Coming in from Saigon last week, the Cathay Pacific jumbo dipped its wing, wrenched around on its axis, steadied at the last second and sank for a routine landing at Kai Tak.
Suddenly, without warning, my eyes filled with tears. No more, I told myself. Never again. This will be my last landing on the ridiculous stretch of tarmac poking so incongruously 3,390 metres into Kowloon Bay.
A landing which has allowed me, as the aircraft made its final right-hand bank, to see past Mrs Wong's flapping washing, so that I could almost glimpse into her kitchen and tell what's for dinner.
Instead of rushing home, I took time to stroll through the crowded arrivals hall looking at the expectant faces waiting for an aunt from Hefei, or a son home from college in Ohio, or a husband back from a business trip to Frankfurt. Here you see a good slice of Hong Kong life. It's chaotic, crowded, unpleasant, seemingly disorganised - yet, miraculously, somehow it works.
I struggled upstairs with my camera bag and suitcase. About 5,000 Filipinas were bidding farewell to another 5,000 Filipinas around mountains of blue and pink containers of clothes and gifts that surely could not fit into one aircraft.
Charges at the duty free shops were as outrageous as ever and in the departure level bar the prices for a glass of beer were almost as high as the volume of the Canto-pop booming from the coin-operated music machine.
