It has to be said – relaxing in a classy hotel room is wayyyy better than dragging one’s sorry exhausted arse through cattle-class flights & unfriendly airports. Presently I’m sitting in our loungeroom at the Trump International Tower, looking out
Concourse blogging
G’day thrillseekers! You can tell when I’m bored when I start blogging things as I’m actually doing them. In a fit of disastrous forward planning, I’ve got 6 hours to kill in Dulles Washington Airport, on my way to Las
Rrrrrock et rrroll!
It’s not as often as I’d like that I get the chance to do a random quick dash out to Europe based on a wafer-thin premise, however Big Pete’s insistence that we go to an Iron Maiden gig provided just
Hot springs? Tick. Midnight sun? Tick. Ice and snow? Not so much.
I’m a big fan of careering off on illogical adventures at relatively short notice, so when my housemate James asked me about a fortnight ago if I wanted to come to Reykjavik for a free Bjork gig I mightily hit