Arrive in Sydney, flying business class, thank you very much, where they called me Ms Cow and not “will you please hurry up and stow your bags in the overhead lockers and sit down quickly”.
Then asked me if I would like a water or apple and strawberry juice, and not ask me if I would like to ask my children to be a little more quiet, thank you.
It was a smidge weird not flying with the kids. I wondered what I could possibly do to entertain myself for the hour and a bit flight.
After being pulled aside – again – to be tested for explosives residue, which I can only put down to the miniacal grin I was wearing due to lack of children, I was met at the airport by a lovely, chatty man, who wrestled my suitcase off the conveyer belt thingy for me and lead it to the car, where he dropped me off at a swish hotel, where we met