I vaguely associate the smell of an Aer Lingus-plane on a early-morning flight with the even vaguer idea of “home”. The smell of tea, coffee and warmed-up, pre-packed Irish breakfast wafting through the cabin, together with an layer of that special Aer Lingus-detergent that I seldom sniff on planes of other airlines, the hushed English conversations of those people who have not yet fallen asleep thanks to the drone of the engines. I wonder if this is because I fly back to the place I was born and visit my family, or because it is the smell of a plane returning me to where the Mountains of Mourne come down to the sea.