Codeshare: my trip to Bletchley Park

[RooFlyer]

St Albans has a parkrun, as does any British town or village, really. Naturally, it's a priority for me, and I skip some of the BookCrossing fun so that I can notch up another event, another nation, another statistic on the page.

How are you doing on your Parkrun alphabet? You can get a Z from Zeehan in W Tas.

 

[Bundy Bear]

How are you doing on your Parkrun alphabet? You can get a Z from Zeehan in W Tas.

Zillmere for the Z in Brisbane, I am working for my 2nd parkrun alphabet, Zeehan is a touch too far away from an airport in Tasmania.

 

[SeatBackForward]

Oh nooooo! You rotter! I

It's a reference that sneaks up on, you like a house.

 

[Flyfrequently]

Late to the party @Skyring but enjoying your travels immensely as usual

 

[Skyring]

How are you doing on your Parkrun alphabet? You can get a Z from Zeehan in W Tas.

Nine more to go, and most of them fairly easy letters. I did Zillmere last year, and at the first-timers briefing the volunteer looked around, "Ah, any tourists here?"

Most of the attendees were tourists, as it happened, and we were only there for one reason.

I'm kind of sorry I didn't take this up years ago during my years of serious travel. Not to worry, there are more important things in life than accumulating some of the sometimes frivolous challenges of parkrun.

 

[Skyring]

Zillmere for the Z in Brisbane, I am working for my 2nd parkrun alphabet, Zeehan is a touch too far away from an airport in Tasmania.

There are a couple in the Netherlands. They could be easier to get to …

 

[Bundy Bear]

There are a couple in the Netherlands. They could be easier to get to …

There is a new parkrun just outside of Amsterdam and a friend in a running group chat suggested I could fly there for the weekend, another Z

 

[Skyring]

A few words about the BookCrossers. That's most of us above. There were a hundred all told, but some weren't present for the final group photo. Together we ransacked all the bookshops in town, and there are some excellent examples in St Albans, then just after the photo was taken, we cleared the hall and set off on a "release walk" setting free books that hadn't been taken from the book buffet tables or were intended for wild release.



If you see a bag or a backpack, it's full of books.





As noted earlier, St Albans is a remarkably pretty town, um cathedral city. Charming houses, shops, pubs, and parks abound. We walked around much of the old town, our guide making remarks about "herding cats" as we paused to leave books in likely – and unlikely – spots, photograph same, and pause here and there to read historical plaques, photograph same, say hello to passing dogs and ducks, photograph same, and so on until we fetched up at the Clock Tower, the symbolic centre of the town.



Those with keen eyes may be able to spot a book here and there in the landscape. My AirBnB is just out of sight beyond the right side of the Clock Tower and the building on the right with the vegetated eaves is The Boot pub, quite popular at all hours.



A glimpse of my bay window beside the scooter sign but I really wanted to highlight the plaque marking the site of one of Eleanor's crosses nearly 750 years after her death. Her grieving husband, King Edward I, erected a series of ornate monuments to mark the nightly resting places as his wife's body was carried from Nottinghamshire to Westminster Abbey. Three of these survive more or less intact, and there is a well-known reproduction of the final memorial at Charing Cross, which owes its name to the since destroyed Eleanor Cross that graced the long-since-engulfed village of Charing.

This was pretty much our final stopping place as well. More BookCrossers began their journeys home, and we latestayers went off to enjoy a traditional Sunday roast at a nearby pub, which also happened to be hosting a Beer and Cider festival.



My pub grub above, including a fluffy boulder of Yorkshire Pudding, two generous slices of perfectly tender beef, and a pint of local cider.

We enjoyed a long, lazy lunch before heading off for a welcome cone or tub of icecream in the summer afternoon, and dispersing to pack or nap or browse yet more bookshops. Or all of the above. I think one or two gathered for yet another meal, but I was full of food and drink and I needed to prepare for the day ahead, where I would pack up, look through a few places in London with my mate Swen, and we'd then board our flights at Heathrow for home. A couple of hours for Swen, three days for me.

