Greetings, once again, literate internet populous!
Having journeyed to the far off land of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, yet only visiting one principality, I have returned to the Land of the Long White Cloud with Other Clouds of Various Lengths and Colours Nearby. I have, in fact, been back since mid-April. The adventure was a grand one yet I am unable to share details due to the unwritten confidentiality act of 'what goes on tour stays on tour' however it involved unwittingly calling Lawrence Delaglio a girl.
The past few weeks have been somewhat unexciting with the exception of my attempt to get away with breaking the law of gravity. The short story is that in the dark instead of being careful I stepped on a step which wasn't there. Rather than damage my face I sacrificed my wrist; a decision I am lately coming to regret as I have been operating on one arm for almost four weeks now. Initially I was lugging around the weight of the cement aisle at your local Bunnings Warehouse, luckily this has now been exchanged for a splint which weighs far less although is less menacing when threatening co-workers who are eyeing up my lunch. I am seeing an orthopedic surgeon and have had an MRI scan to determine where we go from here, hopefully not somewhere which requires hitch hiking whilst my thumb is locked in position. Anyway due to my attempt to flout the international physics treaty, for which the punishment is a dent to your wrist and your pride, I have been getting a high volume of questions pertaining to my sobriety and my general ability to remain upright.
The break has, overall, healed very well although a number of people have asked whether it was the direct result of missing a deadline or target at work. I shall simply say it is not necessarily a coincidence that my first day in plaster coincided with a visit from a feisty, foreign member of the store support team. Whilst I technically no longer have to wear the gauntlet she tends to find her point is generally made better by pointing at my arm and reminding people they neglected to file their paperwork.
I shall leave this post short as I have much to discuss next time around. I recommend you have popcorn at the ready in preparation for the next installment.
Sidebar
Again I feel it necessary to point out there was no chicken available on the flight home either. I'm starting to think this is being done deliberately.
Wednesday 6 August 2014
Thursday 20 March 2014
A Spot of Personal Time-Zone Travelling
Greetings, once again, general populous of cyberspace.
In preparation for the boyfriend's impending career in aviation I felt it necessary to practice some time-zone traveling myself, just so I could relate and be empathetic. It's not that I hadn't experienced time-zone travel before (in fact I have done the Auckland to London trip far more times than I care to remember) nor that I was particularly jealous of all the time he gets to spend messing around in planes going all sorts of exciting places; it was because I had the overwhelming desire to feel like I had the mother of all hangovers without the fun of getting tipsy first. On a secondary note it may also have had something to do with a commitment to a very dear friend that I would attend her wedding.
The journey was, as always, approximately a day of hanging in the sky bored senseless punctuated with movies I had wanted to see in the cinema, missed, and was now grateful I'd saved the $15. In an effort to save money I added an extra leg to an already long journey and used the AKL>SYD>HKG>LHR route. For the sake of my own sanity, which I evidently value at less than $300, I will not be adding the Australia leg in future. Admittedly it was only a transit stop involving less than an hour not onboard an aircraft, yet I feel it made a long journey feel even longer - no mean feat!
I was fortunate on all three legs to have an unoccupied seat next to me (thank you St Christopher) so was able to put my feet up and get a bit of rest. On the final leg up from Hong Kong I was extremely lucky to have a whole row of three seats all to myself so could lie down for a few hours. In hindsight I should have asked for more pillows, it has given me horrendous taco neck even 24 hours later. Live and learn, I guess. Unfortunately, on this blissful stretch out leg, the entertainment was only working on the middle seat meaning I had to either develop some intense gymnastic skills in a short period of time or not be able to stretch my legs while watching below average movies. After a few walks down the cabin to limber up for option one, only to remember I was wearing skinny jeans, I resolved option two may be more pleasant for all involved and far less traumatic for anyone who may have to help me vacate my seat.
