It had been a no breakfast, pint before boarding kind of affair and I was tired. Id had one outrageously priced Peroni before deciding to make my way to the perfumes. I tried the sunglasses on too, I'm not made of stone. You take whatever kindness you can get at Gatwick, any bit of dignity. It all counts in the long haul. Sometimes your only comfort is the smell of your wrist. Just like coming home to a clean house hidden in the cuff of your sleeve. Just like smoke and leather. It's fifteen hours till I land in South Korea and it's dark outside. I count back from a hundred and try to fall asleep.

Everyone would like to sleep in the air, it's the right thing to do. Dream about the land, no crying babies and sweet nothing. I always used to say I was so good at sleeping on planes I could do it with my eyes closed, but I can't anymore. Now I just stare. Thinking somewhere between sentences and monotone beeps, sharp pins and the seat in front of me. Thick silence. When I was younger I used to think a lot about the age that adults stopped being fun. How many wrinkles did it take for that to go? Not daft anymore, only distance. Only the stare. A tongue that no longer sticks out, raspberries unblown and bubble gum only chewed. What I once attributed to a crushing dullness now looks a lot like responsibility and its weight.

Aunt Gabi picks us up from the airport and drives us back to the apartment. It's a forty five minute drive each way, one of the many we’re treated to, and it comes with a little lesson in the mother tongue. Merryn's been on the duolingo, as has mum. With Gabi's help they're now both getting a pretty firm grasp on the native natter. Experts in asking directions to the toilets and requesting one more round. I catch onto not quite so much and decide on a quiet head nod for the rest of the holiday. You see, when you're in with the natives, that's all you need.

The country is cold and beautiful and I spend a long time staring at it. A long time sitting in cars and buses and riding the tube. We go round and round and up and down, trying to keep the wheels greased with enough food and sleep to go around. Ten days is a long time with your family. You adjust and readjust. You quickly learn that you can't be existential around small children. They're too shrill, and excited. You also learn how loud love is in the morning and how many capital cities you've forgotten. It's a sweet pain in the forehead to keep you on your toes.

Everyone’s always between yawning and screaming, and no one's too old for a tantrum. I drop in and out of conversations and we drop like flies in front of the telly. The corpse of a day well spent. Having fun is hard. You take it as it comes. You refill drinks and you lay the table. Gabi's a brilliant cook and took the week off work for the trip, rooting for the good time and putting her weight firmly behind it. It’s such a cliche to be cynical at Christmas*, and silence and gratitude are good enough if they're all you've got

On boxing day we play I spy till they’re all asleep and then keep driving. Uncle Tommy drives, yawns a lot and shouts louder than his youngest. Up the mountain and back down again. Staring at the highway armed with only the coffee in the cup holder. Tommy is fun. He carries the load well. Always good value at christmas and gave me three pints of whiskey and ginger on our first night in town. He let me pick the music whilst he drove and everyone else slept on, no crying babies and a faraway horizon. I hummed along and he just stared, eyes on the car in front of him and hands on the wheel, slow and steady driving the weight home.

* The title of my favourite christmas song, by Half Man Half Biscuit.