I flew into Melbourne last night (I’m on my way to Europe for 4 weeks – Envy me!) and, as ever, on a clear night, Melbourne is a wonderful city to see from above; such a sprawling, varicose veined, suburban light show.
Australia has obviously responded to the Swine Flu Spazdemic quite strongly. Not only was the airport swarming with Quarantine Officers scanning for those afflicted with sniffles (God help you if you coughed) but you actually have to fill out a Health Declaration Form along with that immigration form thing before you can come into the country. This form has such questions as, Are You A Bit Sick?, Have You Pashed A Member Of The Porcine Family Recently? and, most cleverly, If You Had Frenched A Pig, Would You Actually Tell Us? Also, various announcements were made by the cabin crew during the flight, urging us, if we had suffered from a slight fever, or knew someone who did, just let a flight attendant know, implying, in kindly tone, that if that were the case they would kindly bring us a tissue. Obviously two people did as, I shit you not, Quarantine Officers came on board once we had landed, masked and gloved like Michael Jackson (with fewer spangles but same sickly pallor), and took two people away. I saw one of them later at the baggage carousel but I know not of the other’s fate.
On a lighter note, the film on the plane was ‘He’s Just Not That Into You…’ and it was awful. Really, really awful. It played on so many gender and relationship cliches and stereotypes that it’s ridiculous message became hopelessly convoluted. Ironically, I really liked Ben Affleck in his role. That was a new experience. It also had Jennifer Connelly in it, which is just one of the insufficient and stupid reasons I watched the whole thing (call it a boyish Labyrinth hangover). To a young man or woman, seeking to understand how to best relate and communicate with the opposite sex, watching porn would be less destructive to your future potential for happiness than watching this film.