Jon Toogood sang about it once...

Sleeping for three days is a good way to become re-acquainted with your surroundings. However, now I am more aware of them, I am still curious as to their intentions towards me.

Myself and the Swiss man looked over at the breasts that were blocking the aisle. The breasts was not a separate entity in themselves, however they did stand out to the point where they made their way forcefully onto the extended tray table in front of them and rather loudly displaced the array of in-flight sawdust shavings out into the aisle, blocking the drinks cart, temporarily severing my traveling companion from his next red wine.

This breasts belonged to the same person who had mothered the rather chubby child I saw lifting up his shirt and pressing his bulk against the movable railings of an airport walkway, thus shaking and vibrating his girth which so far had opened the eyes of every single Malaysian person in the airport to the extents to which children can be over-fed. Most people were amazed at the layering which had been placed onto the bones of this young lad. They were stroking his belly like it was a gelatinous slab of luck blubber.

Myself and the man from Switzerland, his teeth still brown from smoking too much, play chess for the next nine hours due to the impossibility of sleep, while the international childcare centre that is flight MH 0103 from Kuala Lumpur to Auckland slowly winds its way down over the pirate straights of Malacca, soars above the vastness of the Australian outback and eventually comes to a stop, all 50 small, poxy, evil, crying children included, at gate 12 of Auckland international airport.

A brief exchange with a customs representative convinces me of the usefulness of sword play in dealing with those who are insolent up until the point where I realize that she is just a roughly mannered native girl with a bad case of the oral herpes. Welcome back to New Zealand, here is your passport, thrown at you back across the desk with a grimace and a grunt.

The air is clean. Alright, the air is very, very clean. The exact opposite of the summer season miasma that lurks around Saga like farts hanging around an old dog sleeping in the sun.

I’m very quiet as I stop myself before I feel the urge to say “When I was in Japan…” which seems to have attained a disturbingly prominent position in my current lexicon. This self censoring leads to a two hour long conversation with Kate who thankfully knows how I’ve wound up feeling, which is odd. Not unpleasant, not depressed or overly down, but just, odd. Dislocated, out of place.

Evolution.

Big pink and red men lurk around in bars. I remember that I’m really not that physically large after all, which is good, because no one is noticing me either. Relax with a smoke and a movie.

Home?

Again?