My sleep yesterday night was interrupted only by the constant thump of a distant disco and the sound of finest quality Egyptian cotton sheets slurping up the moisture which sprang from every pore of my body.
It was a positive relief to reach a time in the morning when it wasn’t bizarre to creep out and immerse myself in the fresh temperature of the private pool. By the time that I was half way through my swim paranoia had driven Irene out of bed and into the shower so that she would have the requisite number of hours to get ready for our flight this afternoon.
We left more or less at the time which had been predetermined the previous night after a discussion which was lengthy and erred on the side of caution to an extent which I thought ridiculous but which was comforting for the driver and my companion.
After our stately drive to the airport during which h there were distinct drops of rain on the windscreen we arrived in enough time to waltz our way through the arrivals hall and for me to have my new bottle of sunscreen confiscated by the rugged looking lady who was staffing the x-ray machine.
After a sandwich whose ludicrous price mocked the whole concept of there being a financial crisis anywhere in the vicinity of an airport which could charge such astonishing amounts for well stuffed sandwiches!
From that point things got worse. There was no plane.
In airports there more you look a plane at the end of your sky-bridge (and believe you me in an airport you do nothing but look) the more there isn’t one there.
As Irene is not a comfortable air traveler and we made a reasonably thorough trawl of all the shops looking for we knew not what. We both emerged from the duty free shops smelling as though we had both spent some considerable time writing the definitive guide to brothels of the world.
In spite of our growing desperation to pass time by spending money neither of us bought a bloody thing. Our depression was made complete by the gate number disappearing from the screen of information about your flight and the message, “SNACK 1500”. I immediately assumed that SNACK was some form of Spanish abbreviation of which I had not heard referring to some sort of technical delay. The idea of an airline giving its delayed passengers anything in the form of refreshment would indicate a delay of such monumental proportions that getting home tomorrow would be a mere fond wish!
On enquiry it turned out that SNACK meant exactly what it said and, after more desultory window shopping, we eventually queued up and were given a glass of beer and a cheese and ham baguette – or in my case two glasses of beer and two cheese and ham baguettes.
After fearing the worst it turned out that, although the plane was late taking off, it was not as absurdly late as we feared it was going to be.
The Pauls arrived on time and we immediately retired to a restaurant for a well deserved meal.
Our major mistake was following a wine rich meal with more wine.
But then why change the habits of a lifetime.
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