Pisa

My holiday has hit the end of the line. It's just another airport. I hate airports. Fake shops and frustrated families and business men with impossible tans and posh luggage. Stale air. I loathe the stale air. Do the ship it in specially to every airport everywhere?

We've been told to go to our gate. But there's a door that says only staff can open it. So we are standing here like lemons. I might lead a revolt soon. The plane will go without us... This is Italy, no-one will question why every single passenger disappeared...

And then London. The M4. Home. Matty.

Well someone has opened the door. Rebellion averted. Time to board. Who knows what adventures tomorrow will bring?