 

[Seat0B]

That roast is certainly classic - what a monster of a Yorkshire Pudding!

 

[Skyring]

OK, one last thing about the BookCrosser convention. One of the organising crew had made a themed puzzle – codebreaking, kind of – the answer of which was the name of a book by a best-selling local author. A challenge, but I could see myself spending half an hour of research on this.

"Please solve this puzzle, Claude," I said, taking a snap of the sheet with my phone.

Got it. The letters spell out row by row:

Row	Clues → Letters	Word
1	Life of Pi (T) · New Zealand (H) · Texas (E)	THE
2	This Book is Gay (W) · Arthur Ransome (R) · Texas (E) · Ulysses (C) · Kurt Wallander (K)	WRECK
3	The Hate U Give (O) · Nebraska (F)	OF
4	Life of Pi (T) · New Zealand (H) · Texas (E)	THE
5	Orange (Z) · Edinburgh (A) · 27 million (N) · Orange (Z) · Daisy Dalrymple (I) · Jura (B) · Edinburgh (A) · Arthur Ransome (R)	ZANZIBAR

The mystery title is The Wreck of the Zanzibar.
A few of the neater bits worked into the clues:

• "Most registered book on BookCrossing" → Life of Pi — fitting, given how heavily that one's travelled through OBCZ circles.
• "Station named after a novel" → Edinburgh, home of Waverley Station, named for Walter Scott's Waverley.
• Arthur Ransome does double duty: he wrote We Didn't Mean to Go to Sea (kids not meaning to go to sea) and, separately, was the journalist who knew Lenin and moonlighted for British intelligence

Nicely built puzzle for a bookcrossing crowd — hope the St Albans convention's going well, and here's hoping your bag's turned up by now!

***
I can see AI becoming an increasing part of everyday life, solving ever more complex life puzzles. It's scary, really. I can see us all being devoured by this monster.

It's also kind of relevant, given that Alan Turing was the star genius at Bletchley Park – the "Turing Test" used to determine if computers have reached a certain level of intelligence (i.e. ours) was an idea he came up with – and that the first computer, the Colossus machine, was built there. I wonder how long Claude would take to crack Enigma?

OK, bit of a curly one, Claude. How long would it take you to crack the Enigma code in various circumstances?

***

Good change of pace! The honest answer is "it depends enormously on what you mean by cracking it" — the naive brute-force number is basically meaningless, and the interesting answer is about which shortcuts are available.

Brute force, no shortcuts at all
A 3-rotor Enigma with plugboard has a keyspace around 10^23 for a single day's settings (rotor choice, ring settings, plugboard pairs, starting positions). Even with serious modern computing that's not something you knock over by trying every combination — this was never really "crackable" this way, then or now.

With a crib (known or guessed plaintext)
This is how Bletchley actually did it. If you know or can guess a stretch of plaintext ("wettervorhersage" turning up at the start of German weather reports, say), the menu-and-loop logic the Bombe used eliminates most of the plugboard search almost immediately, because Enigma never maps a letter to itself. Given a decent crib and a working Enigma simulator, I could write the code for this myself right now, and depending on message length it'd likely run in seconds to a few minutes on ordinary hardware — nothing exotic needed.

Ciphertext only, message is long enough, rotor wiring known
No crib, just the coded text. Modern hobbyists and academics do this with hill-climbing / simulated annealing against letter- and trigram-frequency statistics — essentially the same statistical intuition Turing and Alan (I.J.) Good used, automated. It generally needs a few hundred letters of ciphertext minimum to have enough statistical signal, and then it's a search over rotor order, ring settings, and plugboard that converges in minutes to an hour or so of compute. Short messages (a hundred letters or less) usually defeat this approach outright — not enough signal.

