29.06.07 - Hostel Time

Banana Bungalow.

I have no idea why my hostel was named after the yellow fruit favoured by chimps and monkeys alike but I was not going to let it bother me. This was the only hostel in the West Hollywood area that had a single room available and I was not ready to share a dorm with lice infested dreadlocks. The hostel was grotty, with piles of mattresses crammed in around sofas in the common room. Bored, expressionless faces stared blankly at the two televisions. So this is why people go travelling is it? Feeling inspired guys?!

According to the website the rooms had apparently been refurbished recently. Clearly the website has not been updated for ten years because my room was grotty. The floors seemed to be sticky underfoot, the air smelt dank and dusty and the fittings were tired. But it could be so much worse... I have a room to myself! After a one and a half hour bus journey from Redondo Beach with my heavy luggage I was grateful.

Waiting for the bus in Redondo with my backpack (which has no right to be referred to0 as that seeing as it has not even touched my back yet!) a scruffy black man, in his fifties with stubble, scruffy tight hair, a red lumber-jack shirt, tatty shorts and grubby socks emerging from a pair of Doc Martins or the like, approached me. What would my reaction be in London? I would probably say "No, thanks... I am in a rush!" or to pretend I had not heard the stranger when the spoke to me, and keep on walking...quickly!

This is not London though and I have been surprised by how generous in spirit people have been in America. You may think that this is because of my accent but I find that the support is offered before I have opened my mouth. This chap told me that there was a rapid bus that stopped at far fewer stops than the one I was waiting for. So he took it upon himself to walk me to the other stop. Bear in mind that this was the midday sun I was walking in and my bag was as heavy as a plump emu, though more awkward to carry (the bag does not have a beak in case you were wondering). Two miles seemed like a long way under these conditions, especially when several buses passed us by in typical fashion. Finally my new best friend conceded that the bus stop he was leading me to had been removed and the next one would not be for another couple of miles. He was genuinely concerned muttering,

"Aw man, ah jus wanna make sure thet you get on da right bus man. Ya gad all those bags an ah thot th'other bus woula helped ya'out."

I pulled up at the next 'local' bus stop where I parted with Jason. At his signal we pushed our fists together in the air as a mark of respect. He was a good, humble and honest man who was clearly religeous and believed in helping out those in need. It is quite touching when one is led to believe that everyone is out for themselves. Anyone of you miserable people that believes that is plain wrong... lighten up and have some faith! Man.

At 11pm a black Honda pulled up to the curb in West Hollywood on Santa Monica Boulevard and I instinctively jumped into the passenger seat. "Why would you do that?" you may ask. Well, would you say no if the driver offered you a bag of jelly babies?! I always fall for the bag of sweets, but this time I was not offered any. Behind the wheel sat Claudia, the sister of my former Vitra colleague Tricia, who edits celebrity photographs in Los Angeles. My date for the night whizzed us off through the streets of Hollywood and shortly we found ourselves being ushered past the crowd that was waiting to get into Claudia's friend's party. At the top of the stairs we posed for a photograph with a bottle of the energy drink that was being promoted and then stepped into the first floor party bustle. Funky house music pumped through the space as the stylish crowd posed, 'hung out', draped around and occasionally displayed a few carefully selected moves. This was clearly Pete's home but for this purpose it was transformed into a social hotspot for one night only. The stairs then led up to a big roof terrace that was packed with people and another bar.

I had this place sussed out swiftly. Noone looked like they were having fun. I felt a little out of place when smiled in fact. Claudia confirmed that the thing to do is to look completely unimpressed by the whole thing. Oh dear, that made me smile again. I am not cut out for looking miserable. I decided to approach the scene from a another angle. I was going to be different from the others by enjoying myself... I would see if I could make anyone else crack a smile. I resisted making any animal noises or doing my 'Napkin Head' impression... that may have taken things a little too far.

