So we pick up our luggage and leave home, leaving my brother standing sleepily at the gate with his horrendous bed-hair.

“Bye.” my father says.
“Bye.” my brother replies.
“Bye.” my mother says.
“Bye.” my brother replies.

We trudge up the flight of stairs to the lift landing. I picture my brother wheeling away from the closed door, doing a forward roll (as it was rather difficult to imagine him attempting a cartwheel, much less a somersault) followed by a star jump at the end of the roll accompanied by a delirious “yippee!”

I have just one very light suitcase inside which I kept my winter-ware and a half-empty backpack to carry. My parents have to contend with a large navy blue suitcase, a medium-sized navy blue sling bag and a black haversack between them. I volunteer to carry the large suitcase, which I immediately find to be considerably heavy, and curse under my breath. Then my father pulls out the hand carrier of the very heavy suitcase and wheels it effortlessly along the walkway to the road. It is simply amazing how technology improves our lives.

We flag down a cab after a short wait. The driver is middle-aged and shows the same disregard for traffic rules and listens to the same dubious choice of car stereo music as most cab drivers. It is a depressing ride to the airport in a dreary vehicle. When we are almost there, the driver whips out his mobile phone to answer a call and chats away. I’m suddenly reminded of my driving instructor as I write these words.

We have an hour to spare after checking in our luggage so we lounge around. I pick up the December issue of Four Four Two magazine at W.H. Smith’s, and am aghast to find a naked Faustino Asprilla posing naked in the pages. I wonder how the customs officers will take to a naked Colombian footballer staring out at them with only strategically positioned shadows protecting his modesty. Otherwise the magazine keeps me occupied most of the spare time I have. Reading other pages, of course.

The flight was a bit of a none-event. We flew out at one in the morning and I slept through most of it, although the annoying bald passenger in front of me seemed intent on denying me any leg room at all by lowering his seat back as far as he could. I shall call this gentleman Spalding. During meal-time, I ask the stewardess to make Spalding restore his seat to the upright position, and am immensely pleased when he complies.

However Spalding reclines his seat again after the meal. I envisage him developing cancerous piles and having to stand for the rest of the flight. To lull myself to sleep, I shall count the malignant growths on his posterior. One cancerous pile, two cancerous pile…

Eventually we arrive at Beijing International Airport at around seven-thirty in the morning.