See, I wouldn't lie to you.
Well, I say that. I'm actually on the plane now but a plane is a plane. And I could take a picture on a plane on any plane. Anywhere. So I didn't bother.
Moving on (as I eventually hope to do, just as soon as the big air hostess closes the doors) it's time for the annual pilgrimage to the North West 200 motorbike races.
If you're not aware, the event involves a group of mad people in helmets careering round the (closed) public roads of Portstewart, Portrush and Coleraine at speeds in excess of 200mph.
And when they're having a rest, everyone goes to the pub.
What's not to like?
My very Scottish pal Sandy is meeting me in Belfast later after flying over from London. We're rendezvousing in the pub.
Before then I'm meeting my old university comrade Paul, who I haven't seen for ages, in the same pub (TBA).
Then Sandy and I shall head north to The Shrine, otherwise known as The Railway Arms in Coleraine where we'll hook up with my biking stepdad-in-law Mike who's ridden (and ferried) over from Yorkshire this morning.
I haven't had a long weekend of such high brow culture since this time last year.
I hear I enjoyed it.
