This morning I had to conduct an interview and then spend time chasing up an appointment for my MRI, so I worked from home, planning to go straight to the airport. But then at the last moment I found I had to go to the office, so I somewhat frantically packed the last things into my bag and took a taxi over there. And then I realised I’d left my watch charging at home, and figured I shouldn’t really leave without it, so then I had to take another taxi back home again before going out. All this was making me quite stressful, until Scoot helpfully delayed the departure of my flight by an hour, which meant I had lots of time to wander around the airport and get Australian currency, lunch, and all the other useful things I’d budgeted time for before I got trapped into my home-office-home vortex.
Scoot doesn’t equip its planes with a cornucopia of entertainment. In fact, apart from maybe chewing on the in flight magazine, there’s no way to occupy yourself. Knowing this I brought a download of Steven Soderbergh’s Out Of Sight with me to watch on my laptop. The film is about half my age, and I’d like to think we’ve both aged well, apart perhaps from Clooney, trapped in the boot of a car with Lopez, remarking that he might force himself upon her. No, that hasn’t aged well. Was that unremarkable back in the 90s?
I tried this year to institute some routine at the weekends with the girls. Latterly, Pancake Saturday got a bit derailed, but during the peak period every week they would be given another food-themed pen (mostly pineapples, I think) and so the pen I snatched before leaving was a comedy capsicum shaped one. I’m sure there’s no rules about bringing food-shaped writing implements into Australia.
Well, I hope there aren’t. Few countries are famous for their jolly, joke-loving Immigration staff.
We’re now 15 minutes from the airport, though I fear I may be too late for my traditional Perth hipster hotdog. With the plane landing late, I probably won’t reach Perth much before 10, and it seems Australians like their early bedtimes. I guess I’ll save the hotdog for my birthday…