SYD to LHR on a Plane
Jan 23, 2004, 9:09 am
#62
Join Date: Jun 2001
Location: Columbus, OH
Programs: AA-EXP 3MM, Bonvoy Lifetime Titanium
Posts: 582
This has to be the most etertaining post I've ever read on FT. My coworkers think I'm crazy as I've been howling with laughter reading this fabulous trip report.
Bravo !
Bravo !
Jan 23, 2004, 9:47 am
#63
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
Kiwiflyer,
my constant viewer. I hope that you are pleased with your inclusion. You were a worry for a few days but I think I nailed you perfectly in SIN. A cheap Aussie soap, well L'ocittane is my lather of choice but you're right, soap is soap so long as it doesn't leave a nasty rash.
To celebrate the start of the Australia Day weekend …….I’ve celebrated! All be it a few days too early. Picture a sultry summer evening, my first full week back at work behind me and spectacular light shows descending from the sky above. Throw in a very crowded nightclub. Hmmm, not much difference there really. Ok, a couple of nightclubs, we got restless. . I’m about to fall into bed at a time that only the milkman is familiar with, I’m glad I started part 10 before I went out. My, my my I’ve a return date with the 26-year old tomorrow. And he thought I was 33. Well flattery will at least get you another drink from the bar. I only hope I wake-up in a state that is resemblant to 33.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 23, 2004).]
my constant viewer. I hope that you are pleased with your inclusion. You were a worry for a few days but I think I nailed you perfectly in SIN. A cheap Aussie soap, well L'ocittane is my lather of choice but you're right, soap is soap so long as it doesn't leave a nasty rash.
To celebrate the start of the Australia Day weekend …….I’ve celebrated! All be it a few days too early. Picture a sultry summer evening, my first full week back at work behind me and spectacular light shows descending from the sky above. Throw in a very crowded nightclub. Hmmm, not much difference there really. Ok, a couple of nightclubs, we got restless. . I’m about to fall into bed at a time that only the milkman is familiar with, I’m glad I started part 10 before I went out. My, my my I’ve a return date with the 26-year old tomorrow. And he thought I was 33. Well flattery will at least get you another drink from the bar. I only hope I wake-up in a state that is resemblant to 33.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 23, 2004).]
Jan 23, 2004, 8:47 pm
#64
FlyerTalk Evangelist
Join Date: Jun 2000
Location: Sunny SYDNEY!
Programs: UA Million Miler. (1.9M) Virgin Platinum. HH Diamond + SPG Gold
Posts: 32,330
<font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">Originally posted by GoldFlyer:
I always find my medication reacts more positively with Champagne. I’m convinced it’s the fizzification effect, similar to that of Berocca, ensuring maximum absorption. </font>
I always find my medication reacts more positively with Champagne. I’m convinced it’s the fizzification effect, similar to that of Berocca, ensuring maximum absorption. </font>
Heck, sometimes I even dispense with the medication just to determine whether it is a placebo type effect.
------------------
~ Glen ~ sipping bubbly from a UA 747-400 exit row 15 near you SOON!
Jan 23, 2004, 9:57 pm
#67
Join Date: Oct 2000
Location: Currently a man without a country; American Airlines-3MM, Executive Platinum; US Airways-Doesn't Matter AAnymore; Hilton-Diamond; Starwood-Platinum; Hyatt-Diamond
Posts: 702
<font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">Originally posted by GoldFlyer:
Kiwiflyer,
A cheap Aussie soap, well L'ocittane is my lather of choice but you're right, soap is soap so long as it doesn't leave a nasty rash. </font>
Kiwiflyer,
A cheap Aussie soap, well L'ocittane is my lather of choice but you're right, soap is soap so long as it doesn't leave a nasty rash. </font>
GoldFlyer, let me recommend an equally excellent Provence soap from Oliviers & Co. (Oh-and-Co as we insiders refer to it as).
Their holistic, organic Olive Oil Soap is ab-fab...shave with it, froth with it, suds your nether regions with it and not fear an unsightly bump or itch. And the easy-pack square shape fits in my shower bag ever-so-smoothly.
