The Long Haul

I had forgotten how mind and posterior numbingly boring is the flight from Australia to London. I think the worst part comes after changing planes in Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, or Hong Kong because by now the memories have refreshed and you know the next leg to London is 50% longer.

I've watched the movies, played a few games, fed and watered and dozed fitfully and not nearly enough.

And what masochistic tendency drives me to look at the flight path map.

Fortunately, like pain, boredom cannot be relived and the excitement of the trip to come or of a return home quickly dilutes what residual memory is left. Just give me another 9 hours and it will all be long forgotten.

Sitting on a plane somewhere over the Russian/Mongolian border with 6,733 kilometres and 8 hours 12 minutes to go to Heathrow.