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A third round the world: sticking pins in my eyes

You'd be forgiven for thinking that in paying a small fortune to pamper her, that I might have placated [bribed] for some decent frolics in anticipation of over 24hrs of being on the move. Fools. 

(That was fine as it goes, for the first 2hrs at least, after hissing my way through security) however-

It wasn't her this time. When did she stop frothing at the chops over a mispronounced kids tv character and start reminding me "you've only yourself to answer to mummy, when you think about it properly"? When? ... 

Never will I ever get cross at Small for saying "are we there yet?". My arse is on fire, my back is grim and we're not even halfway there yet. Fuck you, Putin. 

I've been up since 3am and I'm yet to get comfortable. It's not the plane, that's stunning and perfectly equipped comfort wise for what you'd expect in economy travelling a third turn rouund the world. It's me.

Pressure areas checked and no redness or areas of concern noted. Fuck knows how. 
My lardy arse compressing the seats providing appropriate comfort levels for a normal sized derriere. Would it be the same in business class? More than likely, going off what shape Small's memory foam neck pillow looked like after an hour under me. I'm grumpy and exhausted. It's like water torture. With butt cramps. 

Let's take it back a step, we arrived 2hrs earlier than the check in desk were taking on in Manchester. It's like I'd shit the bed at 3am to get here for 5am, for the sole purpose of entertaining the check in desk staff (Thanks Jayne for that helpful heads up).... Cheeky little snapshot of Helsinki- why are they obsessed with Moomins? Is this my 90s coming back to haunt me? - Little snackette and then rolling out of one airport, and into another. 

I'm nearly certain that the nasal snore spray (that only sees light of day when I'm crossing multiple times zones or on a promise) did fuck all, based on the sensation of snoring myself awake, whilst contorted into magnificent shapes like a fat overtired pretzel. I decide to take the brave step and 'have a stand' around the little bay of toilets to do my cheeky DVT exercises and try not to look up. I feel like I'm staring down the barrel of a plane shaped gun with a sea of faces watching me, well of course I can't have a good stretch now. Sadly, I'm too round to achieve said stretches in the blue-lit, fancy buttons and butt-cleaning cubicle. 

Oh god, then it happens: I'm stood next to Mr Motivator. She's cracking some right shapes, she looks like she only eats organic quinoa and runs 10k every day, I'm between admiration and sheer horror at my proximity to her with the juxtaposed sea of faces, and all I can think of is whether I could try me some of those spirit-fingered stretches to offset having bailed on the TEDs hours ago? I'd love to have been one of the passengers that's slept the whole way, Small has lain sprawled across me a fair chunk of it, whilst I have achieved a decent catnap of around 4hrs total. 

I do shift work, so why am I so battered?
Is it something to do with the gastronomic feasts that keep presenting themselves at the oddest of times? I did enjoy that 3am muffin, however can't help but be suspicious in its role in my upcoming and newly-fucked circadian rhythm. I'll either rally, or pass out- yet to see. 

Small being rather more picky than I'd anticipated on the food, maybe I've not prepared her enough for the Japanese mystery food, we cook it at home a lot, but it's never truly authentic is it? Still, an hour from landing, after having a reasonably amenable journey despite her throwing juice at me, wearing her yoghurt and upending my rucksack at least twice, we had our first altercation. We'd done brilliantly with the little phrases, made a (hopefully) good impression with little thank you gifts to the air hostesses, all was well until I tried convincing Small she was just being a snowflake with the chicken, rice and sauce. 

It was perfectly unimposing, yet she still felt the need to not-very-discreetly honk it back up straight back in the tray. Just one elderly woman saw the dramatic retches (but that's more than enough!), I'm dying in embarrassment, I may as well have done a naked pirouette in the toilet waiting bay.

I'm confused, upside down, and entirely clueless as to how the hell the next 36hrs will pan out. And I'm doing it all in charge of a kid. 

But we got here. The feel of that bump on runway, it feels all the more real now. Small's just asked if we're in Japan. We absolutely are kiddo, we absolutely are!

I'm looking out the window. There's a Pokemon plane parked up. I'm complete. 

Coming up: 'proper tourism' and Small's unfortunately cheese-flavoured ice cream. 


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