I have to say, apart from their grevious taste in music, and a bewildering inability to grasp no-brainers - there really are too many people on the planet already, so let's not go forth and multiply, shall we? - pilgrims are rather gorgeous to have around.
As it happened, I was obliged to travel to Sydney whilst suffering from a biblically-proportioned onslaught of Carson's Holy Flu. Think Dawn of the Dead and that's me, trying to get the two of us from the alarmingly remote long term carpark to the airport terminal at nothing o'clock with Too Much Luggage and not a trolley in sight. I hereby swear to God that not once, not the whole way, did I ever have to lift my bag, get jostled in the (impressive) queues, get in anyone's face, or so much as listen to an unkind or ratty word spoken by anyone. At every step, I was beset with Acts of Gratuitous Kindness, pilgrims helping without me having to ask for it. It was nothing short of miraculous. Even the airline staff seemed stunned out of their customary state of hyper-grooviness, and I can't tell you what a Blessed Relief that was because we were flying Virgin Blue.
Of course, Sydneysiders might feel differently, having done much harder yards. I freely admit that for most of my stay the only sights I saw were the inside of a medical centre and the equally unfascinating chemist nearby.
Be good, now. God is watching you.