<font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">I’m about to fall into bed at a time that only the milkman is familiar with, I’m glad I started part 10 before I went out. My, my my I’ve a return date with the 26-year old tomorrow. And he thought I was 33. Well flattery will at least get you another drink from the bar. I only hope I wake-up in a state that is resemblant to 33.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 23, 2004).]</font>
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 23, 2004).]</font>
[This message has been edited by mwp2paris (edited Jan 23, 2004).]
Jan 23, 2004, 10:15 pm
#68
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
Tragedy has struck!
After literally falling onto the bed last night, couldn’t even make it under the sheets, I woke up to find that the mosquitoes had feasted upon me. Yep, forgot to turn the zapper on as well. The date will think I’ve some contagious condition or about to break out in boils. I guess I’ll be the only one on the dance floor keeping my shirt on.
Flying while under the influence -I hope those mozzies crashed.
Part 10 tonight SYD time before I head out in my neck to ankle body suit.
After literally falling onto the bed last night, couldn’t even make it under the sheets, I woke up to find that the mosquitoes had feasted upon me. Yep, forgot to turn the zapper on as well. The date will think I’ve some contagious condition or about to break out in boils. I guess I’ll be the only one on the dance floor keeping my shirt on.
Flying while under the influence -I hope those mozzies crashed.
Part 10 tonight SYD time before I head out in my neck to ankle body suit.
Jan 24, 2004, 1:24 am
#69
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
Part 10
After a blissful slumber of almost 8 hours I waken feeling hot and uncomfortable. I curse that my short-lived promise had been broken and I had “eaten”. Seriously concerned at the prospect of being de-ventilated, I call for room service, convinced that Crystal ’96 will flush my body of impurities and save me from the indignity of a “flammable gas” sign above my head. Worried at the loss of body salts I also order Sevruga Caviar and toast point to replace my depleting vitals. Convulsing violently into the porcelain I vow that Skittish Airways will hear from my attorney!
Sipping and supping tentatively on my medication - enrobed in my gown I thrash violently between HBO, CNN, American Standard and BBC World in an effort to overcome my plight. Apart from the 3D effect of AS, they all melded into one. Towards the end of the Champagne and after drifting in and out of a fitful sleep I sense my trauma is past. I stand naked in the bathroom admiring my newly acquired “avoirdupois”, an abdomen like a six-pack no less. I’ve salvaged something from my frightful turn.
A message from the desk informs me that Skittish have acquired new equipment and my flight would be departing early this evening. Recuperating throughout the afternoon, I look forward to the brisk cold air of London and a welcome farewell to the tropical dankness of Singapore. I hand in my room key and mention the questionable quality of the food. For my troubles I am presented with a bill for room service of close to $2000. It seems that the hospitality of the airline did not extend to what I feel are everyday essentials and that I would have to pay. Rummaging through my wallet an old credit card of Mothers slips out. I bless her soul above and hand it over as payment. The cashier manually imprints the details due to a problem with the telephone lines.
Our Bus arrives and takes us back to the airport. Obediently taking my place in the enduring endless queues and corrals of “Why” I finally make it to the counter. I’m feeling like a lamb to the slaughter. The young lass “processes” me perfunctorily and suddenly exclaims.
“Why Mr. GoldFlyer”, you’ve been “operationally upgraded”.
I grab at the counter to steady myself from collapse and stare quizzically at her wondering at my violent illness just past – the vulnerabilities of a foreigner in distant land where even a desk clerk appears to have greater insight into one’s own destiny. Had I been kidnapped and surgically altered. How could anyone improve on what already is near perfection. Had I lapsed into a coma, been drugged and worked upon in my unconsciousness for the obvious “pedigree status” of my organs. I’ve heard of tales where people are taken as such and “utilized” for their vitals. I’m surprised at her obvious pleasure given that I now feel as if my weight loss has more to do with a missing organ than my morning of close encounters and feverish embrace with American Standard. I snatch at my “Pass” and march off with a twisted bitter look on my face – feeling my torso for signs of involuntary entry. Keyhole surgery perhaps as my search is fruitless.
