My little mum took us to the airport at three in the morning, bless her. It is always a strange feeling, those in-between hours waiting to go to the airport, especially if it’s an extended trip. Something like excitement and disbelief and pure panic, all in a sleep-deprived drunken-like muddle that serves no useful purpose at all. My sister and I ate chubby chicken strips from A & W at ten o’clock. I think that is the first time in my life I have eaten that; perhaps the last. I must find some kind of odd comfort in greasy food when I’m in that muddy state because the last time I left I had my last Canadian meal at an odd hour of the night. That time, it was McDonalds of all things… like I can’t get that anywhere else. We hung about the airport for a while, had some tea to calm the nerves and got on the plane without much fuss. So far, so good.