Majorca

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Early (ish) start (for a non-work day at least) with a quick run into the bike shop first thing to rant at them for their shoddy snappable saddle bolt that caused me grief yesterday. No rant required though as they were most helpful, replacing and fixing it there and then.

Off for a Flying Start breakfast at the nearby store, which seemed fitting as we were then off to the airport for another. Herded through various sweaty lines to departures and now sitting crushed and cramped between Samantha and Euan (whom I lost out the window seat to) on an Airbus 320 flying battery bus heading for Majorca, typing up this on my crushed and cramped iPhone keyboard, as we leave the UK and head out over the Isle of Wight into a cloud free but hazy English Channel, sipping a plane temperature and Creamola foam fizzy Budweiser from a plastic cup whilst Euan munches mini Toblerones like they're going out of fashion and plays Angry Birds on an iPad and Samantha reads her Kindle and recites the 'I'm not getting stressed' mantra silently. All before the mad rush off the plane with crabbit and tired weans in buggies pushed by tired and crabbit big weans at the other end and the inevitable baggage reclaim scrum and Wacky Races wheeled suitcase dash to the airport transfer.

Relaxed? Can you tell how much I fecking enjoy this part of the holidays?

The drive from the airport in the air conditioned bus, diagonally across the length of Majorca and passing through this kind of scenery - the Mallorcan wine capital of Binnisalem this is flashing by - did the calming down trick though.