Tiger, Tiger, Burning Dim

With the mercury currently up to 43 degrees C (110 in old money) here in the Australian outback, the prospect of going home to face the coldest winter in 1000 years is not exactly grabbing me by the goolies.

When I think about it though, it's not so much the change of temperature as the hassle of getting home, and what awaits when I get there, that's putting me off. Let's face it, 24 hours in an aluminium tube breathing 400 people's recycled farts is hardly the stuff of dreams. Crammed into a seat that would make even my diminutive old showbiz chum Ronnie Corbett claustrophobic and picking at a rubber meal while the fat bloke next to you elbows you in the ribs for the tenth time, with Captain Caruthers muttering something about it being 'a bit bumpy' up ahead over the Tannoy, really doesn't do it for me.

'Why not go first class?' I hear you shout. Well the truth is, dear reader, that's the other half of the equation. The old ECR finances are in a woeful state and have been for some time. 'Thank you for choosing Cathay Pacific' they intone on your way out. Truth is, there was no choice involved. They were the cheapest. Like Tiger Woods, who I snapped above in an ad for Accenture at Terminal 3 as it awaited the sponsor's sponge, my career is in the doldrums. And I haven't even had the pleasure of boffing a few cocktail waitresses along the way.

'It's what you do next that counts,' says the slogan in the ad, as poor old Tigger looks forlornly at his ball, stuck on a ledge by the creek. It says it all really. Both for him, and for me. Downstairs I can hear Jimmy Wicket working on his human tripod routine in the rumpus room. A bright new career awaits me writing his gags, dressing his massive prosthetic, and fending off the pot throwers at the local RSL. The words 'rock' and 'hard place' spring to mind.

Maybe I will brave the flight and the snow after all.