It's all the other shenanigans. I got stopped and searched by security - not because I look like a beardy terrorist, but because I had totally forgotten to take off my crucifix necklace, and it set the scanner off.
"Over here please sir," said a gruff man in a blue shirt. "Shoes off."
They made me stand in a kind of glass booth, like Superman's molecular chamber. While I thought about it, it wasn't really the time to make a joke about losing my super powers. The door swung open and I walked out in my socks, where the gruff man searched me. So much for being 'airport ready' I thought.
I'm in the departure lounge, opposite two Ukrainians who are covering themselves in make-up, guided by hand-held mirrors and occasional glances at each other. It's certainly the place. Getting here was a bit like going through cosmetics purgatory - the shiny hall of perfumes. It reminded me of a sort of never-ending Debenhams, where poor souls wander aimlessly between gigantic adverts for Calvin Klein and Revel and Max Factor, amidst the sickly scent of their own eternal failure to ever look that good. I made it through. So did the Ukrainians, although they're doing their best to disguise their faces completely while they sit here.
There are so many people here, coming and going. Well, going mostly, I suppose, given that this is the departure lounge. I wonder where. A lot of stag dos, I'd wager. I saw a circle of lads around a pile of baggage earlier. One of them was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and shorts and the others were jeering at him. I never want to go on one of those.
I guess I'll be boarding soon. Then it's the long flight over the ocean and through the time zones. It's not that complicated by the time you get to that point. You just have to sit there and trust the extraordinary skills of someone you've never met, while they fly 80 tonnes of metal over a quarter of the way around the world for seven hours.
Gulp.
I'll be alright.
See you on the other side.
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