At Hobart airport, you walk out of the terminal across the concrete and climb up some stairs to get on your plane, just like the Beatles did in 1963 (not in Hobart, but you know what I mean). To get anywhere, in time to do anything, you have to leave Hobart on the 6.20 when it's still dark. Twice lately I have been told to "enter by the rear stairs" as I file out into the darkness.
First, your plane is not the one right in front of you, you have to follow a straggly line of other "guests" across the dimly lit concrete to the furthest plane. Then, there are no rear stairs. No problem for your wide-awake Red Bull-drinking young people I suppose. But maybe you are tired. Maybe you are from Oatlands and had to get up at 3.30 to actually get to the flight on time. Maybe you are old. Or maybe you just have an unshakeable belief in the truth as received from flight attendants. You might be wandering about the arse end of a 707 in the dark for some time before Janelle, Skye or Bindi notices you are missing.