London

After a nonchalant goodbye from Liam and Sean and a trip out to the airport courtesy of seasoned travellers Chris and Sandra (who did their own European Trip last year at almost exactly the same time of year) we checked in to get our boarding passes. First sight of an Emirates staff member - who seemed to have an extremely multicultural crew. The red pillbox hat with a piece of fabric hanging off one side seems a silly compromise with the cover-up approach to the human face; it conceals nothing and seems to get in the way of working, leading to a testiness of attitude among the hostesses several hours into the flight. Several staff members seemed to be happy to remove the hatgear and wear only a red scrunchie to maintain order on the back of their heads.

Although several people had recommended Emirates on the basis of superior service, I only saw this being extended to the business class passengers. These included remnants of the SCottish commonwealth games athletes and officials, some Braveheart sized giants among them, and one could only conclude that they might have staged a rebellion if they had been forced into the seats we economy class people languished upon. On the other hand, compared to the boredom of listening to Qantas staff gossip amongst themselves, the entertainment options provided by Emirates is pretty good. Each seat has its own small LCD screen (image quality not too bad, but every screen I looked at had more dead pixels than there ought to be), and a panoply of choices of audio and visual entertainment. Before absolute fatigue took over, watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Recommendation: stop the series now before it gets any worse. Our hero needs to be pre-pubescent not awkward adolescent.
Instructions for the screen were difficult to understand, but the seat and a half worth of dour scot to the left of us reached a paw over and stabbed at a button that enlivened the screen. After that, I could figure out the rest.

After about seven and a half hours we reached Singapore, which was then a steamy 28C, but seemed ever so much more oppressive than I have ever felt 28c to be. While Miriam enjoyed a cigarette in the (inside) smoking lounge, a long, long walk from the transit lounge, I went to the toilet. A uniformed guard stood inside the entrance, giving a hard look at every person coming in. I took a leak in a cubicle and soon understood what was happening. This was the Toilet Police. Every time someone came out of the cubicle, his job was to step into the cubicle and verify that flushing had been performed. I remember reading somewhere that it is a finable offence to leave a public toilet unflushed, and here is someone earning a living from this legislation. Memo: Centrelink should be informed of the job creation possibilities for our own country. Strange introduction to Singapore's attitude, which seems to be even more than ever that the individual must be controlled and badgered into conformist ways. It is now on my list of less than preferred destinations.

BAck on the plane and my back is now aching badly, courtesy of a foolish dare-take to see how fast I could pedal on an exercise bike with the brake on quite hard. Aggravated an old injury and now suffering especially since confined to the airplane seat. No comfortable position possible, so from time to time have to get up, walk down the aisle, do a few stretches, find out how quickly several hundred people can befoul the toilet facilities, and marvel at the sheer length of the flying machine taking us across the world. Looking along the aisle, it seemed certainly well able to accommodate a cricket match.

Whatever the hour of the day or night, the policy seemed to be to rigidly deliver meals to the passengers as a means of keeping them captive in their seats. The Non-carnivorous passengers were always fed first - up to an hour later those with no special dietary needs were fed. And once a tray was in place, no-one beyond that point in the row could possibly get out. Then the dirty tray would be left with the, say Vegetarian, until the carnivores trolley had been wheeled out to totally block the aisles. So basically you were trapped, unable to even get out to the toilets, for over three quarters of the journey. Attempts to leave one's seat earned rebukes from cabin staff who later informed us they were stuggling with three staff members under complement, and many of the rest very recent starters who had not been adequately trained. Stephanie, if you are reading this, although a wide range of "special dietary foods" are available, what was presented to Miriam was inedible and basically bailed out of her body at the earliest opportunity. And for the meat eater, the story was not much better. All in all, the reality remains: airline food is very, very bad and virtually impossible to digest. And as you cannot carry foods with you because of quarantine laws, I don't know what option you have. I spent an hour on the phone a few days prior to leaving trying to get through to the Emirates office to specify Vegetarian meals for Miriam, but despite that the meals came out addressed to Mr M Gregory.

