Posted by Andy Bell
On paper it was a crazy route, but my body has voted it a bit of a hit.
The trek north has been done the long way – Melbourne, Auckland, Los Angeles &, eventually, London.
I should be done and more, but I am surprisingly perky.
Is going backwards the way for me ?
No need for an answer, thank you.
One thing struck me from 59J on the Air NZ 777.
The ceremonial of airline food.
From the back row of the plane I was able to take a good long look at the processional approach of all things edible.
As the song says, from a distance.
The anxiety noted by your correspondent as he loitered in the departure lounges of Tullamarine was replaced by a slow-burning anticipation of some culinary highlight.
Don’t get it at all.
There is absolutely no reason for any anti-ci-pa-tion.
You know what you are getting – give or take previous customer selection – and you know it won’t quite appear as you expect it too.
Meat will be in odd shapes, sauce will come in weird hues and as for vegetables… goodness only know.
And desserts are always yellow, a pasty variation of that colour, with a blob of something that looks like cream but tastes like nothing whatsoever.
Yet that expectancy of the meal’s arrival builds and builds.
As the cart rumbles closer there is a frenzy of seat-belt fiddling and overhead locker opening & shutting.
And then thud.
Le dejeuner est arrivee.
The foil is peeled back, the plastic lid removed & the cheese cellophane wrangled.
The build-up just doesn’t justify what is placed before you.
It’s food, but only just.
But every time, we wait with excitement mounting and more.
Is it our confinement that makes us so ?
Or is it simply another way of passing the time ?
Whatever it is … it is.