After a relatively pain free check out, we left the apartment that had been our home for two weeks and headed for the airport. As I said a couple of weeks ago, I’m not the best flier in the world, but I can get by. Being Type One Diabetic means I have to carry needles, vials of liquid (insulin) and electronic gadgets (blood testing equipment) onto the plane. Whilst I’ve never had any problems, the whole process of checking bags in is stressful enough without someone mistaking you for the next Shoe Bomber.
Luckily, a shaven headed baggage guy with four inches of whispy chin-beard took one look at my neatly arranged kit in clear plastic bags and simply said,
“It’s all cool.”
At this point, I knew the flight back to England would be fine. Which is good, because someone called Liz is having a big party this weekend and it would be rude to miss it.