I make my way to the gate still reeling from the thought that I might drop dead at any moment, devoid of crucial innards that support my mortal life. I need a drink. Gate 36 is ahead of me and I glance out the window. I scream out in shock, my plane has “AA” emblazoned on the tail. Fearing a “dry” flight and wondering why Alcoholics Anonymous felt the need to branch out into air transport I rush quickly back to the liquor shop I had just passed and buy what I think will be sufficient company for the flight to London. Can this day get any worse I ask or will I even see it through. Thr gate lounge is jammed and people are spilling into the concourse. My basic math honed on counting the empty bottle stack that amassed at an alarming rate at the side of our house counts well over 400 people. I resign myself to the torturous thought of being crammed for 12-hours between the likes of a Mr. Gravy-Shirt and with my luck today probably someone with raging halitosis.
The boarding announcement is made and we are asked to board in sections according to the zone on the boarding pass. The entire lounge erupt as one and swarm towards the gate. After much jostling and shoving I decide to sit and wait for the tide to subside feeling far too fragile to join in. With people everywhere it is impossible to get to the seating area but to the side I see an empty wheelchair and considering my fragility I almost believe it was placed there for me. I sink into it and hold my head in a troubled pose. A kindly security person taps my shoulder, motioning to my boarding pass and mutters something about helping me onboard. I try to explain I am just resting but he is already gripping the chair and wheeling me around to a doorway on the other side of the gate that leads to the aeroplane.
Heading down the aerobridge I see the plane fully for the first time and wonder at its extraordinary size. I comment to the attendant and he exclaims that it is a brand new Aerobus double-decker, the largest plane ever built. There must be a lot of restless recovering alcoholics I muse to myself. Signs point “Why” passengers along a corridor towards the upper level while another indicates that the business school and first class is on the lower deck. The attendant pushes me forth to the lower deck and I flay my pass at him saying we were going the wrong way. At the doorway to the Aerobus my pass is taken by MikeFry, he studies it intently smiling and motioning me to the cabin beyond.
“Welcome aboard Mr. GoldFlyer, Suite 12A.” He tells the security attendant.
Thinking that this is all a terrible mistake I comment that I should be in “Why” to which Mr. Fry replies.
“Of course not Mr. GoldFlyer, you are flying first class with AA today.”
I pad at my luggage thinking AA this may be but Anonymous I am not.
After a blissful slumber of almost 8 hours I waken feeling hot and uncomfortable. I curse that my short-lived promise had been broken and I had “eaten”. Seriously concerned at the prospect of being de-ventilated, I call for room service, convinced that Crystal ’96 will flush my body of impurities and save me from the indignity of a “flammable gas” sign above my head. Worried at the loss of body salts I also order Sevruga Caviar and toast point to replace my depleting vitals. Convulsing violently into the porcelain I vow that Skittish Airways will hear from my attorney!
Sipping and supping tentatively on my medication - enrobed in my gown I thrash violently between HBO, CNN, American Standard and BBC World in an effort to overcome my plight. Apart from the 3D effect of AS, they all melded into one. Towards the end of the Champagne and after drifting in and out of a fitful sleep I sense my trauma is past. I stand naked in the bathroom admiring my newly acquired “avoirdupois”, an abdomen like a six-pack no less. I’ve salvaged something from my frightful turn.
A message from the desk informs me that Skittish have acquired new equipment and my flight would be departing early this evening. Recuperating throughout the afternoon, I look forward to the brisk cold air of London and a welcome farewell to the tropical dankness of Singapore. I hand in my room key and mention the questionable quality of the food. For my troubles I am presented with a bill for room service of close to $2000. It seems that the hospitality of the airline did not extend to what I feel are everyday essentials and that I would have to pay. Rummaging through my wallet an old credit card of Mothers slips out. I bless her soul above and hand it over as payment. The cashier manually imprints the details due to a problem with the telephone lines.
Our Bus arrives and takes us back to the airport. Obediently taking my place in the enduring endless queues and corrals of “Why” I finally make it to the counter. I’m feeling like a lamb to the slaughter. The young lass “processes” me perfunctorily and suddenly exclaims.
“Why Mr. GoldFlyer”, you’ve been “operationally upgraded”.
