I had no doubt that industry pressure was brought hard to bear in terms of deciding the safe limits within which commercial aircraft could fly while a volcano had an extended belch. And not to a point that was inside my comfort zone.
Read this and went into mega wibble.
I grew up on RAF bases, my father was a fighter pilot, one who survived ejection when a German helicopter got in the way, but I've never been that happy about being up in the air in a tin can. I guess bird envy is not genetic.
I don't think it helped that my virgin flight was in my early 20s, direct to Bangkok, to meet the (slightly royal) family that my husband had neglected to inform about our marriage. 16 hours of worrying that I was either going to die as we hit the earth hard, die from being confined for 16 hours solid, or die when his family went ballistic and had me sent to the Tower or something to await execution.
After some thought about how to get home and back as well as manage my newly increased loathing of flying I'm plumping for letting the train take the strain.
You can get to London from Milan with one change in Paris. It's not as cheap as flying, it's not as fast as flying, it's probably not as safe (allegedly) as flying, but it doesn't involved a nose dive from on high if it all goes horribly wrong.
I reckon we can also take advantage of a stop over for one night, so I can show Son of Thor Paris.
The big issues for me now are...
How to keep the DSi charged for an extended period to avoid parental hurling of small child out of train window by hour nine.
Learn a bit of French so some mad taxi driver doesn't end up driving us off to the wrong place during the station transfer.
Manage the panic attack when in the chunnel, imagining some terrorist bomb that thrusts me into a personal version of the Poseidon Adventure, which I really don't think my parents should have let me watch at such an impressionable age.
Build resistance to being internet free for 12 hours without coming out in a rash or going into twitchy, dribbling withdrawal.
Other than that, I feel it is time to bid farewell to SleasyJet, that passport controlling freak of a git at Linate (who always tries to stop me leaving the country with Son of Thor cos he is convinced I am kidnapping the kid from his father) and suitcase angst as I endless weigh my bags hoping that some miraculous diet has taken place which means I can take home all the stuff I have bought without paying through the nose for it.
I am already planning the purchase of some seriously heavy items that have been off limits for the last 15 years.
Tesco's, here I come baby.
Brace yourself darling.