Today was a sitting around, waiting sort of day. It always is a bit of a waste, waiting for the holiday to start, but we’re on our way. We’re in Embra!
Scamp went out and got her hair cut in the morning while I put the finishing touches to my packing. When she came back, we had lunch and waited for the big hand to crawl round to twelve, five times. Well, actually for six times, but after five times, it was time to make the dinner and stop farting about with cases and bags and bags within bags. You know the feeling.
How much is the allowance? 15kg? I’ve only got 11kg.
How much is the hand luggage allowance? 5kg? I’ve got 5.3kg what can I swap over.
As if anyone at check-in cares in the slightest at this end. At the other end, well? Who knows after Article 51 of Brexit was triggered, they, the anonymous THEY, are looking for every little thing to trip up us poor British. Oh, by the way, if you’re Spanish and you’re reading this, you’re doing a great job. I’ve always liked the Spanish. We’ve a lot in common with you. Oh yes, and I’m not British, I’m Scottish. We voted to stay in, don’t you know!
As soon as 5pm chimed, I was up out of my chair and making the dinner. Monday, so it had to be pasta. Monday is pasta day. Either white pasta (Carbonara) or red pasta (Ragu). Tonight it was white pasta with penne, not spaghetti.
When the big hand climbed to nine, it’s normally the time to get ready to salsa, but not tonight. I got a bit ‘*twitchy*’ when it got near salsa time, but maintained my composure and waited until 6.15 to panic. Are we ready to go? Yes? Let’s go then. Car loaded with the cases and bags. All checked and ready for the off. We drove to Embra and under the instructions of the sat-nav found tonight’s hotel without any problem.
Tomorrow we prepare ourselves to fly through the air in an armchair.