It didn't start that well. Our trip home that us. Our 30 something hour flight home.

A one on the morning departure was never great planning but, with nothing else to do we headed for the airport in plenty time.

Plenty time as in you could have smelted aluminium and built your own plane from plans and still been early.

Despite that, somehow we managed to get behind a family who looked like they were making a weekly shipment to Tesco. Each person had at least three cardboard boxes, all wrapped in polythene loading a half dozen trolleys to the limit.

"Dad" had a fistful of passports which at first glance looked liked way too many for the folk I could see. And that was a lot.

Then, horror of horrors I spotted that half the women folk had a screamer in their arms.

Consequently, about four hours in I decided I'd start a new pressure group. KWAP.

Keep Weans Aff Planes.

OK. I'll accept this is a bit hypocritical as we still remember when our wee Fiona crashed teeth first into the marble floor of Geneva airport and screamed for the first two hours of that flight. However, 1) I'm now of an age where being grumpy is part of the job description and 2) she did stop, although it took the guy in the seat in front to turn and jangle his keys in front of her to achieve that. Fiona instantly stilled, gazed, oooh'd and ahh's at the keys then grabbed them and chucked them, irretrievably out of reach down the sides of the seats.

We then had to suffer this bloke wailing for the last hour.

Anyway. Time to go. The flight just got called for the next 12 hours of the joys of travel.