Embarkation, Pt. 2... and the greatest shower known to humanity.

As I was saying, my uncle's new flat is full of wonderful carved artefacts from all around Papua New Guinea. Lots of zoomorphic things with menacing teeth made of shell inlay, and a two-metre tall statue of a (friendly) spirit named "hornbill man"... but my very favourite is the crocodile that sits on the bookcase: it's amazingly well-observed and lifelike. Take a look...


Anyhow, my family and I said our goodbyes and left about midday for the airport. We decided we'd catch a bus with our luggage, as "practice" for lugging it around Europe... and so began 30 hours of sustained discomfort.

Now, I'm not trying to make this out to be more of an ordeal than it was, but there's no way anyone can put a genuinely pleasant spin on a 22-hour flight, unless they possess buttocks of steel, or have taken chemical substances they really oughtn't. Still, the food served was not bad, and now we can say that we've gotten the most unpleasant stretch of the trip over and done with!

As a matter of interest, we flew the first leg (Sydney - Singapore) aboard one of the new airbus planes, which mum and I have decided look rather like killer whales:

We arrived in Manchester airport at 6 am local time, very sore and bleary, and all slightly crabby with one another. Airports being very similar the world over, my first real glimpse of England came on the train to Picadilly Station - we were looking out at dead-straight rows and rows of grey townhouses. It was 6°C outside, raining, and SO EXCITING!

Caught a free shuttlebus from the station to near where we thought our apartment was, and I spent the bus trip staring out the window at the amazing mix of buildings in this city. There are beautiful old buildings that turn out to house tacky-looking Tesco supermarkets or Starbucks at ground level... next door to wonderful old pubs with ornate tiled decorations over all the windows... next door to huge glass-sided hulks that throw the reflections of the neon signs back across the road at you.

Finding our block of apartments proved a little tricky, given the number of backstreets, and the fact that our printout gave directions for drivers, not pedestrians. We finally stumbled in at about 8.30 am, and sat down to wait for reception to open. The angelic man who runs the place let us check in hours early, and gave us milk for tea-making, and towels for showering.

Thus occurred the best shower I have ever had. Thing about showers, is - their quality depends mostly on what you've been doing in the time period beforehand. After a long-distance flight, you're guaranteed to feel filthy, exhausted and sore just about everywhere. Add the fact of trying to adjust to much colder temperatures, and the morning's uncertainty about whether we'd have to spend another 4 hours wandering the city with all of our luggage, the shower was pure bliss. My neck muscles are speaking to me again, instead of snarling. And I have clean hair... Ooooohhhhhhhhhh.

And now I am sitting here in dark, cloudy Manchester, in my stripey thermals, with a just-finished cup of tea next to me on the table, contemplating an excursion out into the city to explore...




Yes, I think so... after one more cup of tea, perhaps.