And Relax...

After a long 19+ hours of travel, we finally arrived at our gloriously extra Bali villa for a week of rest, relaxation, and mosquito warfare.

Did we need a four-bedroom villa with a private chef, housekeeper, gardener, and security team? Absolutely not. Did we book it anyway because it cost the same as a one-bedroom? Obviously yes.

But, as is life, our week of pool-lounging, G&T-sipping, and swatting prehistoric insects eventually came to an untimely end, and we braced ourselves for the gruelling trip home... or so we thought.

Now picture this: It’s 2pm in Denpasar Airport. We’ve survived the 4 hour hair-raising taxi ride, devoured the local delicacy of fried chicken and chips (clearly stepping out of our comfort zone), debated an “I ❤️ Bali” t-shirt, and are feeling very on top of things. Our gate (6A) is being announced in three minutes, so off we trot, responsible adults that we are, planning to get there early.

We double-check the boards. Triple-check the flight number. 'Boarding soon' it says. Gate 6A. Easy.

We arrive to find a line of seemingly non-Australian travellers queueing at gate 6A, the board above stating the destination is Singapore. Odd, but hey, there are severe storms in Brisbane, and we were warned that we may be delayed. Perhaps this is the flight before ours. We settle in with the Australians nearby, because surely they know where they’re going.

We sit there for an hour, listening to final calls for every destination on Earth except Brisbane. “Delayed,” we begrudge to ourselves.

We watch the entire 'Singapore' flight board, doors close, and the screen flashes: ‘Next flight: Brisbane. After that: Perth’

“See? Brisbane. Let’s queue”

A man approaches. “Sorry, where are you going?”

“Brisbane!” we say, like proud idiots.

“Come with me”. He escorts us to the desk, whose sign - literally moments ago - read Singapore.

The agent looks at us like we’ve escaped adult supervision. “Your flight just left.”

(Cue us blinking in unison like confused meerkats) “But…”

He shrugs, unimpressed by our commitment to being wrong.

A late fee and replacement booking later (the airline didn’t charge us… which feels suspicious, like they know we’re right), we hopped into a taxi and embraced our unexpected bonus day in Bali.

Jack found us a hotel instantly, which, thanks to Black Friday, was the same price as 4 Mange Tout coffees. We arrived at our modern-Balinese safe haven in Kuta, with magnificent outdoor pool and cocktails strong enough to resurrect the dead.

We ate dinner beachside, visited the Bamboo Hut (imagine Jersey’s infamous Tikki Hut but make it open plan and less sticky), enjoyed live music, wandered the art market, and awoke to a breakfast of omelettes, waffles, and some of the best coffee of our lives.

But all good things must come to an end, and reality returned via our flight home through one of Brisbane’s worst storms in ages (over 200,000 lightning strikes and hailstones up to 12cm). Babies screamed, we circled the airport for over an hour, but somehow we lived to complain about it.

Now, onto the next adventure: picking up our trailer tomorrow. Current name contender: Lenny, though still open to suggestions

P.s. Greg the guard gecko, our security staff at the Lovina Villa, says 'hi'...