Ciphertext only, rotor wiring itself unknown
Now you're doing what Rejewski's team at the Polish Cipher Bureau did in the 1930s — reconstructing the internal wiring from patterns in intercepted traffic before you can even start on daily keys. That's a much deeper mathematical problem (permutation group theory on indicator doubling, in their case) and not something that falls out of a quick script.

What actually broke it historically
Not brute force — cribs from predictable message formats, operator laziness (repeated settings, lazy plugboard choices), captured code books, and known procedural flaws (like never plugging a letter to itself, and the early indicator-doubling bug the Poles exploited). Bletchley's edge was less "faster computation" and more "smarter reduction of the search space."

So: give me a crib and I can probably solve it in front of you in a couple of minutes using the code tool. Give me only a longish ciphertext and I can likely still get there with statistical hill-climbing, just slower. Give me a short ciphertext with nothing else — that's genuinely a hard problem, and honestly beyond what's practical without more information, same as it was for the Germans' adversaries at the time.

Keen to actually see it done? I could knock together a working toy Enigma + crib-based solver as a demonstration if that'd be fun.

***

Fun? For whom?

 

[Skyring]

Monday. Flyday

Well, not until 2050 out of Heathrow, Oman Air to Muscat to Manila, Qantas to Brisbane to Canberra, except I wouldn't be home until Thursday, swimming against the sun.

Left to my own devices with a noon checkout, I woulda bummed around, poked my nose into the remaining bookshops, had coffee, packed up, gone into London, left my bags at one of the big stations, walked up and down the Strand, gazed at the replica cross at Charing Cross Station, maybe poked my way along Charing Cross Road, until it was time to head to Heathrow, check in, vegetate in the lounge for an hour or three.

But my mate had other ideas, and at 0900 I was dragging my big bag, wearing my backpack, and clutching my personal item up to the Premier Inn and beyond, where Swen was looking through the big Oxfam bookshop. I don't really read many physical books these days, but I have a weak spot for Folios, and I have a writing project involving WW1 airmen coming up, so old books along those lines are of interest.

Swen, in what looked like an act of utter madness just before a flight, bought a set of three big chunky fantasy paperbacks. Huge books. I'd never get them into my bag without a major repack, and possibly jumping up and down on it, but he must have had room in his resources.

About that time I realised that I had left my water bottle in the fridge in my AirBnB, and I galloped back while Swen gallantly hauled my bag back to the Premier Inn, meet me in the lobby.

Not the plastic Oman Air bottle, but my stainless steel Zojirushi. These go for north of fifty bucks, and I wasn't leaving this one go. Besides, it was full of juice, chilling in the fridge, and I'd be needing that on this warm day.

Back at the Premier Inn, there were the final few of the BookCrossers checking out or finishing a late brekky. Hugs and goodbyes and then Swen and I found a nearby cab rank and off to the station.

About twenty-five minutes give or take, in to Farringdon. I can see the attraction of living in St Albans and commuting to London. In Australia, you'd be living in suburbia. In the UK, you're out in the country.

I'd done some research. Left luggage at the big stations can be pretty spendy, but is secure. There are apps that point the way toward local shops that offer storage in a back room, and there was a post office/off-licence near Farringdon that did this for a way cheaper price. I wasn't going to leave my backpack full of electronics and cameras in some storeroom, though, so I kept this with me. A bit of a burden as the day progressed, but my laptop is worth a few grand alone. Just like on the plane, I don't put anything in my checked luggage that I can't afford to lose.

Farringdon to Bethnal Green. A non-trivial problem, even with Google Maps. Sure, you can go all the way on the tube, but which lines and which platforms? A little experience with London transport and it would have been automatic, but neither of us were at that level.

Anyway, we got there. The attraction here was an Aardman exhibition at the Young Victoria and Albert – Aardman being the Wallace and Gromit animation people – that was sold out for the day, and I was Swen's ticket in.

The V&A in sunny South Kensington is one of the world's great cultural museums and I love it almost as much as my wife. I'd never heard of the Young version, but it deals with childhood and toys and teenage obsessions from years past.

