An old friend once told me that the best day of the year is the one on which you go on holiday. As a far wiser man than I – and let’s face it, who isn’t? – he was certainly on to something and today, the day we went on holiday, has been a good one. Formentera here we come.
A 3.30am wake-up call definitely isn’t a good start but when your lift arrives bang on time at 4.00am, things are going well. I expected things to go wrong at Adge Cutler International Airport, but somehow they didn’t. Despite ours being the equal 24th flight out of Bristol today – and that was by 7.00am, everything went like clockwork. Check in was a doddle, security was a doddle and we got to the gate in plenty of time after enjoying a traditional English breakfast at 5.30am. Camden Hells lager (it’s the law).
For the first time in years, we weren’t flying with easyJet, this being a package holiday with TUI. So more leg space and you can use the overhead locker. We got away a few minutes late but there is so much recovery time built into the schedules, we would arrive early. Our Boeing 737-800 Max, now fitted with technology that doesn’t crash the plane despite the pilot’s instructions, was truly wondrous.
For breakfast, we chose the three cheese toastie, with added béchamel sauce, as you do at around 8.00am in the morning. I had a minor problem with the ‘milk stick’ when trying to add to my Kenco Americano, spraying it over the seat in front, which have looked a touch awkward to anyone with a dirty mind who was familiar with the mile high club. By the time we started to descend into Ibiza – Formentera doesn’t have an airport – we were enjoying the same blazing sunshine that we were at home. By the time we landed, we found the sun had stayed above the clouds.
Brexit is the gift that keeps on giving and once we had cleared passport control – much slower than the EU line – we were then diverted to have our passports stamped because that’s what we voted for, to queue yet again in order to get another stamp. Thank you Johnson, thank you Farage.
Instead of going straight to the resort, it was straight to Ibiza Town harbour, via tired and grubby Playa den Bossa. In fact, everywhere we passed looked tired and grubby and not like we remembered the White Island 20 years ago.
I was expecting a nice gentle crossing to Formentera but what did I know? Bouncing and bobbing all over the place, it’s fortunate I don’t suffer from seasickness.
The weather is here, wish you were nice. Warm, overcast and, this evening, raining steadily and from our room, we can see people wandering by the sand, dressed in cagoules and using umbrellas in the sun-drenched Balearics. And am I happy? You bet.
The weather is set to improve and with any luck it will soon be nearly as warm as it is at home. We are very lucky to be here and we know it. Probably the best day of the year, apart from the day when Liverpool stuck seven goals past Man Ure. And even the coach driver in Ibiza whistling along to Daniel Powter’s abysmal Bad Day being played on the radio couldn’t spoil it. Well not totally.
