Mrs. Ha insisted on snapping me in action.
Apologies but the travelogue is on hold. My MacBook died yesterday (5 months old) and then I discovered a horrible mark on the Fuji sensor that makes photography impossible until I can remove it safely. The mark looks like an oil splash. It won’t blow off.
Worst timing possible but I can shoot with the X100s.
Normal service etc.
As today has been an admin day, packing, killing time, transit to airport, I have nothing else to offer other than my flight notes. So be enthralled and join me on an Iberian magic carpet.
On time. A miracle.
Pleasant crew. All going well.
Food. Oh dear.
On offer – pasta or meat.
What meat? (They clearly didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition). Voting results in: Crew – veal. Shirley – chicken. I thought turkey looked a good bet. Tasted better than it looked. Inevitable really.
Pasta was yellow and cheesy. The report is not back from the lab yet.
Salad looked beyond tired and in need of being put out of its misery. The red things were surely once tomatoes.
There was more cheese. Probably something like Red Leicester. It came with a single grape. Red.
The desert was definitely a chocolate muffin. I wish Dr. Zanetti has been there to help with all the clinical stuff.
Tea or coffee asked the girl and I nodded. One or the other to be sure.
And that was it. Spanish cuisine at its highest.
We hope to land in Madrid. The debate then will be whether we can be deemed to have eaten or need to venture out at a time when cocoa has normally been drunk and the land of nod beckons. I’m not sure I could face paella at midnight. Unlike Eric Clapton, we rarely let it all hang out after midnight. Olé.