Waiting for takeoff


After a week in London, I’m abandoning my wife and kids for three weeks, flying back to the all-embracing heat of Singapore.

I was amazed how empty Heathrow was. I suppose that most people don’t choose to travel on a Saturday evening, but the terminal felt deserted. That may be just me making comparisons to when we flew to Halifax in the summer, and it seemed like there was a competition going on to pack as many people as possible into the check-in hall.

I got to call home and bid farewell to La Serpiente; she shouted at me a bit, then seemed to get cross (probably because not everything in the universe was arranged around her). I bumbled around for a bit then went to the gate, where it seemed everyone else was waiting for me. That’s because we’re flying on an A380, which can accommodate about 5% of the population of Singapore. There’s half an hour left to get everyone on the plane before it flies off.

I got to open my birthday cards and presents today, while I was still in the bosom of my family. Now I’m transporting a slice of birthday cake back with me, and a book to read on the flight home. It won’t be wonderful to spend my birthday away from everyone, but I keep telling myself the extra sleep and peace and quiet will make up for it.

Well, some of it.


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