Le Wibble

Well the plan was to dodge the jet-lag bullet by going and coming back so fast that my pineal gland barely noticed anything funny going on with the big yellow thing hovering in the big blue thing. Unfortunately, it appears to possess a rudimentary cunning and the sea of clouds shown in the plane's "flightcam" (position: forward) bestirred it to hideous action. I'm currently wrestling against the urge to sleep… sleepp….slleeppzzzz…

wha? sorry?

Oh yeah…my only aid the mighty coffee and the mightier still chocolate. But even these valiant weapons are beginning to flag, and I seem to be stuck in a mid-Atlantic time zone, perhaps one just off the coast of St. Helena.

A fascinating, witty and brilliant post came to me in one of those lucid dreams: the sleep-deprived kind that seem so real while sitting in a micro-chair four thousand or so feet above the Atlantic swells and distinguished only from its neighbours by a peculiar lump at mid-hamstring level. Unfortunately I've forgotten it. All I can remember wondering is how far I would actually have travelled across the surface of the earth if I bounded forward a couple of feet down the aisle towards the drinks trolley.

The post may have had something to do with float planes. Or parrots. I'm not entirely sure. And to be fair, it was probably less unmitigated genius and more along the lines of "Wha-fooo. Flrrrr... Parrot heehee means the life of the sailor. Oh my. Mmmm... Flffrry pillow. Wsfrgt my head stugg nunder armwrest?" But in the finest spirit of blogger, it's entirely unrecoverable. So instead I should probably reveal that I did end up taking a float plane (couldn't find the helicopter terminal), but the parrot was a completely different conversation altogether.

I probably shouldn't be operating this heavy machinery.