When I was seven years old I went on my very first holiday abroad, to America.

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When I was seven years old I went on my very first holiday abroad, to America.

I can remember waking up at Five o'clock in the morning to catch an early flight from Heathrow airport. I was so excited I forgot about the daunting effort of getting up so early. My Mum, Dad, Brother, grandparents and I set off on the long journey to the airport then Orlando, Florida. I remember the white taxi van used to transport us to the airport with its incredibly tiny seats, that made getting any sleep impossible. This was made slightly harder by sitting next to my brother who was in a very irritable and annoying mood. There had been a major accident on the motor which held me in suspense not knowing whether we were get there in time to catch the flight. When we finally arrived at the airport my brother was ordered to go and find a luggage trolley, which I remember he was very unenthusiastic about doing.

The only part of checking in I can remember is when my Gran couldn't understand a word the Pakistani steward said only made worse