Just down the road from the station, in a seedier part of London than I was used to. More of an ethnic melting pot as well. I think it's always been this way.

Swen, who is a bit of a charmer, really, explained that I'd come all this way from Australia with a great desire to see the exhibition – a bit of a stretch, considering I'd never heard of it until that morning – and were there any quiet times we could get standby tickets for?

As it happened, they could squeeze us in after the current school group had left, so we dropped our small bags at the cloakroom, looked around the gift shop for a bit, explored the regular galleries and after a due delay, presented our tickets at the exhibition entrance.



Here's Joey from the stage production of War Horse, a Michael Morpurgo book that was a great sentimental hit. Apparently quite fragile after 1 600 performances, so children were discouraged from getting up for a ride.





I'm here to say that this museum is every bit as good as its parent on the other side of the metropolis. Better, in some ways, because there are hands-on exhibits, play areas, all sorts of things to keep young minds – in old bodies or not – enthralled.

Perhaps not as many seating areas as there could be, but there were a few. A small cinema in the Aardman exhibition looped snippets of the big hits and I watched them for a bit. I love the cleverness and humour of their work. Not to mention the zany British understated presentation of the utterly ridiculous as something just beyond normal.

Take crackers and a cheese knife to the moon to sample Wensleydale and Stilton? Fine!

You don't need to be a kid to enjoy this museum. Just being a kid once is good enough.

Once we'd – eventually – had our fill, it was time for lunch. Finding a pub amongst the halal and kebab shops was not as easy as it might once have been, but we managed.



"Pigs in Blankets?" my German friend asked of me and I did my best to explain. The Chip Butty and Battered Pickles sounded tasty but perhaps not terribly health-oriented.



Not that my burger with chipotle mayo and a pint of local cider was aimed at extending my life, but oh boy it tasted great and a few hours later, in the lounge, provided childish entertainment of a different nature.



I was trying to draw down my Pommie currency reserves – there are still a few places that frown on cards – but I kept one of the coins above. Guess which one?



Next stop, Tower Hill, where Swen wanted to visit a Harry Potter-themed shop. Once again, a non-trivial problem to find the right Tubes, but we got there. A grand selection of everything Hogwarts but dear lord, the prices! You could buy a small pack of jelly beans for eight pounds. In the end my mate bought a couple of trinkets for his female dancing partners and then we set off for the airport and a supermarket where frozen cottage pies could be obtained. Not for me, you understand, but in Germany they don't do these things. Fair enough. I declined the opportunity to smuggle a pork pie or two into Australia with three days intervening.

We retrieved our bags and stood all the way to Heathrow. Swen was leaving from T2 and wanted a cup of tea before parting but I needed a shower in the lounge, a comfy chair, and something cold and alcoholic, not necessarily in that order, and my flight left from T4.

Maybe I'll see him again in Singapore in 2027, but certainly Zurich the following year.

All in all, a grand day out.

 

[Flyfrequently]

You kept the tuppence @Skyring ?

 

[RooFlyer]

Guess which one?

I'll say Chuckie.

 

[Flyfrequently]

I'll say Chuckie.

If my 1st guess isn't correct, 2nd would be Lilibet @RooFlyer

 

[Skyring]

I surrender to the machine

I'll say Chuckie.

Only the second coin I've ever seen with the King on it. Funny, a lifetime of watching Liz get older, and we start to lose interest in coinage when the monarch changes.

Not unless you're a coin collector, I guess, but that's an obsession I'm happy to avoid.

 

[Skyring]

I surrender to the machine

A quick aside. If any of you want to be charmed by St Albans, here is a quick look:

I looked at this video before I went but after returning home I looked at it again and recognised many of the places I'd been.



My big bag had gone down a little in weight. Many of the books I'd brought with me had been distributed and I hadn't gathered too many to replace them. In the world of BookCrossing, that's a win! I'd also distributed five packs of Tim Tams and a bunch of Australian-themed gifties.

