Springtime In Spain

THERE is nothing I don’t know about travelling, thanks to the internet.

I’ve studied a map of the airport and know the place like the back of my hand. Or I should do, except that it looks so different in real life.

Maybe that’s why I feel so out of my depth, in spite of the deep breathing exercises recommended by Dr Collier.

I’ve never been to an airport before and I feel as if I’ve almost cricked my neck, swivelling my head around to read all the overhead signs.

When the queue moves forward, I almost forget how to walk and find myself doing a strange stagger. If I’m like this just checking my luggage in, what am I going to be like when it’s time to board the plane?

Dr Collier gave me a prescription for four tablets.

“I trust you won’t need them, Denise,” he said. “Just remember to breathe deeply. You know, you may even find you enjoy flying. In fact, I think you will.”

He’s been my GP since I was a baby and I love him dearly, but I didn’t feel he was taking my concerns seriously.

“I won’t. I’m terrified! Could you advise me not to go on medical grounds?” I asked, or rather, begged.

It was all quite undignified and embarrassing, really, like asking your mum for a note to get you out of PE.

“Certainly not. You’ll have a fabulous time. It’ll do you good. Now, where’s your passport application and photo so I can sign them for you?”

I wasn’t sure about it doing me good, but I trust Dr Collier more than anyone. He’s been with me through all life’s ups and downs. When I lost both my parents within eighteen months of each other, he was a rock.

I felt that my life had no purpose any more, but although he was very sympathetic, he said it was time for my life to begin now while I was still young enough to enjoy it. It was what my parents would have wanted, he said, and I knew he was right.