Hilda and I decided that I needed some distraction from my health problems and a change of air. So she has arranged for us to come on this holiday in Barcelona, a splendid historic city in the Catalan part of Spain, which we have not visited before. We did spend some time on the Costa del Sol with Sheila when she was little but that was a different kind of experience entirely and did not involve getting up quite so early. This trip was all organised by Hilda who chose to book us on a low-cost airline called Hot-Air. She booked both the flight and the hotel on our computer which I thought was a little reckless as it involved revealing our credit card number (and security code) to a firm about whom we know nothing, but Hilda says the flights only cost £1 each (plus £75 tax and baggage supplement) and everyone does it this way nowadays.
This morning we had to get up at 4 a.m. and go by taxi and bus to a very strange airport (I think it used to be a bomber base in World War Two) which is apparently the European headquarters of Hot-Air. We had to stand in an enormous queue at the check-in desk while young men and women attired in the red and white polka-dotted uniform of the company entertained us with songs and jokes and supposedly helpful tips about flying. I thought the whole thing lacked the dignity that one expects of an International Airline but Hilda said it made the wait less dreary. Boarding the aeroplane (a garishly red splattered Boeing 737) was even less dignified as there were no booked seats and some of the young people and children scrambled past us using disgraceful language in their haste …