It is a fascinating afternoon and by the time we head to the airport, I am feeling almost positive. And here's where the difference between me and my fellow FoFs becomes really apparent. I grasp very quickly that I have been incredibly lucky that no one in my life ever let flying fall off the table as a travel option. Yes, my parents might have spent hours holding me down in plane seats while I kicked and screamed my way across the US and Europe when I was small, and yes, my long-term boyfriend might have spent the equivalent of a deposit for a small house on overpriced Ryanair wine for me, but never was I allowed to consider that flying wasn't going to be part of my life. Growing up in different countries, and now, with a sibling living 6,000 miles away, air travel is a necessity. A very unpleasant necessity, but a necessity nonetheless. And because of this, I'm well practised in short-haul flights; it's long haul that scares the bejesus out of me. Twelve hours is a long time to feel out of control.