I grab at the counter to steady myself from collapse and stare quizzically at her wondering at my violent illness just past – the vulnerabilities of a foreigner in distant land where even a desk clerk appears to have greater insight into one’s own destiny. Had I been kidnapped and surgically altered. How could anyone improve on what already is near perfection. Had I lapsed into a coma, been drugged and worked upon in my unconsciousness for the obvious “pedigree status” of my organs. I’ve heard of tales where people are taken as such and “utilized” for their vitals. I’m surprised at her obvious pleasure given that I now feel as if my weight loss has more to do with a missing organ than my morning of close encounters and feverish embrace with American Standard. I snatch at my “Pass” and march off with a twisted bitter look on my face – feeling my torso for signs of involuntary entry. Keyhole surgery perhaps as my search is fruitless.
I make my way to the gate still reeling from the thought that I might drop dead at any moment, devoid of crucial innards that support my mortal life. I need a drink. Gate 36 is ahead of me and I glance out the window. I scream out in shock, my plane has “AA” emblazoned on the tail. Fearing a “dry” flight and wondering why Alcoholics Anonymous felt the need to branch out into air transport I rush quickly back to the liquor shop I had just passed and buy what I think will be sufficient company for the flight to London. Can this day get any worse I ask or will I even see it through. Thr gate lounge is jammed and people are spilling into the concourse. My basic math honed on counting the empty bottle stack that amassed at an alarming rate at the side of our house counts well over 400 people. I resign myself to the torturous thought of being crammed for 12-hours between the likes of a Mr. Gravy-Shirt and with my luck today probably someone with raging halitosis.
The boarding announcement is made and we are asked to board in sections according to the zone on the boarding pass. The entire lounge erupt as one and swarm towards the gate. After much jostling and shoving I decide to sit and wait for the tide to subside feeling far too fragile to join in. With people everywhere it is impossible to get to the seating area but to the side I see an empty wheelchair and considering my fragility I almost believe it was placed there for me. I sink into it and hold my head in a troubled pose. A kindly security person taps my shoulder, motioning to my boarding pass and mutters something about helping me onboard. I try to explain I am just resting but he is already gripping the chair and wheeling me around to a doorway on the other side of the gate that leads to the aeroplane.
Heading down the aerobridge I see the plane fully for the first time and wonder at its extraordinary size. I comment to the attendant and he exclaims that it is a brand new Aerobus double-decker, the largest plane ever built. There must be a lot of restless recovering alcoholics I muse to myself. Signs point “Why” passengers along a corridor towards the upper level while another indicates that the business school and first class is on the lower deck. The attendant pushes me forth to the lower deck and I flay my pass at him saying we were going the wrong way. At the doorway to the Aerobus my pass is taken by MikeFry, he studies it intently smiling and motioning me to the cabin beyond.
“Welcome aboard Mr. GoldFlyer, Suite 12A.” He tells the security attendant.
Thinking that this is all a terrible mistake I comment that I should be in “Why” to which Mr. Fry replies.
“Of course not Mr. GoldFlyer, you are flying first class with AA today.”
I pad at my luggage thinking AA this may be but Anonymous I am not.
Jan 26, 2004, 2:57 pm
#72
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
GoldFlyer, you *have* been busy!
Another couple of inspired segments - Richard Branson masquerading as Seat 2A had me falling off the chair with mirth, as did your panic attack at being 'operationally upgraded'... then again, I suspect Mother wasn't averse to a snip here and a tuck there, was she? Unless her fabulously youthful appearance was all thanks to a lifetime of champagne, prescription drugs and the attentions of doctaprocta...
[edited to fix spelling]
[This message has been edited by mad_atta (edited Jan 26, 2004).]
Another couple of inspired segments - Richard Branson masquerading as Seat 2A had me falling off the chair with mirth, as did your panic attack at being 'operationally upgraded'... then again, I suspect Mother wasn't averse to a snip here and a tuck there, was she? Unless her fabulously youthful appearance was all thanks to a lifetime of champagne, prescription drugs and the attentions of doctaprocta...
[edited to fix spelling]
[This message has been edited by mad_atta (edited Jan 26, 2004).]
Jan 28, 2004, 2:36 am
#73
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
Sorry about the delay but ...well.... you don't need to know.
