Went went gadget airplane; I went with it and so did the seat beside me, filled with a hundred or so kilograms of nose-picker extraordinaire. Sure, everyone picks their schnoz at one time or another, but this guy took it to a whole new level, with his absolute disregard for the social convention of emptying your nasal cavities in private and the supremely experienced way he dug, inspected, rolled and flicked. Nice.
One redeeming feature of that flight was the hot bacon and egg bagel they served up — I scoffed mine (keeping it well-shielded from Flickerman) and just as I was thinking geez that was nice I could go another one a cabin crew lady appeared and offered me another one. Onya Qantas — all is forgiven for breaking the U Comes After Q rule.
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Mum was pretty good considering; it was good to see her.
Went to a mate’s place afterward where I a) helped build some shelves, b) frolicked in the pool with the kids, and c) amazed said kids with my fantablious juggling tricks extravaganza. “Holy cow,” said my mate’s daughter Amy. Which is the best compliment I’ve had for my juggling yet. My days of juggling chainsaws, billiard balls and small ornamental shrubbaries can’t be too far off now.
The plane trip back was cool: had a window seat and watched the sun set behind the most groovily layered and coloured clouds. Peace love and mung beans baby.