Big grab bag of mem­o­ries on my long jour­ney home

Townsville Bulletin - - OPINION -

A CONCERNED mum watches the kids play on a trol­ley, tears flow as lovers say farewell, a man be­hind me says to a friend, “happy trav­els”, and I gaze into the con­fu­sion that is the de­par­tures lounge at an in­ter­na­tional ter­mi­nal.

I’m happy to have ac­tu­ally made it after bat­tling un­for­giv­ing cob­ble­stones, as I pushed my two suit­cases through the sub­urb of Nuhavn, Copen­hagen.

I think lug­gage needs in­flat­able wheels for places such as this, when I had to shove it for about 30 min­utes through a wall of cam­era kiss­ing tourists, dodge cy­clists on warp drive, and bus driv­ing ban­dits ob­vi­ously try­ing to es­cape from a bank job.

I made it to the metro, bought the ticket, then took the lift to the wrong floor. I knew I had to do some­thing silly.

Back to the sort of orig­i­nal story, lan­guish­ing with lug­gage, even a lit­tle mo­tor would be nice, but no lug­gage would be even bet­ter. Maybe dis­pos­able clothes, no wor­ry­ing about tak­ing home dirty socks and un­der­wear that could eas­ily cause an­other Ch­er­nobyl, take thongs not shoes, and no pressies.

But we all love bring­ing home pressies. Keeps us in the good books, and, of course, T- shirts don’t break. And as my Barb says “jew­ellery is small”, just ter­rific. Though I have bought some Christ­mas dec­o­ra­tions as I al­ways do. Glass balls … I must be mad.

Hang on, I just saw a young bloke with his back­pack tied to his skate­board, and tow­ing it with a rope. Clever. None of this is what I’d planned metic­u­lously to talk to you about, so I may as well keep mak­ing it up as I go.

When you’re on the long road home, the com­pli­ca­tion of check- in is over, and the thou­sands of peo­ple be­come no body as you drift into mem­o­ries of what has been; I guess that’s where I am now.

I know my girl has had many ask her why she didn’t come. Sim­ply, it’s just not her. It’s a 10- day ex­pe­di­tion in the freez­ing cold on a boat, then in in­flat­able boats, there are birds, and so much more, and there’s no Zara or H& M. You just can­not force a place on some­one. It’s a unique jour­ney I’d al­ways wanted to do, I won’t get an­other chance, and I’m for­tu­nate she was so sup­port­ive, but I was away too long.

This will make you laugh, fel­las. I just got a text through, “Can you buy me some Alien per­fume, if it’s cheap ( there’s is no cheap per­fume, this ac­tu­ally means, buy it no mat­ter what the cost, you went with­out me) or a bot­tle of Fer­rag­amo Sig­no­rina ( I’m sure you know it, boys), the one that smells like pome­gran­ate”. I’ll have to put down my glass of bee … cup of tea and find it.

I’ll let you know next week if I find any of the Close En­coun­ters of the Third Kind per­fume, or the Fer­rit bal­le­rina, per­fume that smells like Pom­mies.

Happy days.

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