The next thing I remembered was the hideous bleat of my travel alarm intruding on my coma-like sleep at 3:30am. I’d set it – just in case – when I went for my nap the evening before. I lay there for a moment and tried to figure out how long I had slept, but it didn’t matter. I felt even worse than when I’d woken up on the plane the morning before. I needed a hot shower and a bucket of tea, and I only had thirty – make that twenty-nine – minutes until my taxi arrived. Crap.

The minutes flew by, but I only made the taxi driver wait for five minutes, which I thought was pretty good considering how disoriented and horrendous I felt. We made it to Heathrow in record time – sometimes London does sleep and it’s at 4:15am.

The sun was lightening the sky as I handed over a small fortune to the driver. Then it was just me and my backpack and the behemoth of Heathrow’s Terminal Five. The nerves were back. I don’t know why on earth people refer to them as butterflies. They felt more like baby elephants to me.

Chapter Two

On the flight to Athens, I was stuck in the middle seat between a husband and wife, one who wanted to sit by the window, the other by the aisle. They spent the entire flight talking across me in their thick Birmingham accents, as though I was some sort of aeronautical soft furnishing. When I politely asked if they wanted to sit together, they scoffed. ‘Oh no, love, we’re perfectly fine sitting apart.’ I wasn’t perfectly fine. I was developing a tension headache, but they didn’t seem to care about that.

I figured if I was going to survive the flight without having some sort of mid-air meltdown, I was going to need more tea. Tea calms me, tea revitalises me, tea is a miracle drink – tea drinkers will understand what I mean. Thank goodness it was a British Airways flight, because I knew they’d have the good stuff – proper English tea. I rang my call button three times during a four-hour flight and every time was to ask for more tea. This, of course, meant I had to pee twice, but I considered those few moments of silence a reprieve from Douglas and Sharon’s non-stop and not-so-sparkling repartee.