For One Night Only!

Late on Friday after dropping the big boys with a friend and snuggling with the little ones, having written lists of instructions and useful numbers for the amahs I creep away like a thief in the night and board a plane bound for London. I plug my ears and cover my eyes and I sleep for ten hours. I am off on a crazy venture and I'm going to need all the Zzzs I can get. When I wake it is 11am Hong Kong time and yet it is still dark outside. I am flying back though an everlasting night. I am offered breakfast.

Three hours later we are over London. Descending through the patchy cloud I see the orange lights of the city and the black serpentine of the River Thames. Somewhere beneath me is our house. I know this because it lies on the approach to Heathrow airport. How often have I cursed the long haul flights from Hong Kong that roar in to land as early as 4.30 in the morning? The newspaper I picked up at the airport last night tells me the Government is going ahead with Heathrow's third runway in spite of all opposition from local residents and environmental groups but to compensate a high speed rail hub is to be built. Why does that compensate? I wonder. More disruption, more building, more congestion.

We land at T5, all shining glass and steel. I am briefly nervous for my luggage. Signs in T5 inform me that the escalators are slow moving to save energy and that all the rainwater from the roof is recycled. It's good marketing but I don't buy into the idea that an airport can be green. On this day I am anyway too guiltily aware of my own carbon footprint. A woman who flies 5,000 miles around the globe to surprise a friend at his 40th birthday party can hardly get on her environmental high horse about anything.

For all its space and light and wonderful retail opportunities once I reach security T5 has the same long queues as its older siblings. I am stripped of my jacket, my boots and my belt and find myself out the other side hurriedly redressing with a group of strangers all equally reluctant to make eye contact on finding themselves so compromised. It is 7am but still dark. I meet my husband in the lounge. We are offered breakfast.

We board a plane to Frankfurt and we are offered breakfast again. I would welcome a different meal yet in this long day it is forever breakfast time. In Frankfurt there is snow on the ground and I grow a little anxious that my outfit for the evening involves bare shoulders and open-toed sandals.

A bus awaits passengers on the tarmac and as we are heading for the terminal building a chain of baggage-carrying trucks slips its brake and collides with the side of our bus. The driver stops the bus and gets out. A baggage handler comes to look and sucks his teeth. Mobiles are reached for and an incident report is opened. Much discussion takes place. We wait and wait. After fifteen minutes someone arrives and tries to push the baggage carts away from the side of the bus. At last, we think, we can get going. Ten minutes later a replacement bus arrives. We traipse past the scene of the crash where a minute scratch can be seen. As we depart, the airport police arrive with blue flashing lights. Only in Germany I think.

Once in Bad Homburg we take a stroll for old time's sake. It seems so empty, so different to the waves of shoppers that crowd Hong Kong's streets and malls. We bump into an acquaintance and laughingly explain why we're there. We bump into another couple who likewise quiz us on our secret arrival. We go into a shop and while my husband tries on trousers I watch a lady choose between two black frocks. After a long look at them both she says, I'll try the Dior again. It is the conservative choice but I prefer the other one.

We eat lunch in a favourite old haunt and drift back to our hotel for an afternoon nap. Just as we are sliding into sleep the phone rings. We have been spotted and it is another friend who has rung the party's hosts to find out if it really was us he saw and if so, where we are staying. Our secret is almost out but thankfully it was not the birthday boy who answered the phone. His wife who got there first has been in on our little scheme from the beginning.

The party is in Frankfurt. As we enter our host catches sight of us and does a double take. His jaw hits the floor and his astonished face is a picture I shall never forget. 'For one night only!' we shout and bounce down the stairs to be greeted and hugged. Many old friends are there and the evening passes in a blur of laughter, conversation and happy reunions. We eat a fabulous dinner in elegant surroundings. There are witty speeches and a live band and we dance into the early hours. I see the lady in the black frock and I am amazed at the cool way she bought a Dior dress in the afternoon for a party that night. Perhaps she would be amazed at the cool way we have flown overnight from Hong Kong to a party in Frankfurt.

Having been in this day for some 32 hours, I am starting to fade. Reluctantly we take our leave and catch a lift with others heading in our direction. My head is full of the evening's excitement and the success of our surprise. I am now wide awake and manage only an hour's sleep.

The following day we see as many friends as we can. It is another day of multiple breakfasts, brunch at the home of last night's hosts, an unexpected lunch and finally ‘Kaffee und Kuchen’ at the home of the lovely neighbours whom our eldest son first befriended through the hedge over eight years ago. We sit at big tables in warm houses and catch up on all that has happened in the months or years since we last met.

In the early evening we climb aboard our flight to London. Unable to keep my eyes open a moment longer I am asleep before take off. We land at Heathrow, call home to hear the children at breakfast and tell them we'll be home by bedtime. They have a day at school ahead of them. We have 13 hours on a plane. The day is almost through as we wake to yet another breakfast. Back in Hong Kong we put the children to bed, unpack and are quickly ready for bed ourselves. The time spent away has been too short for us to be suffering from jet lag. So short in fact that our memories of the weekend have a dream-like quality. Were we really in Germany just yesterday or did we dream it all?