My plane took off half an hour late from Changi. When everything else is so seamlessly efficient (twenty minutes from office to terminal, five minutes to check in and less than a minute to clear security) any delay is a shock to the system. Also, there’s a nasty smell at Gate A3, Terminal 3, so the longer I spent say there, the unhappier I became.
Usually when you board a plane it’s bitterly cold: Garuda 837 was uncomfortably warm, the air stuffy and close. After fifteen minutes of sitting in my seat, feeling increasingly vile, I realised this was because the air vent above my seat was turned off, and so that was one thing it was easy to rectify.
Being sat in a middle row seat two thirds of the way from the front of the plane isn’t so easy to get over, but it’s an exit row seat so there’s more legroom than usual, and it’s only a couple of hours to Jakarta. Indeed, I’m worried that with traffic as it is in Jakarta, it’ll probably take longer to get to the hotel than to fly from Singapore to Indonesia. But then you don’t want to go overboard on efficiency.
Last night Destroyer woke me up at 5:30, crying for her mother. (Her mother was sound asleep and didn’t even stir.) So I went in to see her, and had to deal with a child who really didn’t want the paternal offerings on the parental menu, and a Serpiente was was simultaneously intransigent and sound asleep, flopping in the way to stop me giving Destroyer a hug. Still, after a few minutes Destroyer gave up crying and went back to sleep, satisfied, I suppose, that there were more bodies in the bed than designed. I slept on the edge of the mattress and woke up feeling horrid this morning, but that serves me right for remarking how well the girls have been sleeping recently.
Apparently they always act out when I’m not in the country. I don’t even have to be home, I just have to be within 25 miles and they don’t give my wife any nonsense. If I cross a border, all bets are off, so while I’m sound asleep in my hotel tonight, I assume my wife will be dealing with shenanigans. Ah well, I’ll make it up to her with pilfered hotel toiletries. Who couldn’t love a husband who brings them half empty, miniature tubes of toothpaste?