The most memorable character stood out from the trendy kids. On the roof terrace a tall, slim, blond lady with a suspiciously sharply featured face, slinky low cut black dress and mighty heels pouted without expression. I was facinated by her because I had the feeling that she would sum up the LA stereotype rather well. My moment came as she attempted to navigate herself past a highly defensive and prickly cactus, reeling back in surpise when on placing her delicate finger on a spike she clearly found it to be sharp! I warned her that it was not advisable to touch a cactus for fear of being pricked. We chatted a little about LA and general small talk, but all I really wanted to ask was "what do you want?!". You see her cold eyes gave the game away... she was out to get something. It is a shame that she could not hide it better because I just felt sorry for her. She was self-obsessed, and prone to falling for the most basic of traps such as that set up by the prickly cactus.

Claudia and I hit the road again, this time with a drunken girl in the seat who could barely string a sentence together let alone lift her chin off her own bosom. Of course this did not stop her from talking all the way to the next party about how great her contacts were and how successful her talent agency was going. I suspect that this was all talk, because the impression I had was of someone who was losing a grip on life.

The next party was not so much a party as a coming and going of various random LA types in someone's house. Tattoos, piercings and neat vodka from the bottle were the order of the day here. As you can imagine I fitted straight in, while Claudia went straight for a rocking chair and seemed perfectly content to rock in the corner for a while...

23.06.07 - Off To Palm Desert With Mr.Bug....

Very cool.

The Parker Hotel in Palm Springs left quite an impression on me. As soon as you pull up to the two story wall of 1950s concrete decorative blocks the good looking door staff clamour to open your doors... you know that this will be a special experience. Stepping past the white washed wall the doors are pulled open as if by magic (with the aid of handsome staff) and we step into the cool interior to escape the 105F heat of the dry desert air. The inside of the building is like stepping into an uber-chic 1960s paradise.... with bold artwork adorning the white-as-white walls (from a giant pair of lips to a two meter brass key behind the reception), retro chaise longs, armchairs, side tables and stools sit on the stone floor of the lobby that leads through to a big lounge filled with all sorts of interesting furniture, rugs and lamps that have been arranged around a central fire.... one of those concrete ones with a simple, sleek smoke stack dropping out of the ceiling and cushion pads placed all the way around it to create a social hotspot! Three well dressed 'linen ladies' sat in a beautiful sparkly little bar to the side, sipping margueritas, and the sweep of glass doors drew us out into the baking gardens.

Carol and Cal gave us a tour... the whole place would feel at home on a Sean Connery James Bond set... indeed I half expected Pussy Galore to step out from behind one of the giant cacti that were dotted around the sculpted gardens! The barren mountains visible over the undergrowth added to the tranquility of the whole setting. One marguerita later and we were on the road.... but this one is on my list of places to stay. When I have a salary again at any rate!

www.theparkerpalmsprings.com

In the nearby Palm Desert we pulled up to Carol and Cal's beautiful villa. The whole area was silent save for the odd bird and the rustle of a palm. But my poor mother... the nasty Mr.Bug had crept up on her when she was not expecting it and by the evening she was not well. Nothing was going to perk her up. Except the possibilty of going out to a fun restaurant in Palm Springs. Oh, and the two glasses of wine that she drank there. What a determined trooper she is!

But I can always tell when my mother is truly unwell... when she goes to bed before anyone else....

22.06.07 - Summary.

Coffee.
Pee.
Shower.
Pee.
Breakfast.
Pee.
Drive along Pacific Coast Highway.
Hermosa Beach.
Venice.
Santa Monica.
Lunch in English pub (the best fish and chips EVER).
Beverley Hills.
Stop to pee.
Back to Redondo Beach.
Pee.
Shower.
Pee.
Curry.
Pee.
Port.
Pee.

Mmmmm.....curry.

And note to self: must stop drinking so much water.

21.06.07 - Home Cooking!

"She must be really keen on you!"

This is what the hyperactive and rather chatty man said from behind the gas station counter as my mother paid for her bottle of orange juice and my bottle of water. What can I really say? He thought that we were an item... that I was her toy boy! Well of course mum does look great but all the same.... she is my mother and it is rather strange to know that people think we are 'together'. Of course she is torn between being flattered and a little embarassed.... it isn't good for her street cred after all! We have been getting used to it though as anyone we talk to seems to presume that we are an item.

