I'm Simon, fly me
Without sounding too flash, I've just returned from a trip abroad.
Well, Australia to be more precise, which these days barely classes as abroad.
After many of the shops and banks are the same as here and my cell phone works fine, as does my eftpos card.
Say what you will, I was in the tropics and I've got mosquito bites to prove it.
I flew Virgin, an airline owned by Richard Branson, who, in the space of a few years, gave the world Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells and Never Mind the Bollocks here's the Sex Pistols.
On the excite-o-meter Trans-Tasman flight is closer to the boredom of the former than the visceral thrill of the latter.
Virgin has made a deal with a photo processor and the airline's airsick bags double as a pack that can be sent off to get cut-price prints.
It takes all types, personally I wouldn't want photos of the contents of a sick bag.
Virgin is a no frills carrier meaning when you pay for a seat that's and a free magazine is about all you get.
I took a cut lunch and a couple of teabags to get me on my way.
To Uncle Richard's credit while he's not averse to charging three bucks for a can of coke and three fifty for a coffee he will give you a cup of hot water and sachet of milk for nix.
Scored.
It's interesting when you finally get to your seat, after having your hand luggage searched for guns, knives, forks, lipstick and deodorant you're told not to turn your cell phone, iPod, PSP or similar on because it could interfere with the plane's navigation system.
You could call me a sceptic if you like, but if an MP3 player can send a plane into an aerobatic spin that would do the Red Baron proud why aren't all the terrorists sitting under the headphones cranking up Like a Virgin on takeoff.
Well, Australia to be more precise, which these days barely classes as abroad.
After many of the shops and banks are the same as here and my cell phone works fine, as does my eftpos card.
Say what you will, I was in the tropics and I've got mosquito bites to prove it.
I flew Virgin, an airline owned by Richard Branson, who, in the space of a few years, gave the world Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells and Never Mind the Bollocks here's the Sex Pistols.
On the excite-o-meter Trans-Tasman flight is closer to the boredom of the former than the visceral thrill of the latter.
Virgin has made a deal with a photo processor and the airline's airsick bags double as a pack that can be sent off to get cut-price prints.
It takes all types, personally I wouldn't want photos of the contents of a sick bag.
Virgin is a no frills carrier meaning when you pay for a seat that's and a free magazine is about all you get.
I took a cut lunch and a couple of teabags to get me on my way.
To Uncle Richard's credit while he's not averse to charging three bucks for a can of coke and three fifty for a coffee he will give you a cup of hot water and sachet of milk for nix.
Scored.
It's interesting when you finally get to your seat, after having your hand luggage searched for guns, knives, forks, lipstick and deodorant you're told not to turn your cell phone, iPod, PSP or similar on because it could interfere with the plane's navigation system.
You could call me a sceptic if you like, but if an MP3 player can send a plane into an aerobatic spin that would do the Red Baron proud why aren't all the terrorists sitting under the headphones cranking up Like a Virgin on takeoff.