Gate 10. Melbourne International Airport.
Sniffer dogs sniffing at my bag. Maybe it’s the sunnies that give me away.
Number of people who have come up to me and said “Hey aren’t you that guy on the front cover of the Bulletin” = zero. I even spent ten minutes standing next to it at the newsagent here to tip people off… nada.
Couldn’t take my filtered water bottle on the plane. Apparently can’t get into the US with it in my carry-on. There goes my plan to stay hydrated on the flight.

Books I’ve got on in my bag to read on the flight:

Ideas: A History of Thought and Invention, from Fire to Freud by Peter Watson

Naked Lunch by William Burroughs

The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson

Also got The Art of the Start by Guy Kawasaki in the suitcase. No doubt that’s going to come in handy over the next month.

I hate flying. God I wish now I hadn’t bothered to watch the first two seasons of LOST. Here’s a question – if my plane crashes on a pacific island, which member of LOST do you think I’d be?

  • The natural-yet-unwilling leader everyone turns to?
  • The slick guy who collects all of the valuable stuff from the wreckage, sells it for a profit and is popular with the ladies?
  • The fat funny guy?
  • The weird philosophical guy who is good with knives but is keeping secrets?
  • The panicky guy who runs around saying “OH MY GOD WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!” and then starts figuring out who he is going to eat first?

Okay we’re boarding. Here’s goes 19 hours (Auckland stopover) of hell.