My beautiful wife and I recently flew home from Melbourne.
Our flight involved a brief stop-over at Kingsford Smith airport in Sydney while we waited for our connection flight to Northern New South Wales.
Unfortunately, our stop was not as brief as it should have been, and our plane departed on time without us while I was enjoying a couple of pints in the airport lounge, innocently comfortable in the belief that the 14:10 departure time meant 10 minutes past 4.
The nice lady at the Virgin desk was not impressed with my explanation, and charged me $300 to book us on the next departing flight.
But as the wise man said, however bad things may seem, they can always get worse.
We were delighted that the panicked, Covi-phobic populace had decided to stay home, and our 737MAX had only 20 other passengers. Our leisurely disembarkation on arrival at our destination gave us an insight to the life of the super-rich.
But as we waited for our luggage at Arrivals, it all got a bit weird.
A small man in a dress approached me and threw his arms around me. (I know, who could blame him, but even so.)
Once my fight-or-flight response subsided, I realised that this small Indian man was a former colleague, a surgeon who had been a brother-in-arms in the noble fight defending all that was good and right against the evil empire of hospital management, not an impulsive cross-dresser who fancied me.
He had just flown in from India and was wearing a traditional Kurta.
All good? Well, not really. There were over 500 active cases of corona virus infection in India.
However, on the bright side, I have a beautiful woman to self-isolate with (amongst other things which are none of your bloody business).
Salud!
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