Thursday 25/5/17.
We got up early again and messaged Neen at 9 a.m. to see if she was ready. She texted at 10 to say she was very hungover so to go without her.
We took Cinta to Castillo de Colomares, which was about ten minutes from Cinta’s flat. She didn’t know it existed. It’s not signposted. You can only see it when you get to the top of a narrow, windy road. Castillo de Colomares includes various monuments to Christopher Columbus that you can walk around and inside. There’s even a huge ship’s bow. We were there for about an hour, 90 minutes. And we met a cute white dog.
More gelato
We headed back, uploaded our photos then returned to Café Nomad. There seemed to be more banana pieces in the ice cream this time. It was an effort to eat them all without being sick.
We were supposed to meet up with Fast Eddie, but a bee stung his eye, so he cancelled. That’s rock ‘n’ roll for you. Neen still wasn’t up to exploring so was going to spend the rest of the day recovering until our flight home.
We wandered back to Cinta’s to pack.
Bristol-bound
We picked Neen up at 5:30 p.m. We’re not ready to go home. We came to Fuengirola without planning anything or researching the town, which is very unlike us, and had an amazing time of spontaneity and sunshine. We drove the car to the hire place then got the Shuttle Bus of Terror to the airport. The driver seemed to want to kill all road users and everyone on board. Why do we always get the chaotic drivers?
For the first time ever, none of us set off the security bleepers and we passed through without a pat down. The plane was supposed to take off at 9:45 p.m., but we were still boarding. Only the front door was open so they boarded the rear passengers first.
Passenger princesses
And once again, there were annoying passengers who really wound us up. This time it was two women in their early twenties. The whole way down to the plane -and we were queuing for about twenty minutes- they were staring into the windows, checking their hair, flicking their hair, checking it, running their hands through it, checking it. CONSTANTLY. And checking their arses. We’ve seen the cheeks of Michelangelo’s David.
We were tempted to pour Red Bull into their hair, make it nice and sticky. Cat reckoned she’d be sat between them. She wasn’t far wrong. The blonde had the seat beside her. This would not end well. We can only mask our rage for so long. People had had labels put on their luggage to go into the hold as there wasn’t enough space on the plane for everyone’s cabin bags. Staff checked bags at the plane door and they put any with labels in the hold. The girls had large bags (designer, apparently), yet ripped their labels off and hid them as we shuffled nearer to the plane.
Obviously they were too important to put their luggage in hold with the rest of the peasants’ bags. If they’re that rich and important, why are they flying Ryanair with the rest of us commoners? Then they held up the plane because they couldn’t find space for their bags. Wonder why. Could it be because there WAS NO ROOM and that’s why they had labels on? They planned to steal other people’s bag spaces but eventually moved to row 12 and blocked it. All the lockers were closed.
Flight fight
“I’m in 12B, can I just get past?” Cat asked the Blonde, swallowing her rage.
“I’m in 12. My friend is in 27.”
Thanks for that thrilling status update. “So?”
“We’re together.”
Cat gestured to Lynx. “We’re together.”
“Ok! I was just wondering if you’d switch seats.”
Cat stared at her, wondering how small she’d have to fold the girl to fit her in the locker. “No.”
Blonde refused to move. Cat pushed past her.
“Oh that is so rude!”
“I have already asked you to move and instead you are BLOCKING the aisle.” Cat made sure to hit her with her enormous rucksack as she got into her seat. Was Cat rude? Yes. Was Cat sorry? Absolutely not.
Blonde handed her suitcase to the stewardess. “Put my bag down the front.”
Rude, self-entitled posh twinkletits.
Blonde spent the entire plane journey sitting as far away from Cat as she could, turned to stare mournfully at her friend the whole way back to Bristol. It’s two hours, love, we’re sure you can survive. If not, well…that’s evolution for you.
We got home at around 1:30 a.m. And tomorrow we leave for Doncaster for an overnight ghost hunt. Oh the joy.
Read Day 4.