Day One Hundred and Six - Hell
So. Melbourne.
What a horrific experience.
How anybody mistakes a discarded bagel for a high explosive I'll never know. Yet, perhaps not unexpectedly, a subtle blend of the slow decline of human intelligence and the ongoing fear campaign enacted by stooge media resulted in some white middle class wench from claiming that exactly what was on the plane shortly after we were all seated. Some hysteria, hours, flight cancellations and I hope at least one massive tranquilliser filled hypodermic needle later we wing away.
Moving forward an hour I step off the plane. Normally one would step directly into the terminal via the sky platform thing... normality seemed to have taken it's leave this weekend and technical problems resulted in all passengers having to disembark from the rear and stroll pleasurably across the tarmac. One could imagine that my already somewhat lacklustre mood was somewhat dampened by the following two facts:
1) I was sitting in the front row of the plane
2) The only reason it wasn't snowing lay in the fact that the torrential rain was falling too forcefully to freeze. I'm fairly confident that even my spleen was soaked.
Fortunately I had plenty of time to change into dry clothes. The friend I was to meet had something pop up and would be forty minutes. Without a towel I was still clammy and cold. My hair was ruined.
Which wouldn't have bothered me so much if the cute girl who turned up forty minutes later didn't open with a remark to similar effect.
We adventure out the Macedon ranges for a bit of sight-seeing. There were some spectacular views. I stood atop Hanging Rock jaw slacked and wide eyed. I think the one glimmering star of the entire "holiday" is that I am not actually allergic to bees, for when the small yellow bastard flew into my mouth and started stinging my throat he would have certainly killed me.
As it was I was rushed to the closest town whilst gasping and wheezing through a swollen throat. I was pumped full of some drug that reduced the swelling and throbbing pain to a dull roar. I attended the surprise party with a bloated tongue and was unable to speak to anybody, slurring incoherently. It appears I was allergic to some degree to the medication they provided. I was alerted to the fact when I spent the latter part of that evening and subsequent days alternating between body wracking shivering in bed with fever and violent projectile vomiting.
I left broken, five kilos lighter and convinced that no holiday, ever, will work out for me.
I hate Melbourne.
What a horrific experience.
How anybody mistakes a discarded bagel for a high explosive I'll never know. Yet, perhaps not unexpectedly, a subtle blend of the slow decline of human intelligence and the ongoing fear campaign enacted by stooge media resulted in some white middle class wench from claiming that exactly what was on the plane shortly after we were all seated. Some hysteria, hours, flight cancellations and I hope at least one massive tranquilliser filled hypodermic needle later we wing away.
Moving forward an hour I step off the plane. Normally one would step directly into the terminal via the sky platform thing... normality seemed to have taken it's leave this weekend and technical problems resulted in all passengers having to disembark from the rear and stroll pleasurably across the tarmac. One could imagine that my already somewhat lacklustre mood was somewhat dampened by the following two facts:
1) I was sitting in the front row of the plane
2) The only reason it wasn't snowing lay in the fact that the torrential rain was falling too forcefully to freeze. I'm fairly confident that even my spleen was soaked.
Fortunately I had plenty of time to change into dry clothes. The friend I was to meet had something pop up and would be forty minutes. Without a towel I was still clammy and cold. My hair was ruined.
Which wouldn't have bothered me so much if the cute girl who turned up forty minutes later didn't open with a remark to similar effect.
We adventure out the Macedon ranges for a bit of sight-seeing. There were some spectacular views. I stood atop Hanging Rock jaw slacked and wide eyed. I think the one glimmering star of the entire "holiday" is that I am not actually allergic to bees, for when the small yellow bastard flew into my mouth and started stinging my throat he would have certainly killed me.
As it was I was rushed to the closest town whilst gasping and wheezing through a swollen throat. I was pumped full of some drug that reduced the swelling and throbbing pain to a dull roar. I attended the surprise party with a bloated tongue and was unable to speak to anybody, slurring incoherently. It appears I was allergic to some degree to the medication they provided. I was alerted to the fact when I spent the latter part of that evening and subsequent days alternating between body wracking shivering in bed with fever and violent projectile vomiting.
I left broken, five kilos lighter and convinced that no holiday, ever, will work out for me.
I hate Melbourne.