Home Again Home Again, Lickety-Split

Do you realise that in the 1600s, it took two years for Europeans to travel to Japan? ONE WAY.

They either had to go through the dreaded Pass of Magellan, at the bottom of South America, which is one of the world's most tempestuous waterways on a GOOD day, or the Cape of Good Hope, at the bottom of Africa. (Great name, no? Some mariner had a sense of humor).

But it took two years -- in a rat-infested, leaking tub of timbers sawn together in haste, little or no food, hostile natives at every port . . . well, at least they didn't have to go through Security and remove their shoes every few hours.

But I did it all in reverse, in 24 hours, yesterday. Yep, sailed all the way from The Japans in 24 hours. I think that's at least a 1,000% improvement in time savings from the old seafarers.

But in neurons lost? Priceless. The sheer mind-numbing tedium of airports -- they might as well be re-christened "bus stations" -- makes air travel today, well, just a chore.

I made it. I woke up today in my own bed but didn't realise it, I thought I was in a hotel or a hospital or a Hell, but when I discovered I was home, a wash of amazement such as you ain't seen greasently, bruddah, swept over my soul.

Home.

Home.

Repeat after me: home.

Details at 11.