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The nice thing about being someone who goes to bed late is that you get a lot done in those dark hours of the night while everyone else is already in the world of dreams. It also meant that I had plenty of time this morning and was able to fully enjoy the airport experience.

Airports are funny places, people are either coming or going, tears and laughter meet on equal grounds, and everything is transient. They are places of the in-between, the neither here nor there, a portal to adventures, work, joy and sadness.

Big screens constantly remind everyone of their departing or arrivals, a mix of languages is scattered around like a bag of pile pieces ready to be sorted and placed. Everything is on the verge, on the brink, just about to happen – or just did.

So while I sat sipping my cappuccino and chatting to a stranger about Irish horse-racing (which I know nothing about and he, as an owner of a stud, everything) I could help but smile at the oddity of it all …

After all when would I ever meet a 60plus gentleman in tweeds on his way to sell horses to some oil millionaire in the Eremites, a suitcase filled with trophies by his feet and a sample of horse-feed in his pocket?

As I waved goodbye and left for my gate I let the joy of the laminal meeting wash over me. Airports just seem to be the perfect place for the fleeting, no less true, just short lived.