It looked at first like the usual case of when we leave dear old blighty a heatwave strikes as Friday was baking hot. However on Saturday, we arrived at Manchester airport in the pouring rain at stupid o'clock in the morning. The car park was booked from 4:00 am and we arrived at 3:49 am and, not sure if we would be charged extra for being early, just our luck, proceeded to make several laps of the last two roundabouts until the clock clicked past 3:59. The number plate recognition worked perfectly and the barrier raised to let us in at exactly 4:00 am. Terminal 1 was absolutely mobbed and I spent the first half hour in the checkout queue in boots the chemist duty free. Some holiday essentials purchased, we set about looking for somewhere for breakfast. As we did so we couldn't help notice the sheer number of people drinking pints of beer and bottles of wine at 5:00 am and there we were looking for a cup of tea and a bowl of shredded wheat. Tea, toast and a pastry duly consumed at a cost approaching £14, we went looking for one of those cheap airlines 'test the size of your hand luggage' contraptions. I mean who goes for a fortnight's holiday to the Greek Islands with only hand luggage? The bags we had purchased specially for this trip were supposedly regulation size cheapo airline compatible and came with the tag line "you won't believe how much you can get in". They are a kind of cross between a normal lightweight small case and a backpack having two padded shoulder straps. Ideal we thought for hopping on and off ferries between the Cyclades. Well with many of our usual holiday clothes left at home, Jo said I had to compromise and that 16 shirts and 7 pairs of shorts was enough for anyone, we made full use of the additional top and bottom straps to try and make these "cabin bags" appear slimmer than the bulging, seam splitting, bulbous mis-shapes they had morphed into. Anyway, we found a cheap airlines metal cage, we both said a little prayer and with a bit of squeezing and stamping each bag fit the permitted maximum size, albeit very snuggly. On board Jo had the customary window seat, I the middle seat and the hairy faced, bulky framed stranger, the aisle seat. It immediately became apparent that I had already lost the battle for both armrests. As I flicked through the Easyjet in-flight magazine contemplating whether or not I could manage without a sim card for international travellers, I began to notice the hairy faced stranger seemed to have a bit of an affliction. Every few minutes he would open his mouth wide and do something that was a sort of combination between a yawn, a cough and clearing his throat. Jo had now become aware that I was aware of this gentleman's strange habit and knowing how I would now be focused on this and tuned into it, that it would drive me to distraction, she started to giggle which turned into an uncontrollable laughing fit. It got worse. After a few of these oral eruptions I noticed they were accompanied by an acute case of halitosis. I spent the rest of the flight with my hand in front of my nose rather wishing I had sprayed my hands with various samples of duty free aftershave before boarding.