Between flights I always forget completely how uncomfortable air travel is.
At the start of a holiday, it's an inconvenience to be overcome, in order to get to a destination. So no matter how tedious and bone-crunchingly (or more to the point muscle-tighteningly) uncomfortable it is, there's always the holiday to look forward to.
Coming home is slightly different. Yes, there's home and family and friends and pets to look forward to. But it's a night flight for us these times. And even with extra leg-room, three seats each to ourselves, head-phones, blankets, pillows galore, books, and music, nothing (nothing) can dull the engine noise (it roars, like white noise gone horribly wrong) and screaming babies.
But oh what memories.
And what to look forward to - home.
I think I can lie down and try and sleep now. Unless the dulcet tones of the captain get through the racket to announce turbulence and seat belts.
Oh for the 'chance to dream'.
I slept for one hour.