Lacking spirit

Traditionally, the Australian spirit is that 'Jack's as good as his master' so Qantas has it right: on the national airline, service is a dirty word - you want a packet of peanuts? Catch! - and whatever your gripe - airport PA system continuously screeching? delayed departure? no explanation? no apology? warm wine? luggage on the next flight? - the attitude is she'll be right mate, what's your problem?

The battle of the arm-rest was lost before I even sat down in my aisle seat (so cruel! Called up to the departure gate desk, excitedly thinking "Upgrade!" only to have my requested window seat boarding card torn up in front of my eyes and be relegated to an aisle seat at the back near the toilets) with two big men in the other seats. No seat-back TVs, I'd seen the movie anyway, and Mr Bean? Sigh. Have you no shame, Rowan?

At least the journey was uneventful - everything you could ask of a flight - and I arrived safe and sound, if 2 hours late. Fysh and McGinnis would be shaking their heads at my feeble whining, remembering how they flew across untracked Outback by the seat of their pants, fuel low, hoping to find suitable landing sites, with sick people open to the blast of the slipstream.

But Air New Zealand? All is forgiven.