Sunday, April 7th
It's just after 9 o'clock and I'm sitting in Melbourne Airport waiting to book in for my flight to Bandar Seri Bagawan. It doesn't slip off the tongue, does it? But it's just a stop on the way to London. The gate hasn't opened yet so I am just filling in time.
I flew into Melbourne last night and stayed over so that I wouldn't have to suffer the, inconvenience of an early-morning flight from Launceston, so I'm refreshed and ready to go.
We took part in a car rally yesterday and managed to win. This is the third rally organised by one of our Rotarians and Marilyn and I finally got our act together and did most things right. She drives and I keep track of the direction and clues. It's a good division of labour and plays to our skills. I was surprised, though, to hear that the standard time for the course was 110 minutes, and we only took 99! And that included some back- tracking to check answers. Maybe we should look at Targa Tasmania next year.
It's 10.50 and I've managed to make my way through check-in and security. I used to be bemused when security was dramatically increased after 9-11. The government-inspired bogeyman of that time was the bearded Muslim terrorist and yet, many of the security personnel had a decidedly middle eastern look. This morning, though, I felt that there had been some recruiting in Eastern Europe. The bloke at my gate was about 2m tall, bald, chiselled Slavic face and a menacing glower. (I've always wanted to use that phrase in a sentence: menacing glower, very James Bond). I'm of that generation which looked to Eastern Europe for villains - think of Dr Blofeldt and Kaos in Maxwell Smart.
Any way this fellow was very polite and there was no sign of thumbscrews or nipple tweakers and I survived the ordeal.
As I walked to Gate 8, there was a raucous voice on the PA system, calling passengers for the Jetstar flight to Singapore. It was that embarassing Australian accent which really makes you cringe and when she started to mispronounce the names of the passengers I wondered what the multicultural listeners thought. There are some people who should not be allowed near a microphone. Apart from that, I love airports. It's fascinating to watch the people and wonder here they are all going. Once upon a time, everybody dressed up to catch a plane. The men wore suits or at least jacket and tie and women looked as if they were going to church. It's not that now! And people make such strange decisions about what to wear. There's a big fellow waiting for my flight with biggest straw hat I have ever seen. Where will stow it on board? It'll get squashed in a locker but maybe he hopes to have a spare seat beside him. Or maybe he bought a seat for his hat. Who knows.
There's another fellow with a little backpack as carry-on luggage. That's reasonable but he's got things stuffed into outside pockets and bits hanging off it - camera, passport wallet, raincoat pouch and so on. I expected to see a billy and drinking mug as well. But it takes all kinds. Maybe there are people sniggering at me but I can't imagine why.
It's 10.50 and I've managed to make my way through check-in and security. I used to be bemused when security was dramatically increased after 9-11. The government-inspired bogeyman of that time was the bearded Muslim terrorist and yet, many of the security personnel had a decidedly middle eastern look. This morning, though, I felt that there had been some recruiting in Eastern Europe. The bloke at my gate was about 2m tall, bald, chiselled Slavic face and a menacing glower. (I've always wanted to use that phrase in a sentence: menacing glower, very James Bond). I'm of that generation which looked to Eastern Europe for villains - think of Dr Blofeldt and Kaos in Maxwell Smart.
Any way this fellow was very polite and there was no sign of thumbscrews or nipple tweakers and I survived the ordeal.
As I walked to Gate 8, there was a raucous voice on the PA system, calling passengers for the Jetstar flight to Singapore. It was that embarassing Australian accent which really makes you cringe and when she started to mispronounce the names of the passengers I wondered what the multicultural listeners thought. There are some people who should not be allowed near a microphone. Apart from that, I love airports. It's fascinating to watch the people and wonder here they are all going. Once upon a time, everybody dressed up to catch a plane. The men wore suits or at least jacket and tie and women looked as if they were going to church. It's not that now! And people make such strange decisions about what to wear. There's a big fellow waiting for my flight with biggest straw hat I have ever seen. Where will stow it on board? It'll get squashed in a locker but maybe he hopes to have a spare seat beside him. Or maybe he bought a seat for his hat. Who knows.
There's another fellow with a little backpack as carry-on luggage. That's reasonable but he's got things stuffed into outside pockets and bits hanging off it - camera, passport wallet, raincoat pouch and so on. I expected to see a billy and drinking mug as well. But it takes all kinds. Maybe there are people sniggering at me but I can't imagine why.
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