Is this actually a joke; I’ve had two hours sleep. Still, it doesn’t feel like you’re going away unless you leave home at the crack of dawn.
The Fam kindly delivered me to the airport, sending me on my way with a 19.7kg suitcase (job well done!) and the verbal last-minute checklist:
‘Have you got your boarding pass?/Where’s your money?KEEP IT SAFE/Do you have any liquids?/Do you need to go to the toilet?/Don’t forget your passport!’ Dios Mio.
So after the hugs, a threatening reminder to Skype, and the whole airport security process, I’m through to the other side, I’m done, ready to fly. LATERS LONDON.
Only not before I’ve made a royal tit out of myself of course. I’ve never had time for the smelly traveller. But today, I became just that. Like anyone I love to grab a good bargain, and in this situation, the sign Duty Free instigated feelings of need and want. So naturally I decided to mosey around the perfume section; 20 minutes and a broken tester bottle later I find myself red-faced and rushing to my gate, reeking of an overbearing fruity fragrance I can’t even remember the name of.
The flight itself passed by quickly enough (a casual peruse through £5 magazines, attempted napping in awkward positions, excitement of understanding Spanish announcements), and before I knew it I was outside Málaga airport (with no missing luggage YAY!), awaiting the arrival of the BFF, a sassy, strutting, sunglasses-clad Casalooch.
An emotional reunion was followed by a struggly bus journey to the city centre (managing two cases, a coat, a duty free bag and a handbag whilst sifting through a mixture of change for the driver ain’t exactly a piece of cake)…