48
In Memoriam
Join Date: May 2001
Location: Katoomba (Blue Mountains)
Programs: Mucci
Posts: 8,083
"To all,
After a very encouraging email from the Head Master of the Board, hand delivered by an appropriatly dressed FT employee resplendant with baggage tags,I feel a sense of stage fright at my ramblings in this report. I was grateful that I had at least the bottom part of my BA pj's on when opening the message."
That was probably my fault - I mentioned this thread in the "Only Randy Peterson" board, as deserving of "Thread of the Year".
What did Randy have to say, out of interest?
Dave
After a very encouraging email from the Head Master of the Board, hand delivered by an appropriatly dressed FT employee resplendant with baggage tags,I feel a sense of stage fright at my ramblings in this report. I was grateful that I had at least the bottom part of my BA pj's on when opening the message."
That was probably my fault - I mentioned this thread in the "Only Randy Peterson" board, as deserving of "Thread of the Year".
What did Randy have to say, out of interest?
Dave
Jan 21, 2004, 11:59 am
#50
Moderator, Hilton Honors
Join Date: Nov 2003
Location: on a short leash
Programs: some
Posts: 71,422
Sorry to hear you enjoyed (is that the right word?) the gated residences of the Singapore government. I am sure it was sorted out imminently - with a free flight (with personal escort of course) back to the former penal colony of SYD, as you now seem to be home and recovered.
Perhaps the the title of these musings should be renamed Syd to Sin?
Perhaps the the title of these musings should be renamed Syd to Sin?
Jan 21, 2004, 6:20 pm
#53
Original Poster
Join Date: Dec 2002
Location: In Exile
Programs: QFF WP :-0, AC, FlyBuys, Porter's Liquor Store, Mother's Helper
Posts: 2,496
thadocta wrote:
I read your post Dave, high praise indeed and thanks very much. My email was a thank you for the report and best wishes for 2004.
I was very impressed.
Yes there will be more I intend to get to LHR even if it kills me. (that's not a hint either)
Part 9, hopefully today but the weather is hot and humid and the cricket is on later this afterenoon so I think I have a few distractions to hurdle.
<font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">That was probably my fault - I mentioned this thread in the "Only Randy Peterson" board, as deserving of "Thread of the Year".
What did Randy have to say, out of interest?
</font>
What did Randy have to say, out of interest?
</font>
I was very impressed.
Yes there will be more I intend to get to LHR even if it kills me. (that's not a hint either)
Part 9, hopefully today but the weather is hot and humid and the cricket is on later this afterenoon so I think I have a few distractions to hurdle.
Jan 22, 2004, 12:45 am
#54
Join Date: Mar 2001
Location: SYD
Programs: Too many golds, no plat: OZ*G, AC*G, NZ*G, VA Gold, QF Gold, HH Gold, Bonvoy Gold
Posts: 5,350
<font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">Originally posted by GoldFlyer:
I have a few distractions to hurdle.</font>
I have a few distractions to hurdle.</font>
(Though if temptation proves too much, pole vaulting might be more fun than hurdles...)
Jan 22, 2004, 3:22 am
#55
Original Poster
Join Date: Dec 2002
Location: In Exile
Programs: QFF WP :-0, AC, FlyBuys, Porter's Liquor Store, Mother's Helper
Posts: 2,496
Lets just say rain has interupted play at Darlinghurst
Edited to be a bit more accurate.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 22, 2004).]
Edited to be a bit more accurate.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 22, 2004).]
Jan 22, 2004, 8:06 am
#57
Join Date: Nov 1999
Location: SoCal; DO-RAGS: Old Gold tagged, PIP, LatPass 1/2, AA 4MM, HH LT Diamond, Marriott Titanium/LT Plat, Omni
Posts: 9,180
Oh my, what a romp. Honest to God, I have tears in my eyes from howling, I could swear I was reading Tom Jones' updated adventures.
I say let us all ante up some miles and send our ambassador to the sky on another Odyssey.
I say let us all ante up some miles and send our ambassador to the sky on another Odyssey.
