Be still my beating heart. No, I’m not lovestruck. I am about to get on a plane
Why...
Am I so excited to get on a plane again?
After a catalogue of medical oopsy-daisies and the dreaded Covid lurgy-lockdown, my wife and I board the big silver bird soon. For me, the first time in 20 months. Love Malta as I do, you can carpet it in an afternoon. I have increasingly felt like Dustin Hoffman or Steve McQueen in Papillon, waiting to jump off a cliff with a net bag full of coconut shells to drift away to somewhere new.
I really don’t know what to expect at the departing or arriving airports. It appears things are totally random. When my wife flew to the USA earlier this month the words Covid or vaccination were never uttered in Washington DC, yet as she flew out of Frankfurt she was made to feel she should be hermetically sealed and vacuum packed. We have friends who have been grilled with more questions than a debrief of a defecting spy, while others drifted through without ever producing a vaccine certificate. As usual there is no consistency or joined up writing between what various health ministries decree and what happens on the ground