By the end of the second leg of the journey, a refuelling stop in Dubai, we were feeling wrecked. Here we were clearly the foreigners, and we were among a cultural milieu of which we had little knowledge and less understanding. Here the smoking lounge was a small area holding a large machine breathing in the smoke from exhaling smokers, while the non-smoking world went on around them. Miriam and a few other western ladies entered this tiny sanctum with a tight crowd of swarthy gentlemen puffing avidly on foul smelling fags.

Beyond, columns of palms inside the building, gilded everything, and duty free stores bulging with alcohol and luxury goods completed the picture. It would be helpful to know a little Arabic here, as the English signposting on TV monitors tends to show Arabic only - not helpful for reading flight numbers and gate numbers especially.

Anyhow, London awaited us, and after about 27 hours travelling time from Melbourne, with about two hours sleep between us, we staggered out of heathrow almost hysterical from tiredness. Found our way down the ramp to the railway station and used our credit card to buy tickets direct to the city, including the tube connection to get us to Earl's Court, the closest station to our hotel. The ride was fast, clean, and safe, with a conductor who comes around and checks tickets- giving anyone who hasn't a ticket the chance to buy one on the spot. Full marks to London Transport. Connex, send some of your useless managers over here to see how well run a mass transport system can be.

The hotel I had picked from an Internet search, the West Cromwell Hotel, had given clear instructions on how to walk the several hundred meters from the station, and we soon found our way there. It is when you have to carry your bags up several flights of narrow stairs at the tube station that you confirm your resolution to keep the contents as light as possible was correct. They seem to have doubled in weight since the beginning of the journey. The tiniest elevator I have ever travelled in took us to the third floor of what is basically a large terrace house among a whole block of similar buildings. Our room, number 16, overlooks a severely truncated old tree in the backyard of the hotel, and a much nicer garden in back of the house next door. Different birds sing, some sweetly, despite the general lack of trees or any vegetation. The streets are lined with building all of three to five or so storeys, like Legoland, the designs are limited and repeat themselves from block to block. You can clearly see the architectural approach in the way Sydney's inner city is laid out.

The room itself is small but adequate, with a panel heater in front of the window on all the time. The fluctuations in temperature here seem to happen suddenly, so you are always putting on or taking off clothes trying to get it right. A layered approach, as for Melbourne in the springtime, is probably the best option. At about four or five PM London time, we felt so knackered we layed down, and a Panadeine or two knocked me out enough to calm the muscle spasms in my lower back. We woke a couple of times, but before we knew it the sky was lightening and we were ready to see a bit of London.

The "Continental Breakfast" of juice, cornflakes scooped from a communal bowl, and tea and toast, was just about all we wanted. A mezzanine floor squeezed above the ground floor lets you sit and eat breakfast while peeking out the fanlight above the front door.

Hyde Park and the Serpentine lured us to stroll along to see the Peter Pan statue paid for by JM Barrie, and we enjoyed a decent coffee at the Lido pavillion at the water's edge. Continuing towards the city centre, we found ourselves amid the crowd at the gates of Buckingham Palace, waiting for the changing of the guard. Apart from one guy with a machine gun, security seemed quite lax. Plenty of Metropolitan Police yelling instructions at the tourists to get back, though. Satisfied with a glimpse of the Buck Palace Gates, we continued on through St James Park (courtesy of Henry VIII), past Westminster Abbey, Houses of Parliament, and across the Thames.

Fortified by a cup of Miso and Bean Curd and a few spring rolls, we ventured into the Dali Exhibition which was quite fascinating and tiring to engage with, there being about 500 works to view. Classics including the Lobster Telephone, large bronzes such as Venus des Tiroirs (Venus with drawers pulled out from the head and body) and works from a wide range of media were featured. Dali classic icons like the melting watch, the spindly legged elephant, and ants were everywhere. Then downstairs, if you hadn't had enough art, there was an exhibition of several phases of Picasso's evolution. Some lovely pieces from the earlier Blue period, and some ceramics that could have come out of the local CAE class.

Now back at the hotel having a wee rest before deciding what to do next. So, more later!