Jan 23, 2004, 1:44 am
#59
Original Poster
Join Date: Dec 2002
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Posts: 2,496
Happy Australia Day to all my readers here is part 9. Sorry for the delay
(work does that) but I feel the weekend will bring no end of fodder to this rather serialised report.
The door to the aeroplane opens and two very serious looking gentlemen walk with Mr. 6 towards the front cabin. I think it is rather odd that with just a few hours stopover I should have two gentlemen meet me from the plane but I stand to greet them nonetheless. They walk to the gentleman in Seat 2A and speak in low tones for a moment. From his animated expression he appeared to be appealing against the line of questioning and motioned towards his bag as if the content it held would substantiate his argument. The two officials appeared unconvinced and in a louder voice asked that he come with them to continue their enquiries. Mr. 2A like an animal, cornered and about to be attacked leapt in the air in an attempt to escape. The officials grabbed at him and in the ensuing mêlée, Purser Gaylor, in a final encore screamed loudly at the scene unfolding. One of the officials had grasped at the man’s face and grotesquely held it aloft in his hand the “face and scalp” of Mr. 2A.
I looked to the floor where Mr. 2A was now flat on his stomach as the other officer cuffed him. A familiar face, his real face, Sir Richard Branson no less, wanted back in Australia but no where else apparently.
A few minutes after Mr. 2A was escorted off we were allowed to disembark. A crew change was to occur and I bade my farewells to Oz, Purser Gaylor and Naïve Dobel, quietly slipping my little gift to Oz in her hand as I walked past. My flowers, I gave to Purser Gaylor. I had mixed emotions but was nonetheless happy to be back on the ground and looking forward to a less adventurous last leg.
While the aeroplane received a service and more fuel I wandered the 80’s disaster of interior décor that is Changi Airport. Back in the departure lounge and an announcement was made that the aeroplane had gone “US” to which I gather that it was no longer going to London but America instead. Passengers were to be placed in overnight accommodation to wait for the next aeroplane going to London. I found this rather inconvenient and rude of Skittish Airways but the desk agent arranging our hotels said there was nothing they could do. The aeroplane must have a mind of its own I thought.
We were “bussed” into Singapore and I regained my sense of adventure although I recalled Dam Taat’s story regarding “Singapore Flux” and promise myself not to eat or drink anything whilst we are marooned on this island. Well, perhaps Champagne will be safe.
We arrive at the Grand Kayak Hotel located on Scott C Street. I’m puzzled why the hotel is named after such a humble watercraft but conclude that the locals somehow lost something in the translation. I chuckle away to my room at the vagaries of foreign languages. Having convinced the receptionist that I had a condition that was aggravated by confined spaces, I opened the door to my deluxe suite. A formal living area with separate bedroom, bathroom and bathtub the size of a plunge pool are my humble lodgings for the night. I ring for room service and request CRYSTAL Champagne and canapés and pour my soaking bath. I may as well be comfortable I say to myself.
On the bus to the hotel I sat next to a charming man by the name of Mr. Kee Wee, newly emigrated to New Zealand from China. He was on a business trip to London opening export markets for a fuzzy little fruit that his family grew on a farm in Auckland, a rural township on the North Island I gather. We had an instant rapport and I telephoned reception to invite him up to share a drink. Mr. Kee Wee proved to be a humorous and welcome guest and I was ecstatic at his stories of settling in to his new homeland. The locals it seems are enormously friendly and have a habit of breaking into rapturous laughter whenever he introduces himself. He is often taken by the arm and introduced to others with much the same result. Such a friendly people to be so welcoming and inclusive, he is it seems the toast of the town. I promise to visit him some day eager to sample the local hospitality.
The evening is late and Mr. Kee Wee bids his farewell. I look towards my king-size bed, contented that the day has finished so well.
(work does that) but I feel the weekend will bring no end of fodder to this rather serialised report.
