Once again, I've just the one night in Sydney, spent laundering smalls and repacking the Samsonite, this time for four different climates.

Still in a torpor of the Melbourne Cup Carnival's making, I foolishly allow over-exuberance to best me on the long (and mercifully unplugged) flight. Suffice it to say the First Class wine carte du jour is fully appraised. Traipsing into the American Airlines lounge at Dallas-Fort Worth, I feel bad. When we touch down in Miami, I feel worse.