On the plus side, half a dozen Marks and Spencers undies, a polo, a tee, a flat cap, two cans of cider and a bottle. Two amenity kits. And three wee Starbucks mugs. Some little gifties for the grandkids.

Once I stepped off the train at T4, I was into the grip of the airline machinery. A comfortable grip, but options are limited until spat out at the far end. Before I fronted up at the Oman Air checkin, I needed to rearrange a few things in my bags, change my shirt, and swap my cushioned walking shoes for less-practical slipons. I found a toilet cubicle to do all that; a disabled one with plenty of room for all my stuff.

I was hoping for another Starbucks with maybe a wider selection of souvenir mugs, but not in this terminal. Oh well, off to the check in counters.

A nice young man checked me in, confirmed that I'd pick up my bag in Manila, handed me an invite for the Gulf Air lounge, and a boarding pass with two flights on it.

This proved to be insufficient when I tried to go through immigration and the machine complained that my boarding pass had the wrong airport on it.

Hmmm. I'd been given the BP for the Qantas flights and Heathrow was having none of this Manila nonsense. Back I traipsed to the check-in, received apologies and a fresh boarding pass, and resumed my journey.

I'd briefly looked online at the lounges available. Qatar had a lounge, and I knew that this would be excellent and I could get into the premium section as a J passenger, but I was seduced by the Gulf Air lounge with floor-to-ceiling views of the runway. Once I'd confirmed there were showers available, that was all I needed.



It might not be the solid product Qatar provides, but the Gulf Air lounge had all I needed and by far the better position. Give me a busy airport with planes of all varieties landing and taking off, and I can watch it all day, or so long as the bubbly supply holds out.



There was also a Qantas A380 with the hood up.

I spent a pleasant couple of hours using the free wifi, recharging my devices – and myself after a long day on my feet – and watching airliners zoom in and out.





Eventually my bird turned up. WY101, the flight I'd arrived on five days earlier. Not long now!

 

[Skyring]

Night Flight to the Middle East

I kept an eye on the departures board and when it changed to "Boarding", off I went. My bird had trundled off to the other side of the terminal. If I'd selected the Qatar lounge, I would have had a prime view of the arrival. Not to worry, it was only a few minutes walk.

Once again, this was a model with the "Business Studio" cabin – in fact it was the same aircraft I'd flown on a few days earlier – but this time I was in seat 10A, the first of the regular business seats.

This time I received an amenity kit, an Amouage-branded bag that may or may not have been leather. I rarely use these kits, but I always take them home for the women in my life. Or in the case of the Qantas kit I received on the flight to Manila, bundled into the "Australian" raffle prize that had been part of the convention.

Pyjamas were not handed out.



Coffee, a date, and juice were. And very welcome.



Takeoff was after nine PM, and the midsummer sun had only just slipped below the horizon.



And off we go! The pilot turned left after takeoff and continued turning unil we were aimed Southeast towards Muscat. We climbed above the clouds and the landscape below turned dim and dark, apart from the brightness of the Thames estuary. I think they dimmed the windows as we headed into the night, but I was receptive to the meal service.





Bubbly and nuts.


I selected the crispy duck as an entree – that's it at the back of my tray – and the crusted rack of lamb, with the Aussie Shiraz to wash it down.

I can't recall any dessert or movies. I began to make up my bed but a flight attendant spotted what I was about, moved me out of the way, and did it for me. Oh, so comfy after a long day! I zonked off for a few hours.



Dawn arrived somewhere over Saudi Arabia and then there was the rugged landscape of Oman beneath us as we headed down to Muscat.

6 July 2026
WY 102 LHR-MCT A40-SG B789
Scheduled: 2050
Boarding: 2010 Gate 2 Seat 10A
Pushback: 2054
Takeoff: 2112 to West
Landing: 0707 from West
Gate: 0717

 

[Skyring]

Muscat in Muscat?