The first time this happened was when I was fourteen and the owner of a Spanish restaurant in Marbella was overheard by my mother saying...

"I think it's disgusting that these older women go and pick up these young men from the beach"

...it would have been subtle had she kept her voice down by a few decibells and refrained from twitching her head in our direction! Good on you mum.... noone believes you could have a son of my age clearly.

Our cruise back to Los Angeles was uneventful, broken only by my determination to stop off at Peggy Sue's 1950s diner on Route 66. The scruffy old joint was good fun... packed with memorabilia and photographs of the celebrities that good ol' Peggy has insisted on having her photo taken with. And after following some long and complicated directions without the aid of a map we finally pulled up outside my aunt and uncle's cute wooden cottage near the sea at Redondo Beach.

Carol has known my mother since their childhood days in Cheshire and she is a Hollywood make-up artist. Her husband, Cal, is a Lighting Director born and raised in LA. All sorts of stories creep into converstaion about the actors and directors they have worked with. On our arrival the table was already laid and a gin and tonic was soon in my hand. Cal cooked a fantastic rack of lamb.... the joy of home cooking!!!

After supper I had arranged to meet a friend I had met in New York. Little did I know that it was a 50 mile round trip to West Hollywood!!!

20.06.07 - I Used To Be Indecisive.....

The day of our departure from Las Vegas had arrived already. The two nights were behind us. And yet we were not due to arrive in Los Angeles to stay with Aunt Carol and Uncle Cal until Thursday 21st June. The Las Vegas experience was leaving me feeling cold and ready to move on... hop into the car and cruise to another town. I suspect that the Sahara Hotino (hotel and casino!) was responsible for my urge to hit the road. So perhaps I shall now give you a brief idea of the impression this 'classic' lump left with me...

Old fag odour. Patterned carpets. Gloomy lighting. Naff gold detailing. Ugly mozaic pillars. Gaudy ceiling murals. The whole of the main casino space was designed to conjure up images of desert palacial buildings with the ornate arches, but for me it was more likely to bring up something even less tastful. Slot machines created a cacophony of conflicting noises while the management clearly could not resist playing some background supermarket music at the same time. Frumpy waitresses tottered around with dishevelled outfits that looked more at home in a branch of Thomas Cook, while the odd unfortunate soul sat staring blankly at a row of spinning fruit with a cigarette hanging from their lips, hand poised ready for the next pull on the lever. And why are there so many couples wearing identical clothing?! It must have been 'two for the price of one' at Woolworths.

But the rooms.... mine was vast. So big in fact that I was able to go for a jog without even stepping out of the door. I could barely see the television from the bed! And yet it was so drab, the Sahara theme carried through with a grubby, sand coloured wallpaper, yellowed woodwork and a tiny pseudo-mahogany kitchenette. I managed to flood the latter as it seems that the plug hole in the sink is merely ornamental! The view from my window looked onto a wall... nothing but a large wall.... and not even an interesting wall. So the curtains were kept closed.

Perhaps you can understand why I was tempted to move on as we had planned. So after half an hour of trying to make up our minds my mother and I could come to no decent conclusion as to whether we should stay for another night. I used to be indecisive..... clearly this had not changed. Then suddenly I knew.... we had to get in the car and leave!

The bags were packed.... we were ready to go.... and then I changed my ming decisively! We would stay for one more night after all! Suddenly we were both happy with the decision, and to celebrate we did the same as the day before.... poodle around the local extensive shopping mall before making the most of the Sahara's one redeeming feature.... the great big pool. On getting a drink from the bar we discovered why mum been so enthusiastic about the lemonade she had had by the pool the day before.... it was laced with vodka!

