Friday, January 18

I started the day with a shower which proved an adventure in comedy. We then went for breakfast for our second adventure. Irma giggled as one thing followed (or failed to follow) another.

I spotted that boiled eggs on toast minimised the possibility of disaster, and restricted my diet accordingly.

I also realised that Nescafé has a lot in common with canned peaches: neither bear any relationship in terms of taste and texture to what they allegedly stand in for. They both occupy their own existential space, well away from coffee or peaches as we know them; not unpleasant (I like canned peaches) but something entirely different.

We spent the morning by the rooftop pool again, watching planes passing overhead and watching Africans, Arabs, Asians, and Europeans approaching the process of sunbathing and swimming in their own very individual ways.

At midday we left the hotel to buy some final gifts before finishing the packing and checking out. We left the Star Metro liking it as much as we have before; and genuinely looking forward to our next visit.

At the airport we wandered around and then sat in the lounge where I caught up on the current state of Brexit. The stupidness seems amazing, Bunter.

As we leave the lounge and walk towards our gate we both spot something we have seen before and wondered about. I walk over and check to see what the bins contain. Nothing.

Do we understand their purpose correctly? Do they really exist so that people who suddenly realise that they own too much luggage can throw some of it away? Do these people exist?

“Oh darling, this blue case seems so bothersome. Shall I chuck it?”
“What’s in it?”
“God knows; trousers or whisky or something.”
“Oh, chuck it then!”

We will get on the plane to discover that it has had an upgrade. Brand new planes now fly this route. We have spiffy seats with television and enough legroom to stretch right out.

We also have wifi. I will upload this from somewhere over Iran.