It’s sad to be leaving Spain, but what was worse was the journey to, and the arrival at the airport.
Driving along the toll motorway and Will says ‘got your passport?’ ‘oh…shit’ I say. After frantically searching both of our hand luggage bags to no avail, I get panicky. So I’m crying my eyes out whilst driving thinking I’m going to miss my flight and end up stranded in Spain (the fact Will’s mum lives 45 minutes from the airport didn’t seem to enter my mind).
After paying at the toll booth, a Guardia officer was directing people to the edge of the road. So obviously I start panicking incase he asks to see our documents. I HAVE NO PASSPORT! I pull in and he starts blurting Spanish all over the place. “English?” I say, and he switches to perfect english. It turns out he’s breathalizing people. I’ve not even had a drink but I’m irrationally worried. I had to open my own plastic mouth blowy thing and put it on the machine. Turns out I wasn’t drunk! But then I drove off (with my plastic mouth piece as a souvenir) and the realisation that I still didn’t have a passport set in again.
There was no hard shoulder to pull into on the way to the airport, so in the car rental car park I turn over the contents of my suitcase in the hope I’ve put it in one of my handbags. Nothing. I’m still crying my eyes out. Will then randomly checks the front pocket of his suitcase. He found it. I cried even more with relief.
No longer a potential Spanish futative, Will and I checked the departure boards.
Manchester ***departure 23:50***
We’re supposed to fly at 19:50. A four fucking hour delay. Monarchs excuse:
“The plane is late because it set off late”
No shit Sherlock.
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