By night we made for the Mandalay Palace at the far end of the main strip, fully intending to have a quick bite to eat before heading to the Bellagio for the 10.30pm performance of 'O'. As soon as we stepped in we both questioned our plans. The 'shall we, shan't we' started and suddenly we were thrown in to decision making turmoil. You see, the Mandalay was different to the other casinos in that you could immediately sense some character that the other themed and flashy rivals did not have. Unlike the rest we were not forced to walk through the jingle-jangle-wizz-ping of the casino and instead glided straight into the bar and restaurant area. The space had the feel of a large outdoor piazza with a cobbled street and chic bars and restaurants of all different styles on either side. there was a buzz to it and two of us knew that this was where we wanted to spend more time.

So in order to make our decision we had a beautiful glass of oaky chardonnay at the bar of the Italian restaurant.... and before we knew it we were having a great meal on the 'terrace'.... and ended up watching the some incredible break dancing in another square. At this point I must make mention of the white man in a suit who decided that he could take on the Mandalay's finest street dancers and threw himself at their feet for a dance off. When my mother told him how good he was he took an instant shine to her and gave her a huge, crooked, toothy grin with a slide of his lazy eye to add to the impact. Sometimes it is best to keep your thoughts to yourself ma.... oh dear.... well we did attempt to see a Las Vegas show at least!

19.06.07 - The Vegas Experience Begins

Vegas is not the place for me.

After all what is there to like about a seedy, flashing pit out in the middle of a desert? Popping tokens into a slot machine with a 22 stone mother of eight with a perspiration problem perched next to me is not my idea of fun. Neither is rubbing shoulders with mafia daddies... somehow this just doesn't excite me. And I won't even start on the Elvis impersonators.

But somehow I approached this trip a little differently. Mum and I had deliberated (as we do best) as to whether or not we should make the trip and clearly the conclusion was 'YES'. I was excited about the drive and the ridiculous sights we would see... Las vegas was not a place I could take seriously. My mother on the other hand was not quite sure what to be excited about as by the time we had made the decision to head to Las Vegas she had convinced herself that she would not like it. And so with a mixture of dread and curiosity we headed out into the unknown....

We had not emerged from our hotel until about 10pm the night before and had decided to stagger down the road towards the main strip. vast building sites lined the road where huge new multi-million dollar complexes were fighting their way up from their foundations. The old school 'Circus Circus' blasted the street with psychedelic lighting displays that covered the circus tent-like structure at the front. The remanants of scruffy old 1960's and 70's concrete structures and signs look cluttered alongside the sleek curved wall of the Wynn. The luscious, prim garden and sweeping drive drew us straight in to have a peek. The porters on the door and the Ferrari showroom gave hope that there may be a stylish side to this notorious city.

After a few drinks (straight to the Ed!) and some sushi we had staggered out to see the next installment on the Las vegas strip. Floating battleships nestled up to the rocks built up on the front of 'Treasure Island', the 'Eiffel Tower' flashed over the strip alonside 'Paris' and in the distance the 'Empire State' and 'Chrysler' buildings were visible. This is a giant theme park.... and it is incredibly bizarre to walk through it late at night on a quiet Monday night. My mother walked around in awe as we entered the 'Venetian'.... gasps coming from her mouth as we found ourselves overlooking a canal with punts floating on the surface and a fascinatingly recreated amalgamation of Venetian structures. The first floor indoor canal topped it off and mum could hardly speak let alone walk by the time we headed home!

On our second night we ventured into the 'Bellagio' hotel and casino. The idea was that we would either go to see 'O' by 'Cirque du Soleil' or go for the buffet that had been recommeneded to us. Now to me the buffet brings the 22 stone mother of eight with a perspiration problem back into my mind.... plates piles high and 'mayo' dribbled down her chin. But we had been assured that this one was good.... and having found that 'O' was not on that night, we were forced to go for plan B. The buffet.

Sushi, asparagus, roasted vegetables, large shrimps galore, roasted duck cous-cous, soy salmon, confit of duck, chicken wellington, filet mignon, soup, lobster claws, chinese shrimp rolls, dim sum, teryaki chicken, five pasta dishes, seaweed salad, Greek salad, sea bass.... I have lost my will at this point to carry on listing the foods that were available and I have not even started on the puddings. Noone in the restaurant seemed to be talking because this was about FOOD. I started to feel self-conscious as I kept on walking back for another plate and by the time I had had my seventh course I decided enough was enough. Out for the count. MERCY!

