We're in Singapore

 Just to catch you up....

Wednesday was our last day of work.

Thursday we flew Christchurch to Auckland in the afternoon, and stayed at a hotel within a stone's throw from Auckland International terminal.

We do this a lot, because Sarah only does one sector a day. I tease her mercilessly about it, so don't tell her that it's a good idea. Too often we have had to deal with passengers who had their trip upended before it began, because the weather set in and they missed their connections. Or there are mechanical issues with the domestic flight because the pilot's wallet got wedged behind his seat cushion. Or maybe the plane was broken.

Regardless, there are many reasons why what started as a perfect connection between two flights, domestic or international, turns quickly into a scramble for seats to get somewhere.

OK, so Friday morning we saunter into check-in, all refreshed and with all the time in the the world. (Don't tell her, OK?)

We check out the Premium check-in space, because I'm a Koru member. Pretty civilised, but with 4 bag drops it's odd that we can only use the one with a staff member draped over it. Policy schmolicy.

The fun thing is that this check-in area has a private lift to the premium queue at Emigration upstairs. That's a nice touch.

So through the sensory overload called duty free, we navigate to the Air New Zealand lounge.

Pretty busy here, but we find a couple of seats. A few choices for breakfast, and then we just wait for the call to the gate, that the lounge PA promised.

Unfortunately, the call didn't come, so we made our way to the gate when the app told me they were boarding. Gate 5 is only a short walk, so no harm no foul.

To be fair, I've been a firm believer that if you can afford Koru membership, you can afford a fucking watch. So there's that. Just don't over-promise.

The flight to Singapore was uneventful, and I mean that in a good way. Premium Economy seats are like the old-school Business class on some airlines. I actually prefer this to our Business product. That is a very insular experience, and not really designed to travel with the Missus.

The food, as always, was terrific. Like a Clayton's Business Class menu. Sarah had the fish, and loved it. I had the porkbelly. Perfect. Snack after a few hours I had a ham sandwich, Sarah had salmon. Then dinner before landing I did the short ribs and Sarah did the trifecta with another fish dish.

That in itself is odd. Sarah almost never chooses fish on the ground. She made up for that here.

During the flight, she read a couple of her trashies, had a snooze, and watched Paddington in Peru (again), and the new, woke Snow White.

I spent most of the flight working on a self-imposed project for work. Our Collective is too many pages and too convoluted. Every negotiation we've been in, we all had best intentions of tidying up the clauses to work better together. Every time we run out of time.

So that's my mission before I retire. Not to rebuild it, but to make a Readers Digest version, grouping together the clauses that matter to people. So that was me during our 10-hr flight. I'll be doing that during the flights, or when I'm not writing to you, dear readers.

Arrival in Singapore is such a doddle, compared to most places. Off the aircraft and a short walk to the escalator down to arrivals. I know that this is a huge airport, and sometimes there are many, many travelators to get you where you need to be. Like BKK.

But wherever AirNZ have negotiated to land here, it's really close.

Once we got to the top of the escalator, I knew where I was. Looking down into a huge room (empty this time of day), the far wall is literally a wall of self-processing droids.

Last time I was here, there was a wall of uniformed officers doing this job. They're probably all Grab drivers now.

This is all well and good, till I get to the second droid, where I have to be recognised by the camera, and matched to the passport photo I've just shown them at the first droid, in order to get out of the drafting gates.

Let me just say now that they do not have iPhone technology here. Attempt after attempt failed. Then a smug officer with an iPad comes over and says "Take your glasses off", and suddenly I was released and on my way.

Now I ask you...

In every Superman movie you've ever seen, did the Clark Kent glasses REALLY make him unrecognisable as Superman? Of course not. "Oh look, it's Superman with a suit on. And he's wearing glasses"

Not here. Mr Kent had better not present his Superman passport here, or he'd be stuck.

And my iPhone recognises me with or without glasses, moustache or beard. Just saying...