We’re early. Our flight hasn’t got a check-in desk yet. Being
British, we see a queue and join it. The screen above the desk
mentions Swissair, which is good, but also Alitalia and “telephone
check-in”, which is not so good. Never mind, Chef’s in charge.
At about 11:30 we reach the front of the queue and Chef asks
whether we can check in to our flight here. Yeah, no problem. Then the
usual airport routine: food, shops, queues, shops, security, plastic
seating, queues, impatience (“Could you just let us through?” says a
woman as Chris causes her a millisecond’s delay by callously taking
his assigned seat on board the aircraft), delay, safety film, here
here and here, taxi, engines, speed, height.