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I started my day sitting in an idyllic cafe having the traditional Italian breakfast of a croissant and a cappuccino, unfortunately interrupted by a noxious old man smoking a cigar upwind of me (sir, really, it’s 9am) and watching some sort of excitable soccer thing on his phone. Presumably he came here from (whispers) the south. No true Milano could bear making nuisance noise in public.

With my flight at 4pm there wasn’t a lot I could do with my day. I moved away from the noxious old man and had another coffee, then I went back to the hotel and lazed about until I had to check out just before midday. I rolled my luggage over to Milano Centrale, found a shuttle bus stop for Malpensa Airport, waited half an hour for the shuttle, then got on it and settled in for the 25 minute ride to the airport.

I arrived 75 minutes later, as there was a car accident on the expressway and traffic was gridlocked for more than half an hour. Note to self: next time take the train. The delay wasn’t a problem in itself, because my flight wouldn't even board for another three hours, but I was trapped in an enclosed space with three dozen other people, every single one of whom seemed to be sniffing, coughing, hacking or sneezing. I caught a nasty cold on my last flight home from Italy; I didn't want a repeat of that. So I huddled as far as I could from everyone else and tried not to breathe.

The good news for my flights was that I got the exit row again for the all-important 11 hour flight from Doha to Perth. The bad news was that I actually had to pay for it this time. I’m starting to worry what my credit card bill is going to look like; the Australian dollar has been in freefall against the euro, and I’ve not been holding back on the spendage. Oh well.

The flight from Milan to Doha went smoothly. The flight attendants, bless them, were as free with the booze as they usually are, and I had a little pre-dinner G&T, a nice glass of prosecco with dinner, and a whiskey on the rocks afterwards. The seat next to me was empty again… I haven’t actually had anyone sit next to me on any flight this holiday. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, just feeling existentially rejected.

I had about three hours in Doha, which I spent sitting in the arboretum, eating a midnight snack and listening to fake birdsong pretending to come out of the trees. Then I boarded another A380 for the final leg to Perth. For some reason the selection of movies on the entertainment system was much smaller for the much longer flight, but between watching, dozing, listening to music and podcasts, and doing crosswords on my screen, I made it through. 

All that remained was to touch down in Perth, deal with the impartial horror of Australian customs and airport bureaucracy, buy up big in the duty-free (credit card bills be damned), be collected by a friend, and get home.