The flight arrived into Heathrow half an hour ahead of schedule at 4.30am, making us the first arrival of the day. While after a journey of such epic proportions many people would see this as a bonus I soon came to learn this was not the case. Baggage handlers in London don't start until 4.45am and UK Border Control until 5. A few, apparently more jet lagged than myself, attempted to use the smart gate system despite large signs saying it was not available until 5.30. Evidently the robot workers union struck a better deal with the government. I debated using my NZ passport to enter the country however the British one I had already pulled out was exercising its power over me and telling me I would disrupt a perfectly good queue if I moved. You can't argue with the Great British logic.
Time-zone travelling is still kicking me around a bit, after multiple naps yesterday I finally fell asleep at 12.30 this morning only to wake up again just before 4. The homeopathic jet lag pills I bought don't seem to have worked their usual magic. I sense this will be a very long day.
Sidebar
On all three flights I missed out on the chicken option as I was sitting at the rear of the aircraft. Refer to blog one. Just putting it out there.
In preparation for the boyfriend's impending career in aviation I felt it necessary to practice some time-zone traveling myself, just so I could relate and be empathetic. It's not that I hadn't experienced time-zone travel before (in fact I have done the Auckland to London trip far more times than I care to remember) nor that I was particularly jealous of all the time he gets to spend messing around in planes going all sorts of exciting places; it was because I had the overwhelming desire to feel like I had the mother of all hangovers without the fun of getting tipsy first. On a secondary note it may also have had something to do with a commitment to a very dear friend that I would attend her wedding.
The journey was, as always, approximately a day of hanging in the sky bored senseless punctuated with movies I had wanted to see in the cinema, missed, and was now grateful I'd saved the $15. In an effort to save money I added an extra leg to an already long journey and used the AKL>SYD>HKG>LHR route. For the sake of my own sanity, which I evidently value at less than $300, I will not be adding the Australia leg in future. Admittedly it was only a transit stop involving less than an hour not onboard an aircraft, yet I feel it made a long journey feel even longer - no mean feat!
I was fortunate on all three legs to have an unoccupied seat next to me (thank you St Christopher) so was able to put my feet up and get a bit of rest. On the final leg up from Hong Kong I was extremely lucky to have a whole row of three seats all to myself so could lie down for a few hours. In hindsight I should have asked for more pillows, it has given me horrendous taco neck even 24 hours later. Live and learn, I guess. Unfortunately, on this blissful stretch out leg, the entertainment was only working on the middle seat meaning I had to either develop some intense gymnastic skills in a short period of time or not be able to stretch my legs while watching below average movies. After a few walks down the cabin to limber up for option one, only to remember I was wearing skinny jeans, I resolved option two may be more pleasant for all involved and far less traumatic for anyone who may have to help me vacate my seat.
The flight arrived into Heathrow half an hour ahead of schedule at 4.30am, making us the first arrival of the day. While after a journey of such epic proportions many people would see this as a bonus I soon came to learn this was not the case. Baggage handlers in London don't start until 4.45am and UK Border Control until 5. A few, apparently more jet lagged than myself, attempted to use the smart gate system despite large signs saying it was not available until 5.30. Evidently the robot workers union struck a better deal with the government. I debated using my NZ passport to enter the country however the British one I had already pulled out was exercising its power over me and telling me I would disrupt a perfectly good queue if I moved. You can't argue with the Great British logic.
Time-zone travelling is still kicking me around a bit, after multiple naps yesterday I finally fell asleep at 12.30 this morning only to wake up again just before 4. The homeopathic jet lag pills I bought don't seem to have worked their usual magic. I sense this will be a very long day.
Sidebar
On all three flights I missed out on the chicken option as I was sitting at the rear of the aircraft. Refer to blog one. Just putting it out there.
Sunday 2 March 2014
Introductions
Greetings to you all, the general populous of cyberspace!
I feel before I start divulging copious amounts of information I should get the formalities out of the way. I am Slogan, Writer of Things. I like to think I have a witty take on the world around me although I am acutely aware my sense of humour is perceived as weird at best often leading down the road far beyond surrealism to the junction of 'I sure hope she knows what she means' and 'look if you have to explain it in that much detail it's definitely not as funny as it sounded in your head'. You, dear reader, will come to learn this soon enough.