Once again, I had a 90-minute transit in MCT. This time I skipped the shower and sat down to the breakfast I had skipped on the plane. The lounge has two dining areas that offer much the same food. Buffet selections anytime and menu choices are served to table at meal times.

I browsed the buffet – heavily Middle-Eastern choice of dishes, as you'd expect – and collected a hearty and tasty brekky. Along with a barista coffee. I popped off to the bar and asked for a small glass of Muscat, but they hadn't heard of such a thing. They had sherry and white wine but that wasn't the point. I may have settled for a flute of bubbly as a consolation.

If I come this way again I may have to find some way to smuggle in a duty-free bottle or something. I've had Shiraz in Shiraz, and that took some planning, so I'm sure I can find some way to tick this one off the list. I've also had turkey in Turkey (as it was then), a hamburger in Hamburg, a danish in Copenhagen and went hungry in Wales.

Oh well. It was a short but pleasant visit to an elegant and comfortable lounge.

My onward flight to Manila wasn't too far away. Again, I was a little early and had to sit down for a few minutes before my group – 1, naturally – was called.



Then it was more pampering with juice and coffee and a date. With champagne to follow.



I really must apologise for the lack of photographs. I must have become jaded. Or tired. Or both. Once upon a time a business-class flight between Muscat and Manila would have struck me as supremely exotic and there would be photographs and video every metre of the way.

I can't even remember what movie - if any – I watched. I certainly took a nap. Hard to do anything else, really, because they cranked down the window darkness once we were up and away.

I was probably reading. I'd already read the book Enigma by Hugh Sebag-Montefiore and given away a couple of copies - here and here – at St Albans. I'd intended to release a copy "into the wild" at Bletchley Park but it had been stuck in my still-en-route bag. I had the ebook on my iPad and was re-reading it, gaining new insights with my recent experience fresh in my mind.

I had a long layover in Manila, so I'd booked an extra day at the Belmont rather than bum around town until my evening flight the next day. I'd also arranged a hotel shuttle and once we landed, I began getting messages from the hotel rep, who was to meet me on arrival.

As it happened, we taxied here and there, waited for a gate to open up, and I was growing increasingly anxious about my ride. As an ex-cabbie, I've done my share of airport pickups and it can be a very inefficient way to earn a dollar if the plane is late. In the days of anytime lounge access when I had WP status, I'd simply go up to the lounge at Canberra and wait there for my passenger, indulging in the supply of free finger food and machine coffee.

It was well over half an hour before we got to the gate and I still had to go through immigration and luggage collection, and the last time it had taken me an hour or so.

There was a board at the end of the jetway with my name – and a few others – on it, being held up by a Qantas staffer. Uh-oh. This was probably not good.

The Qantas rep was explaining to another gent that luggage needed to be collected at this terminal and checked in the following day at the other terminal, regardless of whether it had been tagged through to a final Australian destination. The gentleman indicated that he was staying nearby, at the Belmont, and I filed that away.

I stuck my hand up, pointed to my name, and got the same spiel. I hadn't intended to leave without my bag so it was wasted effort but I guess Qantas gets quite a lot of hassle from passengers who are puzzled that their bags haven't turned up a day later at Sydney, or Brisbane, and it's the Manila groundstaff who have to sort this out.

I nodded to indicate I understood, and took off as fast as my slippery footwear would allow to reduce the waiting time for my driver. I whipped through immigration, as I was one of the first there and I'd used the lounge time in Muscat to fill in an arrival form online.

And came to a halt at the empty baggage carousel. I let my hotel rep know that I was waiting for my bag and would be out as soon as I could. In the meantime, the gent from the jetway turned up and we got to chatting. He wasn't sure how he was getting to the Belmont, the free bus had probably ceased operations by now. I said I had a lift organised and we'd see if we could sneak him aboard.

He, Bob, was wearing a marathon tee, and was also a parkrunner. He'd been up in Scotland doing a marathon and had come via the same flights I had. He certainly looked more like a proper runner than my tubby self. We talked about running for a while. As runners do, and non-runners roll their eyes.

