Not Wurzel

It took me thirty hours to get from Auckland Airport to Bristol. I arrived early Saturday evening feeling surprisingly fit and alert despite travelling across a planet. Let me describe the journey.

Auckland to Melbourne - 4 hours. A doddle. Done it before; tough I am. Transit lounge climate-controlled to perfection. Body clock = twelve o'clock, midnight.

Melbourne to Dubai - thirteen hours. Now that's a flight! I'm downing my herbal jetlag prevention pills and I've got my blankey and the inflatable neck pillow Kathy loaned me. My neighbour (a Dubai-i-an/ite) tells me I definitely slept some of the way (I am too shy to ask how she knows this and she is too polite to tell me). A couple of hours at Dubai airport and I almost bought a prayer mat for Stan the cat. Very nice. Body clock = early morning and all is well.

Dubai to London - seven hours. I wish I could remember what the character Mathias says in The Life of Brian when the Romans visit ('my legs are grizzled, my eyes are old and bent...'). Economy class was designed for short people. Body clock = it's been a long day.

London to Bristol - two hours. I had planned to travel from Heathrow to Bristol by train but the nice lady at the Info Desk tells me it's faster to take a coach. So I push my trusty four-wheeled suitcase to the bus station (about ten minutes away) and buy a ticket. About half an hour later I'm on the National Express to Bristol. I nod off only several dozen times during the journey. Body clock = sumpteen-e'cleck...wah's my name again...? Roll out the barrel...

Moral: Overnight stopovers are not for the weak; they were invented for a reason.