That was amazing.... but I never want to see another buffet again....

As for the 'Bellagio' itself... it pipped the post in our minds. This affair was far more stylish than any we had seen yet. Everything in sight was panelled and painted in cream and white tones from the walls to the ceilings, to the backs of the chairs. Patterned fabric was used throughout to fill the wall panels and create luxurious pelmets and canopies... in fact the designers clearly felt that you could never have too many canopies as they were pinned up over every bar and doorway. If you stand in one spot for too long they pin one on you too, have no doubt. However the canopy-free lobby was filled with flowers and a vast display of colourful glass fans was rigged up to the ceiling and backlit to stunning effect. At the end of the day this is still a casino and there is still something incredibly tacky about it ( I could put my finger on it quite easily if I had the desire to carry on typing and bore you out of your seat).... but this is Las vegas.... throw the money at the interior designers.... make it bigger and better than the 'Venetian', 'Caesar's Palace' and all the rest....

"we need more canopies"!!!

18.06.07 - Nevada Landing

After nearly 3 hours of freeway congestion going through Pasadena to the North of Los Angeles the traffic current begins to pick up the pace and we pull away to the North-East on Interstate 15. The sense of claustrophobia that was threatening to grab my head eased as I accelerated the navy blue Chevvy through the lanes. Mountains towered over us as the concrete strip rose up the incline of the lower banks for the first time. The automatic dropped down a gear and the car swepts uphill and through a bend. The sky filled the windscreen and sitting at the wheel at that moment gave me the sensation of banking a plane after take off. Las Vegas here we come!

The 15 weaved between weather-worn dusty mountain peaks and cliffs and finally dropped down into a vast expanse of flat, scorched earth that reached out into the rippling horizon, meeting the layers of mountain that framed the view through 360 degrees. The occasional mammouth stranded outcrop of rock jutts out of the Nevada Desert plain casting ghostly shadows across the road. The only sign of life comes in the form of the dry skeletal gorse bushes that are strewn over the entire scene. There is an unreal quality to the landscape that we could not overcome. This was more like watching a computer generated image sweeping by us.... after all I have seen the incredible special effects that were created for 'Cars' based on the Nevada landscape. This was how I would have imagined a Moon-scape to look... little martian heads popping out from stray boulders!

"Hello Earthling........ NICE CAR!"

With every junction the traffic eased and and I was happily cruising the car through the barren landscape. Advertising billboards began to spring up on either side of the road bombarding us with Las Vegas temptation and sin. The dashboard read the temerature as 103 degrees Fahrenheit and a vast towering thermostat in a small outpost of civilization on the side of the road confirmed that the desert had hit 104 F!

Occasionally we would spot a small, grim looking oasis with battered old motorcars and caravans strewn around the remnants of a crumbling shack or house. I am sure that people do live out there in the middle of nowhere but these junk yards were like something from a horror movie... I would rather run out into the desert in my birthday suit with no food or water than knock on one of those doors to ask for help for fear of chainsaw wielding psychotic siamese twins greeting me!

By 8pm the sun had dropped from view behind a peak and the Nevada desert was transformed by the changing light. The dusty mountains were assuming varying hues of blue as the shadows deepened, backlit by a warm glow from the setting sun. The cool appearance contrasted with the temerature that was still touching 93 F when finally the amber warmth was extinguished and the dark set in.

After ten hours of travelling the bright lights of Las Vegas sprawled into view. Headin there on Interstate 15 was a little disappointing as the bright lights of the residential areas dulled the effect of the brightly lit hotels and casinos. Perhaps I was just tired... although I did not feel it. We had travelled 450 miles with two stops.... one in the beautiful Santa Barbara.... the other to have a 'Big Boy' burger (alright, alright... I know I am the first to moan about junk food but who can say no to 'Big Boy'.... it is a photo oportunity after all)! It was time to drop the bags and get out into the bright lights of Sin City.

