A Tale of Two Cities. Named Wellington.

“Can I have another Shiraz?” the lady squished into the window seat yells over me to the passing Air Hostess. She has her head phones on and doesn’t realise just how loud she is talking. It’s a tight squeeze. Shiraz, let’s call her Shaz, is to my left and a lovely lady carrying two inappropriately ginormous cane baskets along with her handbag is to my right in the aisle seat. She sheepishly explains that her Aunt gave them to her and she now has to lug them across the country. I’m squished in the middle of row 30, the very last row on the plane, and we are feeling every bump and air pocket. Between the three of us, we look a little eccentric because I am chewing gum at a rate of knots with bright blue earplugs poking out of my ears, a travel pillow oddly tucked under my chin. I’ve taken a travel sickness tablet so I keep drifting off to sleep and then jolting awake as my head nods to the left or right. The jolt is accompanied by a kind of sharp intake of breath, sometimes a little snore/snort. It’s classy and attractive and no wonder Shaz is on her third bottle of wine.

15 minutes out from Wellington New Zealand and we hit turbulence. The plane drops, rattles and shakes for minutes on end as we make our descent. Shaz has just poured her bottle into a plastic cup and is desperately trying to preserve every last drop. It’s not working. Row 30 looks like a crime scene. Red Wine is literally leaping out of her cup, down the side of the plane and all over her legs. It’s like the cup is bottomless. I don’t know where all the liquid is coming from. It’s a magical plastic cup of wine that keeps refilling and spilling. Chewing furiously on my gum I watch wide eyed as she lifts the cup to her lips. I’ve pulled my legs as far away from her as possible and I’m leaning in to Basket Lady who is calmly watching a movie. She hasn’t blinked an eyelid as we lurch and roll. She is almost Zen like. A calm, zen, delightful, basket carrying lady who either doesn’t mind or hasn’t noticed the drama unfolding next to her nor the fact that I’m almost in her lap.

Red Wine drips down the chin of Shaz as she attempts several large gulps.The plane takes another dip and her cup is finally and gloriously emptied. It’s like an ‘I Love Lucy’ sketch. She is remarkably unaware of how comical it is to watch her mop up the side of the plane with a dripping wet serviette. She unexpectedly looks over and smiles, giving herself a pat on the back for not getting a single drop on me. I haven’t realised until this point that her desperate attempts to scull were with my white loafers in mind and I’m deeply thankful for her selfless act and a little bit sorry I didn’t offer her a wet wipe that I remembered a little to late that I was carrying.

So here I am. In Wellington New Zealand for the next 12 weeks instead of Wellington Shire Australia. Freelancing, blogging, refreshing and embarking on my own version of ‘Wild’ or ‘Eat Pray Love’ (a book I hated with intensity) and on kind of a journey of self discovery. Actually scratch that. It’s more of a journey of God Discovery. Taking a breath and re-tuning my heart to hear from my ever loving Creator. I’ll keep you posted on said discoveries…

Ciao xx

Or if you’re reading this Shaz…Cheers!

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