And here we are, at the end of all things...

Or the start of new things. So I'm back. And I did get upgraded, to cattle class plus AND I didn't get woken up. As a matter of fact, I fell asleep an hour or so after take off and woke up about three quarters of an hour before landing. Quite a feat on a twelve hour flight in my unhumble opinion. I'm now feeling unexpectedly refreshed. The difference between regular Zoo class and Zoo class+ is subtle, but marked and makes a HUGE difference to comfort. The seats are just that little bit wider, the leg room just that little bit leggier, all just enough to make you comfortable, certainly compared to the standard 'World Traveller' class, which I shall now rechristen 'Veal Class'

My plan, as you know, was to post drunken ramblings, but half way through the day I was moved into the BA lounge, rather than the 'every other airline' lounge. The BA lounge was really lovely, having reopened two days previously after being burnt down by, incredibly, fire. Unfortunately they had no computers to play with, so I was forced to play with the champagne bottle instead, something I would recommend to anyone contemplating doing any work. So, the afternoon flew by with me making brief reconnaissance trips to the shops, although all I bought was three packs of Haribo Konfekt - a legacy of my days in Germany. You can't get Konfekt over here, and this was the first time I'd seen it outside of Deutschland, so I really had no choice: essentially licorice allsorts, these are less brightly coloured, less squishy and less sweet, the raspberry ones being particularly fuggin ace. What this does mean is you can eat more of them, which I would recommend to anyone suffering from post gastroenteritis sickness, as it appears to have cured me. Fingers crossed.

Having a non-functioning right foot does have its advantages, particularly when travelling by plane or rail. Arriving at any airport (in this case Heathrow at 9 this morning) you have to wait for everyone else to get off first, which surprisingly is a very relaxing way to leave a plane; none of this 'seatbelt race' that everyone seems to indulge in. Children are a great barometer of feelings. They can tell when parents have been arguing, when daddy's had a bad day or when mummy and daddy have just being trying to create a little sister for them. In short, they can tell when something is afoot. You can tell something is up because kids all go quiet, sensing the tension in the air as the plane taxis agonisingly slowly to the terminal, reaching a peak as it slows, then slows... And the seatbelt light is... off! Cue stressed passengers leaping over each other, elbows and expletives flying, to haul bags out of the overhead lockers, the even fouler languge as they discover that their bags have (inevitably in my mind) spilled their contents open, kids screaming, husbands screaming 'Go! Go! Go!' to stunned and bemused spouses, the husbands getting more irate as they fail to convey any sense of urgency whatever to their family. All this I missed out on this morning. Wheelchairs come last in society generally, and on planes specifically.

I then get wheeled through immigration, right to the front of the queue, past the aforementioned husbands arguing with their wives that if they had just gone when ordered, they might be two or even maybe three spaces further ahead in the queue of four hundred. The queue which I have just bypassed, holding my crutches ready to defend myself against thrown passports, sun hats and duty free perfume. Of course, once through immigration you then have to collect your bags (another half hour bottleneck), which is interestingly roughly the same time it takes to get through immigration and down to baggage reclaim. I felt it best not to point this out to the seatbelt racers at this juncture. So, got bags, got wheeled to the train, got bags portered onto the train, portered off at Paddington, buggied around Paddington station, past the queues of commuters (ha!) to a cash point, past the queues of commuters (ha!) to a taxi. Home in half an hour. Bostin.

I just picked up an email from Jacqui who was on the trip and... they've found my camera, in the bottom of one of the lockers, which one I've no idea, but this does mean I have about 10 days and 2GB of pics/vids and best of all audio diaries which I can keep, sort and maybe post. I think the lion orgasm definitely has to go up on youtube at least. Now I'm back I guess I can get on with things; perhaps it's time to make a list. Maybe tomorrow will be when I reflect on how I feel about the experience, but here's a summary: Glad I went, glad I'm back.