Journeys From Hell

Friday 24th August

I should have known I was in for a treat on the way up to Darwin. We got ourselves up at 6am today to catch our 9.35am flight and by 6.20 Ella had got herself stuck in her highchair, one of those cheap jobbies you can buy in Ikea, the sort they can wedge themselves into if they stand up then try to sit down again.

So I'm pushing then pulling and she's howling and a little bead of sweat formed on my forehead, more from panic than any issue with the temperature. In the end I heaved her out and she stood rubbing her knees looking at me with tears in her eyes.

Anyway, then we got ourselves out of the flat, me pushing the wonky stroller with a suitcase on top, whilst carrying a bag strapped across my chest, a full bin bag and pulling another suitcase behind me. Ella held on and we struggled our way down the stairs and through the garages and up the hill out of our complex to the communal bins and finally to wait for our taxi on the main road, which felt like a small victory in itself.

Then the taxi driver drove us to the international departure hall at Mascot, which was fine because our domestic flight was somehow leaving from there anyway, though the somehow turned out to be because the flight was actually going to Bombay via Darwin, which meant the other passengers had already checked in and there we were at the end of a check-in line stretching out of the automatic doors with the case on top of the pushchair and Ella threatening to run away every other minute.

So by now I'm virtually shaking because, well, okay, because I'm a control freak and there's nothing in any of this scenario that I can control and it's starting to look a lot like Ella's in control, and as we all know, two year olds are fools; lunatics blessed with free will but absolutely no sense or reasoning. Travelling alone with one is a bit like trying to handle a chimpanzee while doing all the other things you have to do in an airport and there's no way you'd be allowed to travel alone with a chimp, not even in economy.

So bugger that for a lark, I unhooked the red tape thingy that divides the check-in lines (did I say lines? I meant enormous snaking queue of blithering idiots) and got hold of a Qantas lady by the elbow and told her this child is gonna cause a scene. I need assistance . I would have added and my husband is a chopperdoc away on an important flying mission, which makes me your sister in aviation, you have to help me, but there was no need because she directed us towards Special Assistance with all the Indian people in wheelchairs and a nice man checked us in (and even came running after us when I left the boarding cards on the counter).

Could it get any worse? All I wanted was a simple domestic flight and now I'm in this huge airport about to board a plane destined for India and we haven't even got a window seat because the Indians have beaten us to it, though I've already complained loudly about this to the man at Special Assistance, who's got so fed up of listening to me crapping on about it that he's put us on standby for window seats just in case.

(How can you be on standby for window seats if they've already been allocated? Will somebody in a window seat change their mind and decide to stay in Sydney after all?)

Anyway, by some divine intervention, we do get window seats when we get to the gate, and then we board the plane first (because I barge to the front shouting Special Assistance) and then we have to put our seat belts on because the plane starts pushing back, even though we won't actually take off for another thirty minutes. Thirty very long minutes.

"Okay honey, time to put your seat belt on"

"No!"

"Look, just like Mummy"

"No!"

(To the flight attendant) "Look, I need a lap belt, the kid's not playing ball"

"Right honey, hop onto my lap and give me a cuddle"

"No!"

(flight attendant) "She really needs a belt on now, we're taxying"

"I'm trying my best"

So I'm forced to hoik her onto my knee, against her will, and hook her to my seatbelt, which she's really not in favour of and starts kicking the chairs in front with all the strength of a chid that weighed 8lb 15oz at birth and it just deteriorates from there, the flight attendant dropping by every couple of minutes reassuring me not to worry about the noise, Ella by now lying horizontally across my knees kicking and screaming until her face has turned bright red and she's sweating with the effort of all the kicking and her face is covered in the snot that's appeared from nowhere.

And every fifth kick or so catches my seat belt and unclips it so I have to let go of her just to put it back together, and we still haven't even taken off and the people in the seats around me are giving me the filthiest of looks because I'm spoiling their day.

I wanted to cry and I very nearly did.

By the time we actually lifted off the runway, Ella was screaming so much she couldn't catch her breath. I was restraining her with everything possible, including the flight attendant, who came to help hold her down because it was a health and safety issue. If you'd been sitting behind me, you'd have seen pink and white spotty trainers going hell for leather in the air above my seat.

Darren met us in Darwin. "She's all yours" I said the minute I saw him in the arrivals hall.

"You can see the funny side now though" he said.

"No, I can't. I really can't. I'm never, ever doing that again".