When I board the long-haul back over the Pacific for a birthday or for Christmas, Qantas is a big part of the whole nostalgic ritual. I do still call Australia home, I like hearing accents from home when I board, I like having decent tea with breakfast. I like gluing my nose to the window for the view of Sydney that Clive James described so beautifully, “yachts racing on the crushed diamond water under a sky the texture of powdered sapphires”. In a more homesick moment, I hung a Qantas calendar in my office because it reminded me I’d get to go home. Qantas is the only brand that’s ever been able to elicit this kind of saccharine loyalty from me. Until today, I thought it was deserved.
Here’s what happened. Two days ago, there was a mechanical fault on QF8. Time for one of my favourite verbs; to de-plane. Head to baggage claim to get your things. It’s 2.30am, so it’s annoying, but mechanical problems happen and when they do you’d really rather be on the ground – Qantas’ safety record is one reason for my loyalty. I like to grip the armrest during turbulence and play the scene from Rain Man in my head: never had a crash, never had a crash, never had a crash.
