(Does anyone under the age of fifty understand what I’m referencing there? Do I, in fact? I think it’s something Superman used to say, was it in an old TV series?)
Anyway, I’m at the airport, waiting for the first of my three flights to be called. I haven’t blogged at all this week because I’ve been at home with COVID. I got it from Simon who was germed by some coughing unmasked kid at work, whose parents swore it wasn’t COVID. It’s been a fairly mild course for me, like a normal cold, but it’s been touch and go all week as to whether I’d be well enough to fly tonight. Well, here I am. I feel almost back to 100%, and as far as I know, I haven’t given it to anyone. I’ll be wearing a mask on the flight to Auckland but plan on taking it off once I board the next flight to Singapore, another benefit of being on the pointy end of the plane. I’ve got a seven hour layover at Singapore airport and have booked a transit hotel so you could hardly have a more relaxing trip across to the other side of the planet.
