A plane is the best place to make your mum and dad look like the worst parents in the world.

look as an accusation. “Where is the iPad?” I hiss louder, and this time with a hint of accusation for not having the thing ready and primed.

We turn reading lights on and rummage around in the garbage pile of child detritus that has accumulated under our seats. She keeps talking loudly without realising it. “It’s gone flat, because you didn’t charge it fully, you halfwit.”

Travelling long-haul for 30 hours with two small children is about as traumatising as it gets.

It’s the parenting equivalent of the Coast to Coast. People wish you good luck and a safe flight at the airport, not because they’re worried the plane will be shot out of the sky by Russian separatists, but because they know you’re walking into the ultimate test of your marriage and the love you have for your children.

Fellow passengers’ expressions change from holiday face to horror face when they realise they’ll be sitting near us.

Children instinctively know that a plane is the best place to make mum and dad look like the worst parents in the world. Why, for example, does my 4-year-old reserve a loud American accent only for long-haul flights — is it to give the appearance we sit her in front of the TV all day? And why does she ask me profound questions now, like, “Daddy, are you going to die?” in a really loud voice, at this particular time? Then take the opportunity for random acts of violence? Although to be fair, the loud slap to her daddy’s face was probably the only enjoyment the other passengers received for sitting near us.

As we stumble off the plane carrying sleeping children, there are no applauding crowds handing out bottles of electrolytes and medals. Our endurance test hasn’t ended. Jet lag awaits.

Something to eat or drink?

What’s in the neighbourhood?

Exercise:

Noise: