Wine, women and wombats

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Its always about the journey... Isn't that the cliche? Trying to focus on the process rather than the destination is an ingrained 'truth' that any pilgrim can and should bang on about endlessly... But you know, sometimes the feeling of arrival at a destination is just an out and out RELIEF.

Sitting in our Parisian hotel room this evening is like that. Travelling over three days, socializing with hundreds of people and only 14 hours sleep in 72 hours will make the idea of stopping very appealing.

Especially when all your plans appeared to be thwarted by an enormous wombat. Exactly what went through its tiny wombat mind in the seconds prior to walking in front of my car, thereby rendering the car, I believe the technical term is 'buggered', we may never know, deceased wombat psychology being one of the less explored academic pursuits, but I'd like to think it was something like: 'Well, if I'm gonna go, I want to take as many out with me as I can!'. (apologies for the length of the previous sentence, I may be writing this blog while suffering from sleep deprivation induced psychosis)

So this is how my whole family and I found ourselves on the side of the road after midnight just 12 hours prior to needing to be at the airport. Once our heroic neighbor Paul agreed to drive the 80 odd kilometers out to pick us up, the rest was a doddle, but one that began with a lot less sleep and a lot of standing around in the cold.

Thanks Paul

Please note: this blog was written on iPhone and proof read by the same dazed mind that wrote it. Please forgive...

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