What is that awful smell?

Today I'm flying with Jetstar to Singapore; Cathay was too expensive and I didn't want to repeat the urine-and-burning-scented odyssey that had been Tiger Airways. Which seems to leave me with Jetstar.

I've flown with them to Singapore once before, and remarked with amazement at how inconvenient they managed to make it, an incredible feat at the super-convenient Hong Kong International. Today it seemed easier: arriving early to check in, I was through security and in the main terminal twenty minutes after I'd joined the line. Then a quick hop and a skip to Pizza Express, for the best Margherita Prima I've had in ages. And then I had to go to the gate.

Just like last time, Jetstar were too cheap to spring for an air-bridge to their plane, so we're at gate 523, the secret shame of Hong Kong International. There are five gates here, tucked away below the main terminal, in a dingy, windowless space, filled with blaring announcements that echo around this cathedral of gloom.

The seating is all filthy: mysterious black stains on the cushions, or crumbs from some long-dead pastry, or bits of fluff abound. It's a shock after the sterility of the world just one escalator ride away.

Later, we'll cram onto a bus and be driven across the tarmac to our plane, but first we have to listen to a series of woman clearing their throat and then making endless calls for boarding across the PA. This is a final call for your hope and dreams, people.

But I've got noise-cancelling headphones and a stack of paper napkins to protect me. What I didn't bring was anything to bung up my nose. It stinks down here, a strange mixture of farts, unwashed bodies, dirty boarding houses, feet, overcooked casseroles, stale booze, despair, grumpiness, and vomit.

There are a lot of Australians on this flight, connecting in Singapore for Darwin.

I'm not suggesting that all Australians stink of the above list of unpleasantries. No, heaven forbid!

I'm not even suggesting all Australians who come from Darwin fail to keep their feet clean or eradicate the stench of ineptly cooked meat. That would be unkind and unfair.

I'm just suggesting that clearly Hong Kong International must have done some research on the tastes and preferences of their customers, and determined that people flying through this part of the airport must enjoy this sort of thing. Now who's to blame?

On the positive side, I'm only here for another twenty minutes: like life in the state of nature, this experience is nasty, brutish and short.