One advantage of visiting the trampoline park the weekend before you fly is that when your wife knackers her ankle, she gets a wheelchair to propel herself around the airport, and even better you’re all upgraded to the Special Service Lounge at Changi, a quiet space with dim lighting and soft chairs to sit in. The kids get to watch the Cartoon Network and you can focus on important stuff like buying chocolate eggs with Frozen characters from the shop downstairs.
Apart from spending all day as a maelstrom of panic (watching a terrifying Neil Blomkamp short film, Zygote, last night and then having a midnight phone call and a 2:30 wake up from La Serpiente is not the recipe for mental robustness) everything was unstressful. This is a great surprise because I like to be packed a week in advance, rather than packing my bags on the day of the flight and hoping there’s nothing we’ve forgotten.
Still, the clockwork precision of Singapore means we can be disorganised and still get to the airport with the minimum of fuss (save manic children trying to sleep because they’ve had no naps and a swimming lesson and it’s now waaaaay past bedtime). I hope that we get on the plane without disaster and cope with 12 hours in a metal tube. We’ve done it before, it’s just we’ve all been fully capable of walking. And we haven’t had another flight and a drive after us to look forward to.
As for me, I think I’m calm. I need to be on at least one phone call with work next week. But the rest is silence.