A quick trip to New Zealand for a wedding. Only my second time o/s and my first time alone. Cool. I've researched my destination so well I've got a mental map of Wellington that is sharp and clear.
I wonder how long it will take me to get lost.
Neil Perry designs the Qantas inflight menus for Business and First Class. I don't know if Neil also designs the cattle class menu, but by mere association he should hang his head in shame. I know there isn't a sweaty, cranky Neil Perry beavering away at the rear of my aircraft hand-crafting my lunch. Nor is he sweating his crack off in the Qantas kitchen gulag. But poor ol' Neil probably bashes his head daily against the bathroom mirror in fear of his name being linked to the mess just served up to me under the pseudonym "Honey Coriander Chicken".
Don't worry Neil, if I wake at 3am with stomach cramps and a serious dose of the shits, I'll be sure to call Qantas, not you.
To distract myself from the queasy feeling of the horrid chicken trying to find a home in my guts, I engage in entertaining thoughts about mid-air security. In my right hand, a plastic knife. Sensible. In my left hand, a steel fork. In front of me, a glass bowl.
Never thought I'd say it, but Amanda Vanstone and I seem to have something in common. We've seen through the "apparition of security" provided by plastic knives. Just as well I'm not prone to violence or mid-air hijackery. Wouldn't want to get any ideas about putting someone's eye out with that fork or smashing that glass bowl and doing a mischief with some broken glass.
But at least I won't be stabbing anyone with my plastic knife. Unless I discover who cooked that bloody chicken!
GW the HRB