Sixteen long long weeks. Let me see. Sixteen multiplied by seven equals one hundred and twelve. One hundred and twelve days since I last saw the great love of my life on the footpath outside the terminal at JFK airport. For the first few years of this relationship we used to wallow in our reluctant farewells; spinning them out to the last possible minute and savouring them like a delectable and addictive food we knew would later lead to heartburn. With a voice every bit as strong as her persona it was easy for her to follow me through security and into the corridors beyond with the words "I love you!" But then one day it came time to take control of these angst ridden airport scenes. Now we treat them as if I am heading off on a day trip. The great love of my life swings by the airport terminal doors in New York, offloads my bags from her car, envelops me within the safety of her arms for one brief and desperate moment, and then I turn my back and walk away. To begin my long lonely flight to the other side of the world.