No one was sitting in the airplane seat beside me in 27C, so when my headphones began to only work on one side, and the three-year old I’d been sharing goldfish crackers with stopped talking to me, and I got a little sleepy, I squished myself all up into a half ball, and slept.
When the bright sun on my face woke me up two hours later, I was in Ireland.
I never say this but: I can’t even.
This is what 43 years of age, 2 hours sleep and Ireland gets you – wrinkles, delirium and bliss.
This trip of dreams? It has arrived.