somewhere in Australia, there is a small boy trapped down a old mine shaft that will never get rescued. That is
because I ate Skippy for dinner last night. Kangaroo tastes a bit like beef; we ate out at some place that was
billed as authentic outback Australia, but infact was upmarket resort-ville where the nouveau riche spend
their pennies. Still fantastic though.
We stayed in a fairly expensive campsite last night; the first warm
shower in a tiled bathroom in nearly a week made a welcome relief from the usual cold water outhouses, and we
rounded off the night drinking the beer that James had originally claimed was ‘really good’ when we had bought it.
It had sat untouched in the back of Eric for three days after we initially tried it.
So this morning was the
move to the airport. We stumbled across it by accident, one hour earlier than anticipated, so there was just enough
time for photos before saying farewells and me climbing on a plane, leaving the other two to their own devices.
Heather heads over here (to Singapore) tomorrow, but despite the initial plan, I will already have departed. I have
been making the most of the airport pool as apparently no one else knows about it. There were 25 lockers in the
changing room, and I was the only one in there. My top tip for Singapore connections; ask where the pool is… it’s
tucked so well away you’ll have it and the bar to yourself.
I arrive back at Heathrow at 5.30am tomorrow. I
can see jetlag will be much fun to contend with, and so am planning on making the most of flying BA/Qantas, using up
the free alcohol they are so willing to provide you with. Much nicer than flying EasyJet, although I can’t
understand why the films on planes are either ones I’ve seen, or one I don’t want to see. The in-flight guides
always promise so much more, but I end up watching Ice Age 2 (again) or a story about some bloke and his huskies.
I’ve got 5 CDs worth of photos. The gallery is going to be a bit huge.