High Fliers

Firstly, I must give my thanks to The Mother for her wonderful guest blog whilst I was away. I'm sure all my regular readers will have appreciated another insight into life in Australia. However, I must just add that Northbridge (the area cited by The Mother as having been 'troubled by street gangs and violence in recent years and best avoided') definitely looks better by night (the only time Expat Wife has been there), when the restaurants look romantic and cosy rather than rundown and seedy. Besides, we did come across the Chinatown that we all thought didn't exist in Perth, so it wasn't a totally wasted trip. And it wasn't like we got mugged or anything. Okay, there was that funny-smelling, dodgy-looking, bearded man who looked like he may jump us but he didn't so there was nothing to worry about. Anyway, I made up for it by finding that cute little open-air bar/coffee shop with adorable mismatched china. Perth is full of tiny little independent bars, restaurants and tea shops, often down alleyways or narrow side streets, easy to miss unless you keep an eagle eye out. This of course has the added bonus of meaning that they are normally only frequented by those in the know - Perthites and not Japanese tourists.   

Perth truly is a lovely city, one in which The Husband and I could easily see ourselves living. It is super-laidback for a state city - unlike other major cities, no-one seems to be in much of a hurry, even in the Central Business District. The streets are packed at 5.05pm, full of office workers beginning their journey home. In how many first-world cities do people leave their offices at 5pm on the dot? But this is how it should be, Perth has got it absolutely right. They have got their work-life balance spot-on. It obviously works as it is a wealthy city - the number of designer shops, trendy bars and fine dining restaurants is testament to that. The rest of the world needs to take a leaf out of Perth's book - it would be a far happier place. And Perthites are clearly happy - you can see it in their breezy attitude, their healthy, golden complexions. They lead an outdoor life thanks to the numerous parks, beaches, walking trails and of course the fabulous weather. We were there in the middle of their winter and it was in the low twenties most days, with brilliant sunshine and blue skies. Yes, I do believe that Perth is the dream.

I left Perth with mixed emotions - dread of the horrendously long journey that awaited me and excitement about setting foot in England for the first time in eighteen months. We were on the pink fizz while waiting for our flight - the only way to end a holiday, I feel - so were wonderfully relaxed by the time we boarded (by this point I had already thought I had lost my passport approximately three times so this was a necessary measure). We were delighted to find that the plane was barely a quarter full, giving us the space to lie down fully across the seats. Before that, however, we had our final meal together. It was only airline food but it was rather good, especially accompanied by a couple of mini bottles of red wine. Qantas lived up to the stereotype by employing only gay male flight attendants and one of them definitely aided our alcohol consumption. As he came round offering coffee or tea ('or me' I half-expected him to say, with a wink at The Father), he immediately noticed that we were still drinking vino. "Ooo, look at you on the wine!", he exclaimed, flicking his wrist in a fabulously camp manner, "I'll bring you another shall I? I think a selection would be best. Lovely!" At least all that wine helped us sleep and before we knew it, the crew were pulling up the blinds ready for our descent into Hong Kong.

After leaving The Parents (and, as The Mother mentioned, I almost had a heart-attack thinking I had somehow left my passport at the airport bar in Perth) I made my way to the gate to await my next flight. It was very strange to be in Hong Kong airport, amongst Hong Kong Chinese people, passing Hong Kong shops, but not actually, technically, be in Hong Kong. I was, by this point, feeling weary and dirty (it was Thursday morning, I hadn't had a shower since Wednesday morning, and I had walked around Perth and slept on a plane in that time), so I was more than overjoyed to be told that I had been upgraded to Premium Economy. Result! What a difference an upgrade makes, even just to Premium. The seats are twice the size, as is the leg room - I had a rather fat man sitting next to me, which in bog-standard, cattle-class economy would have been hell on a fourteen hour flight, but I barely noticed him in Premium. It also meant that, when I needed the loo, I didn't have to either wake up the girl sitting next to me or climb over her, inadvertently shoving my bum in her face as I passed - never a nice thing to suddenly wake up to - as there was enough room between her and the seat in front to easily edge my way out. The personal screens are much bigger, the perfect size for watching back-to-back movies. The food is of a better quality than in Economy and is presented on proper plates, with proper cutlery, all on a white tablecloth. And I mustn't forget the constant availability of Champagne - bubbly at 7.15am? Why not?! Why anyone would choose orange juice over Champers is beyond me.

Of course, whatever class you're in, long-haul flying is always going to be a total mind and body rollercoaster. You eat at weird times, drink at weird times (although, as I have just said, there is never a weird time to drink Champagne - what was slightly odd was consuming a couple of glasses of Shiraz shortly after waking up), and sleep at weird times. When we eventually arrived in London, my body didn't know what time it was. I was just thankful to be there. Home, or at least what was once home. Only time would tell if it still felt that way.