The Silver Bird lands at last

Saturday, December 30

Today is the day that I should have collected Ellen from Auckland International Airport at just before 12 noon, her flight being scheduled to land at 10:45am (+ an hour or so’s allowance for her to get through the Customs & Immigration Authority and reclaim her baggage).

But due to a mid-air cracked Air-NZ 747 cockpit windscreen, which had to be replaced in Hong Kong, her flight’s arrival has been delayed by seven hours; and for this reason we were not going to meet-up until later that evening.

Literally just as I arrive at the Airport at 6:40pm, pull-up and park my little steed somewhere convenient, I bump into Ellen walking out of the Concourse doorway. It is indeed good to see her again.

This is THE kinda woman that we're all after fellas!

After 24 hours of sleepless near non-stop travelling at 33,000 feet (10,000 metre) from the other side of the world, delayed for a further seven hours; unaccompanied, with the exception of a bunch of complete strangers, Ellen is more than happy - eager in fact - to climb into her riding gear and pillion with me out into the dusk for over two hours before we finally arrive back in Ruakaka in total darkness.

I’m am sure there are many - maybe hundreds, if not thousands - BUT I only know of one other bird that would almost certainly have the same keen-to-ride attitude, and that is my mate Peter’s gal, Fi [Fiona], who lives up in Devonshire, England ... yunno, the place where those poor misguided souls actually believe that placing the jam ON TOP of the cream, is the best way to eat a scone!

The following morning Ellen hands me a belated Christmas prezzy, which I eagerly open with much anticipation - as my more than suspiciously Gorgonzola-smelling and grey soled socks have seen their best days ... here's wishing?!

... BINGO! I get the jackpot prize - THREE pairs of delicious and strangely-new pristine white socks. Life just doesn't get any better than this!

Incidentally, shortly afterwards we then have a Skype video telecon with the folks back home in Cornwall. Sporting my new whiskers, my muther and daughter reckon that they might have just hung the wrong guy up there in Baghdad!