I woke up but could not shower and change because my clothes were in my hold luggage. Of course, everyone else that had been dumped was in the same position. I was heading for almost 40 hours in the same shirt and underpants which is hardly civilised. It wasn’t as if I wanted to take part in something that might turn into something like a Dirty Protest without the human waste element. And I still had the Abu Dhabi to KL leg to fly and to get home. I dreaded to think how rank I would be after an hour and a half in the heat and humidity of KL by the time I got home. For sure, I wouldn’t want to sit next to me on the train into the city.
So I picked up my stuff, checked my boarding pass, noted the gate number printed on it which was close to the gate that had appeared on the aircraft’s display, and went to that gate, in the other terminal, back through the same security gates as I’d been through several times before.
I sat at the gate. No flight information on the screen. No gate crew. Not many people. No one I recognised. No aircraft. I checked my boarding pass. Checked the gate number. Yes. No doubt. I was in the right place. I sat down to wait for everyone else, and the plane, to turn up. That didn’t happen.