Crying Eyes

We're at Changi Airport, Singapore. Making the most of the excellent facilities including free internet access.

Its six a.m. local time and eleven at night in the good old U.K. We've got three hours here before our connecting flight to Brisbane.

So far so good. Singapore Airlines are very good. The entertainment system in the headrest in front has eighty movies, hundreds of quality telly programs, more cd's than you can shake a stick at and hundreds of arcade games to play. I've never known twelve waking hours pass so quickly.

Our leaving do was a good night. Loads of people turned up and we got a stack of cards, pressies, dosh and, most importantly, free booze. It got a bit emotional at the end but that was nothing compared to saying goodbye to everyone in the cold light of the following day.

I've been very naive, thinking I would breeze through these farewells with a smile on my face. I'd read and heard of other peoples experiences but completely underestimated the strength of feeling I felt on Sunday.

I woke up feeling sick, not with nausea but with dread. I simply didn't want to leave. It's as if it wasn't real before, but now, all of a sudden, it was very real - we were leaving our hometown, family and life-long friends behind for who knows how long.

Saying goodbye to our parents was bad enough but the mass farewell we had outside our local, the Esplanade Club, was very heavy.

I bawled like a girl half-way to Manchester Airport.