An ominous bruised horizon, warnings of thunderstorms and a deadening, electric heat tense to snap, I was hoping for a funpark joyride of a flight with plenty of turbulence punctuated by occasional vertiginous, stomach-voiding drops in altitude. Nothing of the sort. The sky though became progressively shrouded, even at twelve thousand meters, in a vague diaphanous white haze, plunging deeper into a hadean, thuggish gloom, but all the while descending across South Australia, the sun cutting a feeble, jaundiced glaze through sweltering up-wellings of the guttering cyclone Isobel and its conjoined southern ocean trough, it was anticipation disappointed.
Wet when arriving, and stormy with fecund humidity, I continued my series of extraordinarily strange dreams last night, then this morning, dehydrated and woozy dragged myself into class, on a Saturday, with Gala, taught by Gabrielle. So once again, I am with old and very dear friends in Adelaide, and seeing again new ones from Crush and my other adventures in the murder capital below the Tropic of Capricorn.
Before I left Melbourne, I had one last destruction of language and faces at The Wall with Emile, who is off to Europe before I return, and is very happy with his new airport fascination. So here for Emile are some more photographs of runway aprons and other fun impedimenta of economy class.