At the airport

Sitting in the international departures lounge with the Mac computer that David normally has within a two metre orbit of his body. He's pushed it under my nose in a loving bid to get me to write something. I am ever grateful for these small patchwork squares of support. We hope there's enough here to hold it all together for three and a half weeks non-stop togetherness. I'm optimistic.

I bought a tuna patty for $6, inside a polystyrene container. Heart sinking, I left the disposable cutely on the counter and wondered whether I would regret that purchase in India (Dang! Could have bought 240 extra rupees worth of elephant embroidered cushion covers for that!). I should've got the sushi, but I'm deciding not to let it ruin my trip.

I'm relishing the last little pieces of home comfort - grinning customs officials who laugh at old passport photos; a dusty runway under a hot blue sky; the Qantas logo. I think I will appreciate having the ultimate colonial language as my mother tongue, in the lands of the colonised.

The planes are cumbersome but confident beasts, defying the odds to be up there, king of the skies. Soon we'll be sent into the clouds, clutching at aluminium feathers. First stop: Kuala Lumper.