The luggage had started to tumble out now, and we both kept an eye on the carousel. It was one of those where the bags came up on a conveyor from somewhere down below and fell down a slide onto the carousel. I was startled to see a couple of baggage handlers come walking up the ramp between the suitcases. Each had a cat carrier from which emerged sounds of feline annoyance. The bagmen handed their charges over to another of their ilk, hopped up on the carousel, and walked back down to the world beneath.

Not something you see at home.

We loaded up a trolley and headed out to find our ride. I scanned the instructions on my Whatsapp feed, and spotted her without too much difficulty. This had been giving me some concern, Manila not being the most orderly of airports.

I apologised for the delay and introduced Bob as a fellow Belmont guest. No objection was raised to him sharing the ride, so I was able to save him some time and expense. Thank you, Belmont!

My room was much the same layout as I'd had a few days earlier, apart from being a mirror image with no view of the airport. I didn't care. It was comfortable and I needed sleep. Goodnight!

6 July 2026
WY 843 MCT-MNL A40-SC B789
Scheduled: 0915
Boarding: 0845 Seat 10A
Pushback: 0942
Takeoff: 1001 to West
Landing: 2212 from East
Gate: 2254

 

[Skyring]

A day off

I had the whole day ahead. And a room to myself for all that time. Yeah, maybe I should have been out and about exploring a new city. Plenty of historic stuff to see.

But I'm a writer. I had work to do. Skool zoom sessions to attend. And catch up with. A book that needed hefty reworking. This TR. And the Japan one previous, shamefully abandoned.

My room rate didn't include breakfast but I went down anyway, paid a bunch of money for a buffet and enjoyed a leisurely solo repast. Coffee is something important to me and I'd endured some instant coffee – and milk powder – from the room supplies. This was good.

Even better, there was a Starbucks integrated into the building. I made a note of this for lunchtime, morning tea having been pretty much bulldozed over with my long brekky.

There was even a convenience store next to the Starbucks. I could have dined on noodles, using the kettle in my room to boil water. I filed that possibility away, somewhere down deep.



Another mug. This pretty much shows a bunch of my obsessions in one place. Extra marks for anyone recognising the character on my laptop lid.

I also got a salmon and dill toastie from Starbucks. Not too badly overpriced, not too tasty. But hey. I'd been dining pretty well. Qantas would give me some tucker on the plane.


I checked on my status with Qantas, to see if my points from Oman Air had arrived. As it happened, they had. All going well, I'd be back in the blissful land of WP by tomorrow, with some extras on top as the DSC arrived.

I still had the afternoon ahead of me and I decided to document the room after retrieving the two large cans of English cider I'd stashed in the fridge earlier.



No judging, please. I don't drink alone.



Another kilo down on the luggage total, give or take, though I guess the souvenir mug bumped that up a little. And the Oman amenity kit.

Oh well, once I repacked everything for the final few flights ahead, the good people at the Qantas checkin would weigh my bag.

 

[Skyring]

Homeward Bound on the Red Roo

"But you don't check out until tomorrow!"

The lady on the Belmont desk seemed surprised that I would forgo another night in their establishment.

"My flight's this evening," I explained.

And with that, I handed back my bamboo keycards.

Thanks, AFF, for the suggestion of the Belmont. It may not be the fanciest hotel, but it was very comfortable and convenient. To get to T3 and my Qantas flight, all I needed to do was navigate a laneway, take a lift up to the Runway pedestrian overpass, stride over the freeway, and there I was.





Here's the terminal side of the Runway, looking back at the Belmont. Manila may not win any prizes for elegant civic architecture but it seems to rub along okay.

Once I was in the terminal, heading for checkin, things got even more seedy. There were people sleeping on the floor, up against walls, all but erecting lean-tos in the corridors.

