Jetlag Zombie La La

That’s about as coherent as I can seem to get at the moment … it’s been a few years since I’ve tried the massive 13 hours difference body shift and it is seriously messing with my head. My epic journey (36 hours in all) went a little like this:

In Wellington, Minister of Finance, Michael Cullen, was on our flight (impressively, waiting in the normal boarding area and not in the Koru club lounge) and they served us, I kid you not, a cheese platter for our inflight snack

The departure lounge in Auckland had Lost silently playing on the departure lounge television … yeah, that’s really a great thing to see as you wait to board a plane crossing over the Pacific (this the day after a skype call to Singapore where my three year old nephew brings out a toy plane and joyfully shows me the various ways that a plane can crash into a sofa cushion)!

While in transit in LA, the immigration woman’s computer had a wee malfunction while processing my passport – “I don’t understand” she says, punching keys in confusion “it all matches: [passport number], yup; [date of birth], yup … ah, dammit”. Thankfully the computer comes back on line a few seconds later and the US government duly take scans of my fingerprints and a crappy webcam photo of my “I’ve been sitting on the red eye flight for 11 hours stuck on the window seat and if you push me any further I may commit acts of violence” face and I’m sent into the transit lounge where they play infomercials and sitcoms from the 70s on loudly competing television screens and offer us chips, crackers and apples.

We come into Heathrow and surprisingly the queues aren’t too long and I barely get a grilling when I arrive, in fact this immigration officer is a lot nicer than the one who let me back into New Zealand …

I finally board the bus for Birmingham and as we drive along the M40 it really does feel like I’ve returned home … for now anyway …


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