WHY is it that when you arrive at an airport you start spending?

I took my wife Maria to Liverpool Airport this week to catch a flight to Ireland. She’s a nervous flier so we got there early and I suggested we have something to eat to calm her nerves with calories.

Of course, any café at an airport is expensive. But what the heck. I get the whiff of jet fuel in my nostrils and catch that holiday spirit, even though the only place I’m heading is back down the M62 to Yorkshire.

I mean, I buy my batteries from the Pound Shop in town and have been known to take advantage of a few Home Bargains before calling into Wilkinson for pet food. I can make a small loaf last four days.

So you might think I am careful with my pennies – but once I get to an airport, hey, I’m the last of the big spenders.

Twenty years ago at the start of a family holiday, our flight to Majorca was delayed for two hours from Manchester Airport and I spent a week’s wages before ever leaving the UK.

My wife and I, and our two daughters, all got new tracksuits. Then there were sunglasses, and ‘That bikini is nice, and magazines for the boredom and snacks, and that sweater will just go with those new shoes.’ I was skint before we left.

Maria returns from Ireland today and I shall be back at the airport early so I can spend more money.

I can’t resist a pastry and a cappuccino from O’Brien’s Sandwich Bar.

It’s the ambience, you know.