Then, just as the plane was starting to descend to Izmir in western Turkey, where she knew they would have to wait for an hour before taking off again, the plane was hit by the most awful turbulence. The hostesses clung on to the trolleys, which lurched dangerously from side to side. Agatha began to pray under her breath. No one else seemed in the slightest fazed. They fastened their seat-belts and chattered amiably away in Turkish. The expats seemed used to it, and the few tourists like Agatha were frightened to let down the British side by showing fear.

Just when she thought the plane would shake itself apart, the lights of Izmir appeared below and soon they landed. Again, everyone applauded, this time Agatha joining in.

“That was scary,” said Agatha to the woman next to her.

“It was a bit o’ fun, love,” said the Turkish Cypriot woman speaking English in the accents of London ’s East End. “I mean, you’d pay for somethin’ like that at Disney World.”

After an hour, the plane took off again. Between Turkey and Cyprus they were served with a hard square of bread and goat cheese which looked as if it had been stamped out of a machine, washed down with sour-cherry juice.

Agatha felt the plane beginning to descend again. More turbulence, this time a thunderstorm. The plane lurched and bucked like a wild thing and, looking out of the window, Agatha saw to her dismay that the whole plane appeared to be covered in sheets of blue lightning. Again, the passengers smiled and chatted and smoked.

Agatha could not keep quiet any longer. “He shouldn’t try to land in this weather,” she said to the woman next to her.

“Oh, they can land in anything, luv. Pilot’s Turkish. They’re good.”

“Ladies and gentles,” said a soothing voice. “We are shortly about to land at Erçan Airport.”