The Fat Lady Is Singing
The ferry trip from Cadiz to Las Palmas, Gran Canaria, was civilised by any standards given that it was forty hours long. Bridget found it a breeze.
In Cadiz the queuing, bureaucracy and high temperatures took its toll and when some cars started to queue jump I could not help myself from jumping in front of them, thankfully bringing them to a halt, and berating the second in line, the first having escaped. He rather sheepishly slunk away and even though I hadn’t achieved anything, other than establishing that the British queuing system is right, returned proudly to Bridget. Later that evening, following the consumption of a well-deserved dinner, I suddenly felt that I was being watched. I looked up and some 20 feet away a slightly merry gentleman was grinning and when he realised I had seen him called out “Mr MG. You shouted at me and I am in terrible trouble”. We soon established that he was the driver...