It’s starting to get ridiculous. It feels like I hardly got back to Singapore, and I’m already heading back to the airport. Given all I packed in between 2am on Sunday and now, it should feel like a long time has passed, especially as I didn’t waste time sleeping, but I think the generalised fatigue is just squashing all the hope and joy out of me.
Never mind. There will be plenty of time to sleep when I get back to England and I’m reunited with my children.
Oh.
I hadn’t thought that one through very carefully.
A terrible thing about flying so much is that you do get jaded. Gone is my wonderment that heavier-than-air vehicles can fly, replaced with a sour rage that I’m going to be stuck on a plane for twelve hours, at the back, somebody’s seat reclined back as far as it will go (which turns out to be three inches beneath the skin on my knees).
On the bright side, I’m going to sleep. Unfortunately, the way I’m going right now, eyes like pissholes in the snow, I might pass out before check-in, and wake up covered in my own drool on an offensive piece of carpet. Good times.
Well, I spoke too soon. There was no queue at the check in, and the nice lady even said I could take the travel cot I was toting onto the plane, rather than pay $150 to check it. I must have looked super aghast when she told me that price, although I’m still worried it might get confiscated at the security cordon for being an offensive weapon. After all, they do ban nunchucks on flights, and all it would require is a big bit of chain and I could be swinging bits of the cot’s frame around my head like a wannabee Bruce Lee. A wannalee?
So. Two and a half hours until I can sit my tired body down and sleep. So long, so long…