This is a story about my first flight ever, when I was just six years old.
I awake very early one summer's morning and wonder for just a moment why I have been woken at 3:30am. Then it strikes me: the day has finally arrived, after months of waiting, weeks of excitement, days of packing; we are going abroad, on an aeroplane for the first time! I was told the taxi would be coming soon so I dress in the clothes I have laid out the night before, run down the stairs for a quick breakfast before stuffing all the odd bits and pieces into my little case. My dad helps me take it down the stairs and the helpful taxi driver puts it in the cab.
After saying goodbye to all my cuddly toys that I'm not taking with and a big goodbye to home, we depart in the taxi.
My excitement changes to tiredness and I have a quick sleep on the way to Luton airport. When we get to the airport I still feel very tired; after we have checked in, it hits me that soon we will be flying in the air. The butterflies come all in one big whoosh swirling around my unexpectant tummy. We have plenty of time before the plane leaves so we wait in duty-free while my brother tries to get me to relax. Secretly, I think he is also nervous but is keeping a brave face for me. Soon our flight says 'Boarding' and we start walking along the airport to our gate. We underestimate the distance to the gate but get there just as 'last call' is announced and before I know it we're on the plane. I catch a first site of the aeroplane, I see how big...