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2004-07-12 - 4:02 p.m.

The flight back was a deep-vein-courting fifteen hours, and we were half way across Asia before we realised that the crew had forgone the tedious inconvenience of going through the safety announcement. Well, everyone knows it off by heart by now, don�t they? Er�something about taking your high heel shoes off, right? I did foresee going down into the ocean in a raging metal fireball and asking the stewardess if she might mind just running through that bit about the life jackets, though.

(In a vaguely related note, I saw the film �Alive� whilst killing time in my hotel some days before flying, though it only instilled in me a fear of very bad acting.)

The flight was strange in other ways, too. Everyone was woken up from a deep sleep at three in the morning to be asked if they�d like a cooked breakfast (cue refusals and frenzied batting away of bemused cabin staff), and to go to the toilets, you had to virtually limbo dance under the screen that had been pulled down in front of the doors for the apparent sole reason of showing �Jersey Girl� on a loop. This airbound lunacy was taking place in business class, too. What happened to the glamour? What happened to the racy hedonism of a jetset lifestyle? And what happened to my cooked breakfast? Because they certainly wouldn�t hand it over when I asked for it at 7am.

Naturally, my feelings at being back at work are tantamount to the rapturous ecstasy of the religiously enlightened on beholding the visage of the infant Christchild in a pot of low fat margarine spread.

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