He crossed the threshold onto the Tarmac, cold, dark and greasy in the damp early morning air. The hum of the engines spinning up promising adventure, new horizons and distance, most of all distance.

The Screens descended with a mechanical whir from the cream textured plastic of the ceiling, the usual safety talk was underway and then, shortly afterwards, the ground parted from the aircraft and he saw the landscapes that had shaped his life for so many years stretch away beneath him.

A burly, cheerful steward leaned slightly towards him and asked if he would like tea or coffee. “Whisky ?” Roy asked inquiringly and the man in the waistcoat duly obliged with only a hint of surprise showing through his raised right eyebrow.

Roy let the familiar burn into his throat and slowly drifted into a turbulent sleep.