Right! So here we go. We are in the Concorde lounge champagne
in hand. I’ve just had a massage courtesy of the lovely ladies at Elemis. Sure
beats getting felt up by a sweaty BAA security guard which is normally all you
have to look forward to after you check in.
Lindsay ventured out of the lounge to buy duty free but soon
returned, shell-shocked, to the quiet sanctity of the place where only special
people are allowed. Slightly disturbed to learn that there is a baby in first
class – is that allowed?
The first leg of our trip leaves us in Hong Kong for a few
hours. We’ve ten hours of First Class hell to get through first. The childish, immature
and backward looking part of me wants to gloat at the Christian Brothers (an
oxymoron if ever there was) who in between beating the bejayzus of me all throughout my schooldays told me that’s
I’d spend my life on the building sites of London and eventually amount to the
square root of feck all. But I’m bigger than that so I won’t. Not that managing
to put one foot in front of the other and boarding a plane can be seen as much
of an achievement.
As far as the rugby is concerned I was, until a couple of
days ago, super confident that Ireland would march into the quarter finals
destroying all before them. An email from a supposed ‘friend’ linking to an
article on how Ireland would be on the first flight home should they lose to
Italy started to sow the seeds of doubt in my head. What if the Italians did to
us what we did to Australia? I’d be heading to NZ one day and the Irish team
would be heading home the next.
Anyway – world cup me hole! We’re off on our holidays
regardless.
See you in Hong Kong...
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