It is always wearying. To watch a super-organised traveller settling in before take-off.

In this case it was a woman who had capability radiating from her every pore. Naturally, she was in her seat before me, organising herself for the slightly more than four-hour flight. I took my ‘Hot Seat’ across the aisle from the woman and her companion – probably her husband.

Sitting next to the window, she busied herself with her bulging rucksack, one of those with a large number of pockets and zips. He was in the aisle seat, guarding the middle seat and emptying the contents of a large crisp bag into his mouth. Quite oblivious to the ‘no outside food’ policy on board.

Before the pilot could end his ‘doors shut’ announcement, the husband had jumped up and scooted to the row behind, to corral all three empty seats. Although the steward had just reminded passengers on the low-cost flight that Hot Seats were only for those who had purchased them, for an extra charge.

As soon as the seat belt signs went off, she leapt up from her seat and opened the overhead compartment. She slipped on her thick sweatshirt, grabbed her book, threw off her Birkenstocks and donned her socks. She flipped up the hand-rests and – hey presto! – her flatbed and she were both ready for a snooze.

Even before her head touched the seat, she had sat herself upright again. Oh-oh, she had forgotten her pillow. Super-organiser went into rescue mode competency.

I looked out of my window, exhausted and exasperated by such smug efficiency.