So. I'm not in Australia. I am in KL international airport sulking on a freezing cold floor, blogging through a snotty stuffed up nose from crying because I am a complete and utter absolute useless, fucking dickhead nobscratching twat head.
I missed my flight.. because I am all of the above. I read that the flight takes 7.5 hours.. so somewhere in my head that meant I was leaving at 7.30. Why?? I have no bastard clue. My flight left at 3.30pm and I arrived at the airport a pleasant hour and 15 minutes later. I casually looked at the board, figured my flight wasn't on there yet because I was nice and early. Had a lovely sit down, a bit of a people watch. Then it dawned on me.. how if my flight is at 7.30pm will I arrive at 1.05am in Australia if they are an hour ahead? I tried to do the maths which was really difficult given my retardation, and slowly but surely every muscle tensed and my pupils enlarged. Brain kicks the legs into gear and begins to panic slap my face for me.. “run bear.. run right now to Customer Services. Oh and lie. Tell them there was a traffic jam”.
So I did as my brain told me to. Lied through my teeth. Cried genuine but slightly more dramatic than necessary tears to get them to waive the flight fee. They did not. I paid £400 for a new flight which STA won't cover, which Emirates won't waive and which the shitey pointless insurance company refuse to pay. I was given the option of going home as well for an extra £200. I was in such a state that I actually gasped for air inbetween each word: “can.. you.. tell.. me.. how.. much.. Manchester.. is pleeeeease??” *huge massive gulping sob.*
Now I have 17 hours to kill in the airport. And I'm cold and tired. I am sat at what appears to be the only plug socket in the airport on the cold marble floor which of course means that I will no doubt get a terrible cold from sitting here too long which will lower my immune system and then I will get malaria. I will be taken to hospital via a helicopter which will of course crash in the bush and will then wake up being eaten alive by tarantulas. As is my luck I will survive but with hideous facial scaring and no hands, and live in a nursing home that stinks of wee for the rest of my pointless, handless and, due to face hideousness, sexless life. Ahhhh..... sigh.
At least there was one semi funny incident. My taxi driver seemed a bit obsessed with me. He kept asking me questions about my family and family life in England. He was completely bemused by the idea that my biological father is a cock and won't talk to me/bother attempting to get in contact, and can't understand why the lads have difficulty getting jobs in rich Eng-er-landski. After a proper barrage of questions came an awkward silence so I bombarded him with some. “Are you married and have kids?” And like it was oh so very normal, he proudly announces “yes TWO!” “two kids?” I asked. “No, no. 5 kids 2 wife.” I was totally shocked! SO I asked if they knew about each other and lived in the same house, and again, like I was asking a really dumb arse questions he replies “my, no. The wives know of each other but they do not like each other. They quarrel”. Apparently the kids don't even like each other and he can marry another 2 women if he fancies!! Crazy Muslim laws.
Right I'm going to go. I have purchased puzzle books to make the hours go faster and I need something fizzy. I'm not sure I can move my arse though.. being underwearless on a cold floor really creeps under the arse cheeks :-/ So.. HOPEFULLY.. maybe... blog from Aus. Or the bush once the helicopter has crashed. It will take me awhile to type with my nose though once my hands have been mauled off so expect an update in around 7 weeks.
Ta-ra.
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