Okay, I confess... I am a people watcher .. Big time. I love airports. And shopping centres, and queues, weird I know, but I love it! Any opportunity to watch, to study and to wonder about people's fascination with shit food and their increasing inability to deal with boredom.
Airports food courts. Yuk, One of the many places in the world that have been created to fill the Holes of Time with piles of preservatives cleverly disguised as seemingly appetising food, and really bad coffee..
Why are there not massage kiosks, hairdressers, nail bars or gyms in these places that thousands of people hang out in for hours on end? Do we really need to have a 6 week old, full of preservative, choc mud muffin when we have either just eaten on a plane or we are about to eat on another? Or line up 7 deep to buy a dozen pack of Krispy Kremes to bribe the kids with? Sugar and fat treat anyone? Or perhaps a free wine tasting, we'd love to sell you a carton today and for a great price we'll make sure 2 dozen more bottles arrive on your doorstep each month... Easy. You don't even need to walk outside your house boundary.. You just lay there, on your lounge watching Ellen, and we'll make sure the postie brings them right to your door.
On a recent trip to Thailand, Hugo and I got around to asking one of the many suit hustlers on the street, how he can pick each nationality with such success? 'Aussies, mate, are built like kangaroos.. Little head, big arse, men got the pouch as well, must be the vegemite'
In shock, we looked around, he's right... Almost every Aussie that walked along the street was a similar shape. Little head, big arse.. Beer guts abound!
Is that how other nationalities look at us? What happened to Australia, a sporting nation?
Last month, for my 50th birthday ( OMG did I just say that aloud??) Hugo and I went to Paris. For dinner. At the Eiffel Tower. Okay, I know it was extravagant, but I have dreamt of it for many a year, saved for a long time, worked hard blah blah...
We spent almost three weeks in France, both in the city and the glorious French countryside. We ate real food, a lot. We ate croissants and pastries and had hot chocolate on the Champs Élysées, champagne and pâté picnics on the lawns of the Eiffel Tower. It was real organic food, everywhere.. No separate section in the markets for gluten free or organic food that cost 50% more. No, just real food, no packets, no preservatives - everywhere we looked. Wine with no preservatives that didn't make me sneeze or loose my way home.
I already miss the small village markets that filled the air with fragrances of strawberries and tomatoes and lamb being rotisseried right there in the square.. It was heaven. Ahhhhhh...
But I digress..
Back in the airport lounge, ( wishing I was waiting for the flight to CDG instead of ADL), 18 of the last 20 people that have just walked past me were overweight, a couple even bordering on morbidly obese- I'm allowed to say that- I used to be a fat chick too remember? Are they our national stats now? 9 out of every 10 Aussies are overweight? What's happened to us?
Now, I find I have to stop myself from shouting, "put down those chips, you're not hungry, you're bored.... FFS, don't do this to yourself, don't end up like me.... " It pains me to watch gorgeous three year old kids being force fed this shit, to keep them quiet, or to distract them from the boredom of waiting.
For those of you reading this that have or will have children, please find alternative ways of entertaining your children other than bad food, or iPads, or computer games or iPhones... Go for a walk, watch the planes land, people watch and make up ridiculous stories for each person. Laugh. Out loud. A lot. Encourage their creativity, the world is a fabulous place if you look around it.
I was at an exercise class recently that was marketed for mothers with small children, which I'm not, but hey, it's next door, and I felt guilty watching their sweat sparkle whilst having green tea in the sun on the verandah and I was truly surprised to see the children being sat on blankets with piles of pre packaged, processed shit food to eat whilst their mothers ran, and planked and attempted to kettlebell their arses off. Irony anyone?
As my boarding times approaches, it is becoming evident that the blokes sitting next to me must be some kind of famous people. Otherwise it's me that's creating such excitement... But I've only been writing this blog for one day... could i be famous already? Could I be? Would I be? Oh how will I cope with the paparazzi, and the fans and oh, it's not me..
Lol, nope- turns out that the only healthy looking blokes on this flight are WWE wrestlers.. Like I would have any clue. To me, they look like any other everyday gym junkie, but with American accents, slicked back hair, polo shirts three sizes too small and their sleeves rolled up- hey, isn't that bloke the butler in the Addams Family??
Apparently not! I was set very straight by some ageing groupies that came complete with WWE merchandise and who would do anything to get some autographs.. They travel the same circuit when 'the boys' come to town, heading onto Adelaide on a later flight for tonight's show, and they've been waiting at the airport for a glimpse of their idols all morning...
See? Dedication.. It all pays off in the long run.. What did I tell you? Everything comes to those who wait, or wear tight leather pants and leopard skin boots at 65 ish. Go girls!
Boarding the plane, it becomes evident that I am seated in an exit row, odd seeing how I don't need the extra legroom, and now it appears the whole success of WWE Australia is sitting with my ability to get the exit door open in time.. Couldn't those blokes be seated here instead? I would think their credentials for this purpose are much better than mine. To the WWE diehard fans out there, I want you to know in advance, I tried my hardest. If this plane goes down and they don't make it, I did try to pull on that red handle as hard as I could... Lateral pull downs have just never been my strong point, okay? Forgive me.
So, I guess I should probably make mention of the real reason I'm here today, to take my mind off the impending surgery. I have so much to do before it, yet still I feel the need to escape it instead. As silly as it sounds, I want to spring clean the house before surgery, change the sheets on all the beds, wash the exterior windows of the house etc, yet here I am grappling with fairy sized spoons and airline pods of H2O instead. Diversionary tactics at its finest!
If I was at home, I wouldn't be cleaning the house or washing the windows, who am i trying to kid? I would be spending the majority of my day scaring myself with horror stories about circumferential body lifts from the Internet...
I have even web-searched my surgeon, with great success I might add, turns out he is a writer in his spare time and spends time every year in under developed countries performing reconstructive surgery for those with terrible disfigurements.. What a great bloke! For some strange reason, this philanthropic side of him, has given me a feeling if profound confidence in my own surgery, as if compassion would have any reflection on ability??
I have 6 days of relative normality left.. Wish me luck.
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