The door to the aeroplane opens and two very serious looking gentlemen walk with Mr. 6 towards the front cabin. I think it is rather odd that with just a few hours stopover I should have two gentlemen meet me from the plane but I stand to greet them nonetheless. They walk to the gentleman in Seat 2A and speak in low tones for a moment. From his animated expression he appeared to be appealing against the line of questioning and motioned towards his bag as if the content it held would substantiate his argument. The two officials appeared unconvinced and in a louder voice asked that he come with them to continue their enquiries. Mr. 2A like an animal, cornered and about to be attacked leapt in the air in an attempt to escape. The officials grabbed at him and in the ensuing mêlée, Purser Gaylor, in a final encore screamed loudly at the scene unfolding. One of the officials had grasped at the man’s face and grotesquely held it aloft in his hand the “face and scalp” of Mr. 2A.
I looked to the floor where Mr. 2A was now flat on his stomach as the other officer cuffed him. A familiar face, his real face, Sir Richard Branson no less, wanted back in Australia but no where else apparently.
A few minutes after Mr. 2A was escorted off we were allowed to disembark. A crew change was to occur and I bade my farewells to Oz, Purser Gaylor and Naïve Dobel, quietly slipping my little gift to Oz in her hand as I walked past. My flowers, I gave to Purser Gaylor. I had mixed emotions but was nonetheless happy to be back on the ground and looking forward to a less adventurous last leg.
While the aeroplane received a service and more fuel I wandered the 80’s disaster of interior décor that is Changi Airport. Back in the departure lounge and an announcement was made that the aeroplane had gone “US” to which I gather that it was no longer going to London but America instead. Passengers were to be placed in overnight accommodation to wait for the next aeroplane going to London. I found this rather inconvenient and rude of Skittish Airways but the desk agent arranging our hotels said there was nothing they could do. The aeroplane must have a mind of its own I thought.
We were “bussed” into Singapore and I regained my sense of adventure although I recalled Dam Taat’s story regarding “Singapore Flux” and promise myself not to eat or drink anything whilst we are marooned on this island. Well, perhaps Champagne will be safe.
We arrive at the Grand Kayak Hotel located on Scott C Street. I’m puzzled why the hotel is named after such a humble watercraft but conclude that the locals somehow lost something in the translation. I chuckle away to my room at the vagaries of foreign languages. Having convinced the receptionist that I had a condition that was aggravated by confined spaces, I opened the door to my deluxe suite. A formal living area with separate bedroom, bathroom and bathtub the size of a plunge pool are my humble lodgings for the night. I ring for room service and request CRYSTAL Champagne and canapés and pour my soaking bath. I may as well be comfortable I say to myself.
On the bus to the hotel I sat next to a charming man by the name of Mr. Kee Wee, newly emigrated to New Zealand from China. He was on a business trip to London opening export markets for a fuzzy little fruit that his family grew on a farm in Auckland, a rural township on the North Island I gather. We had an instant rapport and I telephoned reception to invite him up to share a drink. Mr. Kee Wee proved to be a humorous and welcome guest and I was ecstatic at his stories of settling in to his new homeland. The locals it seems are enormously friendly and have a habit of breaking into rapturous laughter whenever he introduces himself. He is often taken by the arm and introduced to others with much the same result. Such a friendly people to be so welcoming and inclusive, he is it seems the toast of the town. I promise to visit him some day eager to sample the local hospitality.
The evening is late and Mr. Kee Wee bids his farewell. I look towards my king-size bed, contented that the day has finished so well.
Jan 23, 2004, 6:15 am
#60
Moderator, Hilton Honors
Join Date: Nov 2003
Location: on a short leash
Programs: some
Posts: 71,422
More please **** you're getting me hooked like a cheap Aussie soap. 
Glad to hear the rumours of your incarceration greatly exaggerated.
Enjoying the long weekend here too.
Cheers
[This message has been edited by Kiwi Flyer (edited Jan 23, 2004).]
**** you're getting me hooked like a cheap Aussie soap. Glad to hear the rumours of your incarceration greatly exaggerated.
Enjoying the long weekend here too.
Cheers
[This message has been edited by Kiwi Flyer (edited Jan 23, 2004).]