Welcome back ladies and gentlemen to another episode of clog, the blog that brings a thick black sludge to your intertubes. So off to Japan again, this time to work in a ski-resort in the mountains of Nagano. Organised via the Internet with an Australian company (called Boobooski) who liaise with the ski resort, with little idea of what the job actually entails and even less of how to ski things were already off to a dubious start. Although I suppose it’s not quite as dubious as if a Tunisian man had tried to groom me in a Qatari souk…
Of course actually getting on the plane in the first place is always a good start to any trip and although most of England was frozen over and Heathrow had practically turned into massive hostel, Gatwick airport was still running at almost full capacity meaning my flight was still scheduled to run on time. No problems there then, unless you should happen to leave your passport in a photocopy machine in central London. No prizes for guessing who it was that managed to do that. As I’m standing in the check-in queue for my bags I go to look for my passport. Which isn’t in my pocket or my bags, or anywhere else about me. And at exactly the same moment that my mind races back through the morning, to the photocopy machine in the news agent, my phone rings. “Hi dad, I’ve left my passport in a news agent haven’t I?” Oops. A quick phone call to my friend Martin who I’d stayed with in London for the night “Hi Martin, so uh…see if you can guess where my passport is?” And so Martin went into mission mode, making it back across London to the newsagent, where he jabbered madly at the lady there about a passport, who had no idea what he was talking about. Luckily her husband (who had served me) heard him and came out and challenged him to answer one simple question. “What is your name?!” Pausing momentarily to consider his options he decided to use his own name. “Martin”. “You have chosen…wisely” said the news agent as he handed over the treasure.
Martin, treasure in hand began the next leg of his epic quest and sped at speed probably approaching 30 mph on the underground and then over ground again on the express to Gatwick. I had been stood at the check-in desk for over an hour staring towards the lifts just waiting, when suddenly Martin burst fourth in a cloud of smoke, or possibly a dirty spot on my glasses, and sprinted towards me. He passed the baton over, mission complete and I ran up to the desk waving at to the man there, I was in time, just. I chatted idly with Martin while they checked my bags in, then suddenly I was off again, queuing through security and then sprinting to the boarding gate, which was naturally at the end of that wing of the airport. But I got there, boarded the plane, then sat in Gatwick airport for another hour as my plane was delayed because of the snow reasons.
Unfortunately this meant I missed my connection in Doha, Qatar and while my baggage apparently made a trip to Melbourne and back in the meantime (I don’t know why either but that’s where it went apparently) I got to spend a day in Doha in a rather nice four star hotel.