Part 11
I thank my driver kindly for his assistance and wobble convincingly into the comfort of my suite. Verity Troy is quickly beside me and introduces herself as my “Personal Assistant” for our flight to London. Verity is a striking woman, tall and slim with finely sculpted features and an air of quiet dignity. I later discover that her father came from the African Zulu Tribes and her mother, of Nordic stock, I presume Verity’s “assistance” involves a series of counselling and confessionals aimed at helping me with the Demon Drink and I wince at the thought of my 12-hours of captive treatment. Verity gives me a card and explains that should I require anything I need only call the number using my in-seat telephone.
Settling into my suite I am impressed at the spaciousness of the layout. Seating is a two across layout upholstered in soft black leather. A small table is positioned in front with a table lamp similar to those found on the finest trains. A rich burgundy carpet spreads across the floor and the cabin interior is panelled in a mahogany veneer giving the impression of a private gentleman’s club. Verity returns and asks if I would like a pre-departure drink.
“A glass of champagne”
I quip without realising that I have probably set myself up for the early counselling session. To her credit she nods politely and walks away returning with a frosted champagne flute and a convincing mock-up of what I know more familiarly as Dom Perignon. I comment,
“Oh, how nice, is that the Non Perignon?” Giving a little chuckle.
Verity looks on as she pours and says it is the ’92 vintage. A convincing charade I thought to masquerade grape juice as the real thing but I have just the right antidote. Alone, I reach for my bag and sneakily top my glass with a shot of Absolut. A familiar voice reaches me from behind and I look up to see Purser Gaylor standing at my seat.
“Your sleeper suit Mr. GoldFlyer and slippers to make your journey more comfortable.”
Purser it seems was called up due to the illness of another crewmember and I start to feel a little better at the thought of a familiar face. I thank here warmly and say how pleased I am that we have caught up again. Purser breaks out a little smile and walks back toward the galley.
The crew once again perform the pantomime routine and I applaud politely at the end. Christmas is a funny time that seems to bring out the oddest behaviour in some people. Captain Kevin Gaucho welcomes us aboard and gives us a commentary of our trip details in a heavy Spanish accent. I hope Captain Gaucho is a little more restrained with his primal instincts than Captain Merri. The Aerobus lumbered down the field and within moments we were in the air bound for London.
Verity does a wonderful job with the “Non” and I’m starting to acquire the taste for carbonated grape juice and vodka. Dinner was being readied and I was feeling famished from a lack of food. I scan the menu and wine list noting the cheeky adoption of well-known wine names. My neighbour across the way appears curious about my rummaging (for the vodka) and curiosity gaining the better of him he wanders over.
“Hello, my name’s Quentin, Quentin Winker-Plat. You look like a nervous flyer is there anything I can do to help?”
I stand and shake his hand and in low conspiratorial tones explain my unfortunate turn of events that resulted in me on the “dry” flight. Quentin laughs aloud and I look at him annoyed at his lack of understanding. He motions to my companion seat and I invite him to take a seat. I barely believed his story at first but suddenly I realised how foolish I had been and waked in uncontrollable laughter with him. We got chatting and I discovered he is on his honeymoon. His wife was sadly in “Why” with the in-laws and only one upgrade was available. Another operational victim I thought, but he seemed very pleased with the results. Perhaps I wouldn’t die after all. I had plenty of questions for this chap and invited him to dine with me if he cared. I called Verity on the phone and explained I had a guest for dinner and please, bring the Dom and clean glasses.
Dinner was truly memorable the highlight a Crepe Suzette flamed expertly at the table by Purser who appeared to be much less accident-prone today. Quentin, or WP as he preferred, was an excellent tonic to my day’s ordeals and had me in stitches about the real meaning of the “Op Up”. It was very late by this stage and WP had promised to visit his wife with a peace offering. I decided a brief walk was in order before retiring for the night.
Part 11
I thank my driver kindly for his assistance and wobble convincingly into the comfort of my suite. Verity Troy is quickly beside me and introduces herself as my “Personal Assistant” for our flight to London. Verity is a striking woman, tall and slim with finely sculpted features and an air of quiet dignity. I later discover that her father came from the African Zulu Tribes and her mother, of Nordic stock, I presume Verity’s “assistance” involves a series of counselling and confessionals aimed at helping me with the Demon Drink and I wince at the thought of my 12-hours of captive treatment. Verity gives me a card and explains that should I require anything I need only call the number using my in-seat telephone.
