The Real Downunder
part 2
Road to Nowhere
We pick up the girls from the final Stagecoach of the term and hence the end
of term show. An accurate mime of a plane enables the early extrication of
the girls that they may return to DKNZ Towers for a quick sangwhich before
the wait for the taxi.
And then to wait some more.
A mere five minutes past the due time my mind is cast back six strange years
to our first N&Z to NZ journey…..An 8 hour slide on a rapidly freezing
M25 from ‘stow to Reigate, a taxi going to the wrong address, an air
traffic controllers strike en Paris, jam in engine number three etcetera,
etcetera…….. but today the taxi was just five and a half minutes
late, so plus ça non change, eh? The driver takes us on an interesting
route to Paddington. This is via bits of London too scary to contemplate.
Don’t you just hate those taxi journeys where you know the start and
destination locales (and the best route from one to t’other) but find
yourself being taken through places that can’t possibly exist and even
if they do, certainly can’t be between your desired start and end points?
But this is such a journey, and we’ve got a plane to catch. Does wonders
for the blood pressure I can tell you (140/100 and climbing according to the
mobile monitor, just £59.95 plus p&p from all good newspaper ads).
Nevertheless some sort of fissure in the space time continuum still
enables our arrival at Paddington with loadsa time to spare. We had chosen
to check in here at Paddington and, as promised, there were indeed 27 check
in desks, though only one was (wo)manned.
Hmmmm.
Luckily there was no queue.
We checked our luggage and boarded the Heathrow Express, that’s the
way to do it!
The fully paid up worrier of the family wonders if our baggage
will arrive in Singapore with the rest of us. I wave it goodbye with
a tear in my eye.
57 Channels and Nothing On
Good ole Singapore Airlines have little TV sets for all and sundried, with
a choice of family entertainment on 12 video and twelve audio channels. For
reasons not disclosed upon take-off the films are 74 minutes into their run.
Thus you have the choice of seeing the end and deciding whether you really
want to know how it all started.
Which is nice.
Instead, we try the games channel and crash the computer. I trust the one
controlling the flaps, artificial horizon et al (assuming it is a
different one) boots rather more efficiently and, for that matter, doesn’t
crash so readily. Having decided against most of the movies and having broken
the games computer, I am left with the channel that shows airspeed, outside
temperature and various maps detailing our location. Now, we’ve chosen
the route avoiding the Evil Empire this time but that means one way or another
we’ve got to fly pretty close to a war zone. The Balkans are relatively
stable a çe moment though the Greeks seems less than happy with those
of us Brits who like looking at their planes and then we have either the middle
east or what used to be Afghanistan. The map with our plane on it clearly
shows Jerusalem, Tehran, Baghdad, Tripoli, Kabul and Vladivostok. Those of
us with a sharp memory of our "Observers Book of Surface to Air Missiles"
realise that we are sitting ducks should anyone wish to escalate the current
world crisis. Despite these thoughts and a very wriggly Danielle I manage
to grab about four hours sleep before waking to the sounds of brekky preparation.
The kid’s meals arrive first and, as with the previous evening’s
supper, Singapore Airlines have hedged their bets and added a large selection
of chocolate confections to the usual fare. A sure winner here. After
kids in the order of service come weirdo pseudo veggies who have to wait until
the carnivores are served before being allowed a glass of wine (eee wait ‘til
the revolution, first up against the wall). Flicking around the TV channels
again I come across a Woody Allen film I haven’t seen, probably "Crimes
and Misdemeanours" but I could be wrong. We must be two minutes from
the end when landing commences, so they stop the film. This is the only film
I didn’t watch the end of earlier on. Aaarrrghhhhh! If anyone knows
how it ends please let me know.
So, we find ourselves in Singapore, from, apparently, the French singe (n:
monkey) and the German Porenfruitenzuckerheatencookenfuhrt (n: method of fruit
preservation involving sugar and boiling). Quite why any place, let alone
this one, should be called Monkeyjam has not been clearly explained. Some
have described Singapore as like Switzerland with warm weather. The weather
is indeed much warmer and it is also very clean and efficient but without,
to my eyes at least, the fascism so apparent in the Swiss homeland.