DAVID HALL, COOMBABAH

LITTLE did l know, 50 years ago, lurking inside French-owned rubber plantations to see what might be there, having, as usual, forgotten the day’s “who goes there” password, that all these years later, Virgin Airlines would have me piped aboard one of its flights to the rapturous applause of other passengers. Then given a bucket of Moet to drink before takeoff, and a Romeo y Julieta cigar to suck on.

It is all fantasy, however, as I never have or will fly other than with Thai, to conduct my annual pilgrimage to the same small Thai city, to the same bar across the road from the same hotel.