And we’re off. Kinda. Destination Mother Country would get there but first there was the short matter of, well, getting there. I had a bit of time to fill before leaving the chilly winter of Canberra and indulged in a lazy morning including a nice hot bath and a divine brunch, followed by a walk through the Anglo-Australian ramblings of Telopea Park in Kingston. Winding down, beginning to relax and take it easy.
And then, with minutes to spare until departing for the airport, the news filtered through of delays to my flight from Sydney, leaving me with more time than I bargained for in Canberra. For many, the line "more time than I bargained for in Canberra" would induce dread, turning them as white as a cockatoo in a carwash. For me, well, I just continued relaxing and taking it easy… a nice afternoon doze, followed by a stroll up Red Hill for a coffee and some cake.
Eventually the pace did quicken and, leaving a surprisingly frenetic Canberra Airport, I reached Sydney just in time to sit in a chair and watch people watching people trying to sing lines to songs on some typically below par Aussie TV. The show ended with a guest appearance from Joe Dolce who sang his classic hit, shaddap you face.
It seems the Qantas crew must’ve been hooked as well, since it was almost immediately after that boarding for flight QF31 to London commenced. I won’t bore you too much about the journey, it was excruciatingly boring, punctuated by a very brief stopover in a lounge in Singapore where the time was half past Zombie. I did manage to catch a few winks and a few decent TV shows, including a fascinating documentary on the construction of a big Gumboot in Tully, Queensland.
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Britain, Britain, Britain. You gave me such a disappointing start I almost wanted to turn back. Looping around the edges of London, finally landing at, yes, a grey dreary Heathrow, unable to work the aerobridge, walking mile upon mile to bags and Customs. Being greeted by the most over-officious and patronising woman piling people onto a messy transport system and then queuing endlessly for an over-priced ticket on a bus which sits on the M25. The 30 hour journey does not help at this point let me tell you. Somehow though, it seems the M25 presents a clear physical boundary between the grey monotony and leafy green England. The ride into Woking through the lushest woodlands perks up the battered soul and improves along the train line to Basingstoke. I was here, the first stop in the itinerary with Dad and Sonia. Of course it wasn’t long until I hit up the supermarket. I don’t know if it was the jetlag or whatever, but part of me felt a bit lost, like I didn’t belong here. Sainsbury’s was all a bit alien and strange, having said that I did manage to acquire some pork pies, pickled onion flavour Monster Munch and a Double Decker. Such foods are vital when lounging around watching the Open golf, which was an ideal way to get over the journey and encompassed much of the weekend.
I did visit a few parts of jolly olde England as well though. This included Basingstoke Mall, where the glass was shiny but the coffee was inevitably disappointing. I just don’t know why we cannot make a good coffee in England. We are a bright nation and goodness knows how many people from coffee making countries exist here. But some spotty youth pressing a fully automated button which dribbles out some scalding hot, bitter liquid and a pile of mush is not the way to go! I so needed a good coffee too.
On Sunday, the weather was improving all the time, bright and reaching dizzying heights of 17 degrees. Dad and I headed to Virginia Water, a part of Windsor Great Park and, for some reason, a part of the world I associate with Peter Alliss who is rambling more than ever these days. It was oh so leafy, horsey horsey, joggers and kids and people on bikes. I loved it, I now seem to be staring at big broad leaf oaks in the same way I used to gasp at Eucalypts.
Sunday afternoon was pretty good too, struggling a little to keep eyes open and watch Paddy win the golf, accompanied by the smell and taste of Roast Pork. It may have been a ropey start but things were getting better all the time. Plymouth, you cannot disappoint…
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