The only problem was that we did not have any directions to find the Sahara Hotel where we were staying. In true Edward fashion I did not worry about it but followed my instincts. A sliproad signposted to 'Sahara Avenue' seemed promising, and when I arrived at a junction I followed my heart. Turning right I chuckled as I suddenly saw the huge flashing Sahara Hotel sign towering over the roadside. Nice work.

I will save the Sahara Hotel and Casino for a later entry and simply say for now that this was one of the original Las Vegas haunts, dating back to 1953 I believe. I suspect that it has not changed much in the last 20 years......

1.06.07 - Hello New York!

Sometimes in life you can find yourself in a mood where you will quite happily talk to an old biddy about the state pension and the expense of heating one's home with gas, but on the odd occasion one does feel quite anti-social. Clearly I was in one of those moods on the second leg of my journey. After eighteen hours on flight SA205 to New York via Dakar I stood up to take my backpack out of the overhead locker and it occurred to me that I had not spoken one word to the lady who was in the seat next to me. We had been carefully avoiding intruding on each other's limited space, moved out of the way to allow access to the aisle when nature called and even had meals and drinks together! What is the world coming to? As if to make up for it we chatted all the way to the immigration control hall... where immigration controlled us.

Convinced. I was certain that this time my bag was not going to arrive.
Unsurprised. I was unsurprised when my bag did not tumble onto the conveyor belt.
Amused. I was amused that I my prediction was correct.
Relieved! Yes the bag did show up!

Prepared for all of the hustle and bustle of JFK airport I strutted (rather awkwardly given the weight of my bag) into the arrivals lounge to be greeted by silence and a complete lack of athmosphere. I was quite disappointed and told the girl at the cafe that they needed some music. Perhaps a spot of Salt'n'Pepa or a snippet of Run DMC would jazz things up a little? A cluster of over-excitable kids decked out in basketball shirts, 'pumps' and gold chains having a dance off would tell me I had arrived in The Big Apple. Instead I had to listen to another traveller's experience of cutting a goat head in half in Morrocco as I drank my coffee.

By 11 o'clock in the morning I had off-loaded my bag in my room at the Thirty Thirty Hotel on East 30th Street, showered and changed and thrown myself out into the street despite having had little sleep. Having made my way south to Union Square I purchased a guide to the city and a Time Out magazine and sat down at a table outside the coffee bar for some lunch. The day is beautiful with the temperature hitting the eighties and the blue sky setting off the skyscrapers beautifully. Concrete, chrome, stone and glass is stacked up into the air all around us as millions of people march through the streets and get on with their days work high above the ground.

Mr Paul Reitz is a great friend of mine who I met on holiday in Mykonos about seven years ago. The nights on this Greek island were always drunken and debaucherous but thus an absolute ball. Paul, born and raised in Oklahoma, lives in Chelsea in the hub of Manhattan and has opened his arms in generous spirit to invite me to stay in his apartment for the main part of my time in New York. My first few days will be spent in a hotel to give Paul time to rest his leg after a rather painful injection in his knee and then I will gratefully accept his offer! I use the term rest loosely because it seems that Paul's idea of rest involves going out on the tiles. That is one of many things I have in common with this New York immigrant!

So this is the part I love. After a day of walking through the streets and checking out the shops and the sights, and having agreed to meet up in the evening for a meal, I headed back towards my hotel. Paul and I had agreed to speak at six o'clock to make our arrangements so at six o'clock I plucked my telephone from my pocket as a rickshaw ambled down the street towards me. "Edward?! Oh my God, Edward!" I hear shrieked out in disbelief! And the voice is Paul's! And the passenger on the rickshaw is Paul! What are the chances of us bumping into each other in such a fashion? With a mixture of bafflement, amusement and JOY we embraced and made our plans.

Sitting outside The Rocking Horse restaurant on 8th Avenue Paul and I caught up over some food and a couple of powerful and tangy margueritas. Before I knew it Mr Reitz had pointed me in the direction of a bar called the Phoenix in the East Villiage. Without hesitation I bid Paul farewell and walked to the bar, only to be turned away as I had no ID on my person. AH! Now those of you who know me well will appreciate that once I have made my mind up I will not back down so easily, so after a good walk to and back from my hotel to colect my ID I was allowed into the bar.

