It’s horrendously clichéd to talk about how dangerous Australia is, but it bloody well is when you think about it comparatively.
What wildlife in the UK can or ever does really harm you? A badger can give you a nasty nip, a swan may or may not break your arm and I’ve been chased by a slightly miffed cow before, but apart from that the most dangerous things seem to be alcohol and rottweilers owned by chavs.
In Australia, on the other hand, there are friggin trees that can actively harm you. Trees! Not to mention box jellyfish, saltwater crocodiles, those crazy spiders that can kill you just by looking in your general direction and heat in the outback that can bake you from the inside.
Just think about that. Makes a bee sting look like plucking a nose hair.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
All up in the air
I love flying. It’s a good job as well, seeing as I’ve racked up 28 hrs in the air and traveled 14,103 miles in the last month.
I especially love flying at night. It’s a bit like going to bed but better. Sure, you’re in a virtual coffin of discomfort that only tilts back half an inch, but its socially acceptable to drink (for free!) in your little pod and by the time you’ve read a few pages, drawn that woman sat in the next aisle and grabbed a few hours sleep you wake up on the other side of the world.
I took off this time from Heathrow Terminal 5, which despite all its opening troubles is fantastic. It was only 8.30 but pitch black as I boarded the plane. I hadn’t felt any nervousness or excitement like normal (a fact that can probably be attributed to having barely had time to breathe in 3 weeks) but as we bumped along the runway and lifted off the ground I felt a wave of mild and transient euphoria pass through me on its way to the excitable little kid to my left.
England looks beautiful from above at night, especially when you fly east over London and see the sprawling urban hub alive with a million slowly diminishing lights. The higher we climbed, the hazier the city became, until the vague mist of illumination gave way to total darkness.
That’s the only problem with living on an island; ten minutes of glorious inland views and then you’re over the blank vastness of the sea, an hankering for a gratis mini JD bottle.
It’s no wonder we drink so much on planes.
I especially love flying at night. It’s a bit like going to bed but better. Sure, you’re in a virtual coffin of discomfort that only tilts back half an inch, but its socially acceptable to drink (for free!) in your little pod and by the time you’ve read a few pages, drawn that woman sat in the next aisle and grabbed a few hours sleep you wake up on the other side of the world.
I took off this time from Heathrow Terminal 5, which despite all its opening troubles is fantastic. It was only 8.30 but pitch black as I boarded the plane. I hadn’t felt any nervousness or excitement like normal (a fact that can probably be attributed to having barely had time to breathe in 3 weeks) but as we bumped along the runway and lifted off the ground I felt a wave of mild and transient euphoria pass through me on its way to the excitable little kid to my left.
England looks beautiful from above at night, especially when you fly east over London and see the sprawling urban hub alive with a million slowly diminishing lights. The higher we climbed, the hazier the city became, until the vague mist of illumination gave way to total darkness.
That’s the only problem with living on an island; ten minutes of glorious inland views and then you’re over the blank vastness of the sea, an hankering for a gratis mini JD bottle.
It’s no wonder we drink so much on planes.
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