So I’m chilling out at a Starbucks next to my gate at Dubai International, watching the steam rise off my triple espresso while I gnaw on a stale cinnamon roll. It’s two in the afternoon local time, but I’ve been up for fifteen hours already, and I’m waiting to board the eight hour second leg of my journey to London. This isn’t exactly nutrition, but it sure beats plane food. Breakfast on the flight in from Perth was supposedly crepes and pork sausages, but what I got was something closer to Protein Supplement #4 and a sample of the Miscellaneous Meat Off-Cut Roll. Air travel is hell. One of these days cash will rain down upon me from the sky and I’ll be chaufferring my ass around in first class comfort, but until then I’m afraid it’s Battery Hen class for me.
Next time I do international flights, I have to remember to look more socially acceptable. I mean the extra berth that other passengers give you can be nice for elbow room, but it does tend to get you “randomly” selected for the first additional search going through security on departure.
Boarding starts in about twenty minutes, so I’m gonna finish downing my carcinogens of choice and prepare for more chasing the sun. I figure that when I land on English soil I should have *just* seen the last of twenty-one hours of daylight. Probably a good thing, seeing as how I hear they don’t have the stuff where I’m headed.