The title of this blog suggests I am one of those wives whose husbands are constantly away on business traveling all over the show and I get to travel alongside seeing the world on a corporate credit card. This is nothing like my life. In fact I am not even married but I feel the readership of a blog entitled "The Trainee Pilot's Girlfriend" would be far less. It would be a far more accurate name though. As it happens I have a career in retail in Auckland, New Zealand,while my significant other trains for a career as a commercial pilot in Hamilton, also in New Zealand in case anyone was unclear. He has about a year's worth of training left before they plonk him at the nose of a multimillion dollar metal bird and say 'point her in this direction and floor it!'
As home based ground crew I get to enjoy the perks of helping learn a number of principles of flight, air laws and general meteorology whilst having absolutely no use for them in my line of employment. Somewhat irritatingly for me I also have a brain that absorbs these facts only to regurgitate them when there is absolutely no requirement to do so. Very few of my customers or colleagues have even the slightest interest in the recommended flap extension for a short field take off in a Cessna 172 (just in case it's of any interest to you though it's 10 degrees) yet I still have it committed to memory. I guess so long as he remembers it there's no harm in me knowing for reference.
The next entry will have far more in terms of anecdotes and tips for being a second love behind several tons of metal, this was merely an introduction to establish who's who and what you can expect over the coming months. Wherever you are going, go well and remember to send a postcard when you get there.
Disclaimer
If anyone journalistic happens to subscribe to my scribblings I feel I have to be honest and upfront now; this will not be a good and credible source for your exposé on what goes on behind closed doors at an airline. The only thing that I can confirm with regards to airline protocol is this: you never really have a choice of chicken or fish. They know no one actually wants the fish so to make sure everyone is equally disappointed they only ever have two servings of the chicken which are reserved for the captain and the first officer. You may happen to strike it lucky if the first officer isn't too peckish this flight but unless you're seated at the front of the cabin I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you.
I feel before I start divulging copious amounts of information I should get the formalities out of the way. I am Slogan, Writer of Things. I like to think I have a witty take on the world around me although I am acutely aware my sense of humour is perceived as weird at best often leading down the road far beyond surrealism to the junction of 'I sure hope she knows what she means' and 'look if you have to explain it in that much detail it's definitely not as funny as it sounded in your head'. You, dear reader, will come to learn this soon enough.
The title of this blog suggests I am one of those wives whose husbands are constantly away on business traveling all over the show and I get to travel alongside seeing the world on a corporate credit card. This is nothing like my life. In fact I am not even married but I feel the readership of a blog entitled "The Trainee Pilot's Girlfriend" would be far less. It would be a far more accurate name though. As it happens I have a career in retail in Auckland, New Zealand,while my significant other trains for a career as a commercial pilot in Hamilton, also in New Zealand in case anyone was unclear. He has about a year's worth of training left before they plonk him at the nose of a multimillion dollar metal bird and say 'point her in this direction and floor it!'
As home based ground crew I get to enjoy the perks of helping learn a number of principles of flight, air laws and general meteorology whilst having absolutely no use for them in my line of employment. Somewhat irritatingly for me I also have a brain that absorbs these facts only to regurgitate them when there is absolutely no requirement to do so. Very few of my customers or colleagues have even the slightest interest in the recommended flap extension for a short field take off in a Cessna 172 (just in case it's of any interest to you though it's 10 degrees) yet I still have it committed to memory. I guess so long as he remembers it there's no harm in me knowing for reference.
The next entry will have far more in terms of anecdotes and tips for being a second love behind several tons of metal, this was merely an introduction to establish who's who and what you can expect over the coming months. Wherever you are going, go well and remember to send a postcard when you get there.
Disclaimer
If anyone journalistic happens to subscribe to my scribblings I feel I have to be honest and upfront now; this will not be a good and credible source for your exposé on what goes on behind closed doors at an airline. The only thing that I can confirm with regards to airline protocol is this: you never really have a choice of chicken or fish. They know no one actually wants the fish so to make sure everyone is equally disappointed they only ever have two servings of the chicken which are reserved for the captain and the first officer. You may happen to strike it lucky if the first officer isn't too peckish this flight but unless you're seated at the front of the cabin I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you.
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