Hot and sticky

Mum has Jo and Charles from Melbourne staying. Jo is a relly. Last time I saw her was in 1983 when she gave me a lift from her father’s house back to the youth hostel. I have no memory of it.

After a couple of hours of gentle chat, I head back to Heathrow for the next leg to Madrid. This stop is no longer necessary, because Ken, who I was intending to visit, is otherwise disposed - in rehab. Instead, I check into a cheap Airbnb on Calle de Embajadores.

It’s getting dark, is in the high 20s, and reasonably humid. My room is small, but adequate for a one night stay. After a cold shower and some internet banking, I go in search of an ATM. The first offers multiple services, but seemingly no option to withdraw by card. Luckily this isn’t a universal trend in Spain.

After a beer, I go eat at a local café - and order too much. I couldn’t resist Morcillo de Burgos (definitely a meat product), but made the error of getting Patates Bravas as well. Two helpings of potato is one too many. Plus they brought crisps adorned with anchovies with my wine.

It’s after 11, the temperature is still 27C, and the streets are full of people, young and old. I’d like to stay longer, but I leave tomorrow.