For a while I thought that perhaps I might build up the concept of coming home. Perhaps I was romanticising the whole notion; remembering only the rose-tinted glimpses of few and far between half-dream/half-realities. Should I steel myself to have my glasses whisked promptly and brusquely from my face, to watch them thrown in a muddy concrete gutter and stomped on by someone wearing grey vinyl shoes?

When our plane started descending not a moment too soon towards Christchurch International Airport, I felt a warmth envelop me without even looking out the window (difficult anyway from seat 37D which is in the middle column).

When I was young my Nana (who was so outrageously fun and kooky when we were children, she was almost like a female Willy Wonker) would drive us out to the airport and we would pretend that we were flying off somewhere on holiday. This may well sound dull, but this was in the late 70s/early 80s and the airport was the stuff of movies, very glam, it even smelt different from anywhere else I’d ever been. Caleb and I loved the arrivals and departures boards. No boring TV screens back then. We’re talking the black background with yellow lettering boards that constantly clattered, changing details, sounding like really important dominoes falling from 30,000 feet.

There were two ‘cafes’ and a souvineer shop. There was an ‘observation deck’. It was huge. Last Friday as we were about to land I noticed that the airport seemed to be surrounded by fields. As the plane descended to approximately 50m I noticed there was only one runway and it was surrounded by grass, and parked next to it was an old Bedford water tanker that looked like it was a prop from some 1950s film. The big International airport, the terminal that linked us with places like Madagascar or Casablanca or Club Med was suddenly a country cousin, a toy airport, something quaint.

Ah, but it was still my airport. Learned off by heart from pre-school to now. From little domestic flights down to Dunedin to see cousins, to ‘unaccompanied minor’ jaunts up to the North Island as a 10 year old, this airport is almost synonomous with ‘home’. And if it’s still playing Donkey Kong II and doesn’t have a Wii Fit Board, well that’s okay with me.

Mum had prepared as only she could, and had the car seat, high chair, a toy box, and even a big bowl of jelly ready to go.

Nana is a natural with Charlie and keeps him entertained with her slightly off the wall sense of humour.

Mum’s been great, and has made life so easy for Charlie and I. She has rolled up her sleeves and got down to the nitty gritty (or “nutty grutty” in my new kiwi accent), taking command of bath time, feeding, nappy changes and lots of walking practice.

Charlie has been going to a local nursery for an hour or two every day and he is getting a lot out of it. During this time I’ve been going to the gym. I need to as I’ve mysteriously gained 3kg.

Oh – the cloud finally broke yesterday and we finally enjoyed some sunshine. Back to cloud again today though, ho hum.