I had to show documentation just to get to the check-in counters. I had my Oman Air boarding pass for the MNL-BNE flight, so that was ok. Qantas ignored this and printed out some new passes for me. And a pass for the PAGSS lounge I'd be using to await my flight in luxurious comfort.



All good. My luggage weight hadn't changed at all since Heathrow, despite draining 900g of prime cider. One of life's great mysteries.

The terminal itself was chaotic, a mish-mash of luxury brands and pop-up stalls. Sadly, no Starbucks, despite a long walk up and down. Oh well, I'd see what delights the lounge offered.

Until recently there had been a Cathay Pacific lounge, and they generally put out a good product but there were only scars on the wall and plywood over the doors where that had been.



Apologies to the dismembered chap in the photo above; it's two photos stitched together and this guy was in the suture zone.

I've been in some dismal lounges in my life but this one has to take the cake. Crowded, cluttered, refreshments of dubious quality, no style about it at all. At least the beer was free. And there were a few recharging outlets to battle over.

Good thing I had charged up all my devices in the hotel. Qantas wouldn't let me use power bricks aboard, and it's always a coughshoot with the onboard power.

My mate Bob was curled up in a corner, reading. We exchanged horrified glances.

Well, I was horrified. Bob had made his peace and found his niche.

I got out with an hour to go before takeoff, cruised the corridors for a bit and then found the gate lounge, where we sat down for a few minutes before being chivvied out so that our bags could supposedly be inspected for liquids. I sat down again and waited for the torture to end.

Kind of sorry I hadn't spent another hour in my comfy hotel room, possibly with a flat white and a tasteless toastie to keep me happy.



Eventually we were called aboard into the welcoming arms of Qantas. Routebear gave me a wan smile and we drank our bubbles down.



The menu looked good. A beef fillet, no less. I made a mental note, and ticked the icecream, hoping for more Pat and Stick.



Breakfast. I made smiley faces through juice, coffee, and focaccia.



I managed to snap one chaotic photo of a chaotic airport. Gate 11 apparently still has a body outline where Ninoy Aquino was assassinated by the Marcos push, and after a regime change in favour of his widow, the airport had been named after him.

The Belmont can be seen at the left of the photo, so close it's almost airside. The nearby Sheraton is double the price.

Off we went. Manila became a scatter of lights and disappeared astern. I may have had more bubbles, and then a Shiraz with my beef fillet. I had to check that I wasn't using a butter knife to saw through it, it was such a struggle. Otherwise tasty, especially a yummy leaf salad.



The icecream for dessert was okay, but definitely a long way short of the Pat and Stick heavenly treat. ***SIGH***

At least the free inflight wifi was working. I attempted a Zoom call in my publishing course but it didn't work. I put it down to lack of bandwith but it turned out to be an error in the link. Sorry it didn't work. It would have been fun to join in from ten kilometres up.

Hey ho. Pyjamas had been handed out, I donned them, snuggled into my flat bed, and slept all the way home.

View attachment BC SA Day 9 BNE dawn.jpg

Not quite. I woke before breakfast, looked out the window as the day dawned, and reflected on my adventure. Another country notched up, technically speaking. And another airport visit that didn't quite count.

A weekend with good friends, some great food and drink, and a visit to Bletchley Park, a place of immense historic importance that had nearly been lost.


And another flag on my parkrun app. I was now an official Jetsetter.

We came in from the north, curved around Bribie and Redcliffe, and thumped down onto Australia.

After deplaning, I glanced at my Qantas app:



I'd made it to Gold, and almost to Platinum and neither had had any effect on my current trip. All the status in the world would not have made my bag go any faster across the Sydney tarmac, and apart from Sydney, where I had zero chance of lounge time, there had been no First lounges in my terminals.

Huh. Next big trip, things will be different!

7 July 2026
QF 98 MNL-BNE VH-EBK A332
Scheduled: 2145
Boarding: 2120 Seat 4A
Pushback: 2203
Takeoff: 2226 to West
Landing: 0715 from East
Gate: 0720