Back at the house, I scoop up the remaining things to be packed and pour them into my enormous red holdall. I have no idea of the weight, but I think I probably have 150 litres in all.

Friends come (even MJG), and then pizzas. Fun is had and nice things are said – sometimes too late.

At midnight Cleo, Margie and I take the waiting amjad to the expatriate suburb of Amarat, very close to the airport. We order ice-cream, and later something savoury. It kills the time. It's something to do. Then at 1:15am we drive across to the airport and I let them go. Fortunately I don't have long to wait before I can check-in. My bags are weighed, and weighed again. They amount to about 33kg (50% over my allowance), I'm expecting "difficulties" but no comment or surcharge is made. I'm allowed to proceed.