At last, after months of anticipation, it was almost time.
Terminal 3 at Heathrow, well, not much you can say about that. Actually, not much (good) to say about flying. For me it's something that has to be endured. There's not much else that we do in everyday life more mind numbing and soul destroying than spending so many hours in a confined space, in such close proximity to complete strangers, eating cardboard food to stave off boredom and inhaling every little bug floating around in that recycled air. The airlines are missing a marketing opportunity here. If they had said to me "Would you like to book your next flight direct? Business Class? (well, business class might be pushing it a bit). Yes? Sign here" . No question in my mind I would come up with the cash. It's months down the line when booking the next ticket that you think - it wasn't so bad. Ha!
So, in to Dubai. By my time (way too confusing to keep on changing the time, just do it in Cape Town - 1 hour forward - simple) it was 4.30 in the morning. Having declined breakfast on the plane at 2.30 am (only 2 hours after we had finished dinner), I had breakfast with Paul. Not too bad, and a pretty decent cup of tea even if it was in a paper cup. Shopping was way beyond any rational capability I could find.
Then a few hours wait for the next journey from hell - 10 hours to Cape Town.
It was about 30 degrees outside, much better to find a window seat and watch the world go by.
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