Settling into my suite I am impressed at the spaciousness of the layout. Seating is a two across layout upholstered in soft black leather. A small table is positioned in front with a table lamp similar to those found on the finest trains. A rich burgundy carpet spreads across the floor and the cabin interior is panelled in a mahogany veneer giving the impression of a private gentleman’s club. Verity returns and asks if I would like a pre-departure drink.
“A glass of champagne”
I quip without realising that I have probably set myself up for the early counselling session. To her credit she nods politely and walks away returning with a frosted champagne flute and a convincing mock-up of what I know more familiarly as Dom Perignon. I comment,
“Oh, how nice, is that the Non Perignon?” Giving a little chuckle.
Verity looks on as she pours and says it is the ’92 vintage. A convincing charade I thought to masquerade grape juice as the real thing but I have just the right antidote. Alone, I reach for my bag and sneakily top my glass with a shot of Absolut. A familiar voice reaches me from behind and I look up to see Purser Gaylor standing at my seat.
“Your sleeper suit Mr. GoldFlyer and slippers to make your journey more comfortable.”
Purser it seems was called up due to the illness of another crewmember and I start to feel a little better at the thought of a familiar face. I thank here warmly and say how pleased I am that we have caught up again. Purser breaks out a little smile and walks back toward the galley.
The crew once again perform the pantomime routine and I applaud politely at the end. Christmas is a funny time that seems to bring out the oddest behaviour in some people. Captain Kevin Gaucho welcomes us aboard and gives us a commentary of our trip details in a heavy Spanish accent. I hope Captain Gaucho is a little more restrained with his primal instincts than Captain Merri. The Aerobus lumbered down the field and within moments we were in the air bound for London.
Verity does a wonderful job with the “Non” and I’m starting to acquire the taste for carbonated grape juice and vodka. Dinner was being readied and I was feeling famished from a lack of food. I scan the menu and wine list noting the cheeky adoption of well-known wine names. My neighbour across the way appears curious about my rummaging (for the vodka) and curiosity gaining the better of him he wanders over.
“Hello, my name’s Quentin, Quentin Winker-Plat. You look like a nervous flyer is there anything I can do to help?”
I stand and shake his hand and in low conspiratorial tones explain my unfortunate turn of events that resulted in me on the “dry” flight. Quentin laughs aloud and I look at him annoyed at his lack of understanding. He motions to my companion seat and I invite him to take a seat. I barely believed his story at first but suddenly I realised how foolish I had been and waked in uncontrollable laughter with him. We got chatting and I discovered he is on his honeymoon. His wife was sadly in “Why” with the in-laws and only one upgrade was available. Another operational victim I thought, but he seemed very pleased with the results. Perhaps I wouldn’t die after all. I had plenty of questions for this chap and invited him to dine with me if he cared. I called Verity on the phone and explained I had a guest for dinner and please, bring the Dom and clean glasses.
Dinner was truly memorable the highlight a Crepe Suzette flamed expertly at the table by Purser who appeared to be much less accident-prone today. Quentin, or WP as he preferred, was an excellent tonic to my day’s ordeals and had me in stitches about the real meaning of the “Op Up”. It was very late by this stage and WP had promised to visit his wife with a peace offering. I decided a brief walk was in order before retiring for the night.
Jan 28, 2004, 5:25 am
#74
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Brisbane (BNE), Australia, QF/VA Forums Meeting Organiser
Programs: VA Plat, QF Gold (97.4% LTG), QP Life, AA (66% LTG). HH Diamond. Amex Plat, Visa Plat
Posts: 6,519
<font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">I have a real quandry with QF WP.</font>
Loved the latest Chapter and even brought Mrs QF WP up to speed on your story-telling. She was wondering why I was sitting her chortling away whilst she was sitting on her computer paying off our MasterCard bill from our recent trip.
This definitely deserved a shout at our local QP...after all, I think most of your "characters" probably want to meet the master storyteller themselves...
Jan 28, 2004, 12:47 pm
#75
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
Ahhh,
So QF QP, you think you've escaped just because of your new found status? The end is near and well, you may just be needed later.
So QF QP, you think you've escaped just because of your new found status? The end is near and well, you may just be needed later.