And what a great night I had! With a vodka and coke down the hatch I found myself surrounded by people, so much so that I felt like a celebrity. This is what I have been missing in London! Creative types filled the space in this low key, grungy haunt.... I met a rather uninspiring scriptwriter, a highly successful art dealer from Columbia, an opera writer and a tap dancer! With an swollen address book in my mobile phone and three offers to show me around the town I decided it was time to head home.

So it is true after all.... the Yanks love the Brits!

31.05.07 - Bye-Bye Biltong

22 hours. 2 stops. Before I started this insane travelling experience the furthest that I had ever travelled was to New York. Well once again I am on my way to The Big Apple for two fruity weeks of urban excitement and the journey from Cape Town via Johannnesburg and Dakar is quite a trek. However after the first leg from London to Cape town I was actually quite excited about this journey... I eagerly savoured the experience and made mental notes of the amusing sights I was to behold.

Of course in Heathrow we would be thrilled to join a queue of only three people waiting to check in at the departures desk but this is Cape Town and the proceedure is somewhat more painful. After 30 minutes I was finally standing in front of the tatty box that is the desk. behind it, Wall with his carefully trimmed hairline, stares intently at his hidden computer screen (one has to wander if there was even one there?!) and taps away with two rigid fingers. Although I have no idea what it was that required so much typing! Sitting at the desks were battered old green office chairs that looked as though they would be more at home in a Dundee Post Office and running along the back wall was a little conveyor belt with staff standing around looking incredibly bored. Welcome to the 21st Century!

This time I was flying with South African Airways and after Qatar they had a good deal to live up to. Sheila, the air hostess, was a friendly blond lady in her forties who beavered away at her job with sheer determination. This was evidently her workout for the day and I watched with facination as her arms glided around her trolley and darted through the air as she served the miserable passengers. It would have made more sense for her to wear a leotard and sweat bands in the South African Airways colours though. I feel a letter coming on...

This first flight to Johannesburg only took two hours and before I knew it I was absorbed in the world of Pip and his Great Expectations. I was only interrupted as we came in to land. The well dressed middle aged man sitting to my right had been cluthcing his iPod and staring intently at it while he sipped white wine throughout the journey. At one point I was concerned that he was no longer with us but I dared not prod him lest he topple over in to the aisle and cause a mid-air panic... I mean have you seen Airplane?! I was enjoying my book so much that it was not the landing gear hitting the tarmac with a thump that tore my eyes from the pages but the loud croak that the chap next to me suddenly emitted as he apparently coughed up a good deal of mucus into a flask in one heave! He had clearly attempted to disguise the noise as he delivered this little prize and this was confirmed as he made a second delivery just as the pilot spoke through the tannoy system! But what of the flask? Both times I had seen him seal the flask. Was this to add to a collection of mucus samples? I dread to think.

And then there was the pilot's tannoy. I was flown to Johannesburg by a Captain Pike!

Johannesburg was one of the most confusing airports I have ever used. Yes it is very modern and was certainly light years ahead of Cape Town's equivalent, but as I followed the signs for International Transfers I was sent in big circles around the entire terminal much to my amusement. When I did make it to the Internnational Gates access I looked back to see the sign for it pointing in the opposite direction! Absolutely baffling!

Night falls on the second leg of my journey... I can tell because the lights have been dimmed and the staff have all but disappeared to play strip poker in the tail. It seemed that there was nothing I could do to make me comfortable on this airplane and I resigned myself to a sleepless night. Even listening to the girl next to me snoring was not enough to tease myself to sleep. Rather self-consciously I decided to watch Charlotte's Web and of course I cryed my eyes out, wanting to burst into loud sobs of grief but far too aware that someone may well notice! In reality I was feeling a little emotional and seeing Charlotte spinning away at her web to save her piggy friend was too much for me to cope with. Another gin and tonic anyone?!