Washed up on the shores of Sydney Harbour. No marmite, no music and no mercy from the locals.
The whispers in the dark of night, the cries of drunken joy in the early hours of the morning and the slow burning madness of a mixed up, shook up, muddled up, upside down world.
Monday, August 14, 2006
"Terror Panic at 35,000 feet"
Following the report in todays Evening Standard I would like to hastily rewrite my previous post as obviously Robert Mendick, Chief Reporter knows far more about it than me. I was only on the plane, I mean what exactly do I know. Passenger revolt, my arse!