Published in The Clifton Courier, April 19, 2017

I just landed* back in in Sydney after a week in Queensland and goodness gracious I am glum.

* Obviously I didn’t just land in Sydney. That was just over a week ago, but I’m not going to change the tense of the piece because it would change the whole tone and I’m pretty darn tired this evening and apparently swapping a few “is”es for a few “was”es is just too much work for me.

I shouldn’t be. I ate three different types of cake today and am the proud owner of a tote bag from Cobb and Co Museum that has “totes” written on it. I should be the happiest girl in the world.

But I’d be lying if I said returning to Sydney didn’t leave me crippled with homesickness like one of those wimpy kids who used to cry for their mothers on school camp.*

* I bloody hated those kids. I never understood why they’d want to go back home to their boring families when they could be catching an offing City Cat with their class AT NIGHT TIME. Yes, our school camp was to Brisbane one year. We stayed in the mouldy boarders’ rooms at Nudgee College and had to tour the Port of Brisbane. For some reason, this was a more appropriate trip than going to Canberra to see how democracy works. The City Cat was the absolute highlight of the trip and I say that without sass or sarcasm. 

That, combined with the fact I’m coming down after a serious Easter-induced chocolate high, makes it quite hard to compose a humorous column for you folk.*

* “You folk” at the people of Clifton. I don’t change my tone too much for my hometown, but I definitely scale back the anatomical references for The Courier. 

However, after a few trips home, I have realised this Sunday evening slump is a routine of mine and have prepared for it. And while I didn’t go as far as to write a column ahead of time like I should have done, I did the next best thing: texted myself titbits of a column while on the plane.

I text myself often – it’s a good way of reminding yourself of things when you aren’t carrying a pen and makes you look like you have someone to communicate with when you’re really a friendless loser.

So after waving to Mum, Dad and one of those sisters of mine until they were out of sight, I figured the best way to get through the next hour-and-a-bit strapped to a plane was to record my thoughts via text message and send them to myself in the vain hope that they could be strung together for a column.

It probably looked like I was revealing all my deep feelings to a long lost love, but all I was really doing was documenting my burning desire to snag the carrots of old mate sitting beside me.

So here are some of the things that went through my head while 25,000 feet in the air:

* When is it appropriate to ask, “are you going to eat those pre-packaged carrots and delightfully tangy sweet potato dip, mate”?

* Is it considered theft to eat another person’s in-flight snack? Could it result in jail time?

* If this fellow beside me hasn’t eaten those carrots in another 10 minutes, I’m going in.

* Why do flight attendants still use feet and instead of metres when making announcements?

* Wouldn’t it be fun if each trip the flight crew used a different novelty unit of measurement? Like, “we are currently 947,600 XL sized belts in the air” or ,”we’re cruising at a height of 674,880 Wayne Bennetts stacked one on top of the other”.

* I can’t believe they just gave me another beer. My column could become more interesting.

* Let’s be honest, the reality is that my column will probably only become even more disjointed than usual.

* I wish I could crush a can with my head. According an Olsen Twins movie filmed in Australia, true Aussies can do this. And I like to think of myself as a true Aussie – I have an Akubra and a bit of a thong tan.

* Suppressing beer burps is tricky. Usually when I’m on the XXXX I am at the footy or a pub where thongs are part of the standard dress code, so I can get away with letting out a cheeky belch. But expelling gas of any kind feels like an act of war in a confined space at several hundred thousand Wayne Bennetts up in the air.

* I didn’t get to catch a footy game while I was home.

* I’m very lucky to have the kind of family who would happily stand out in the cool breeze waving like a bunch of lunatics for a good 10 minutes just on the off chance that I might see them from the plane.

* If I cover the side of my face with my hair, no one will see my leaking eyes.

* Is anyone looking at me?

* Damn. That jerk beside me ate all his carrots.