So, where are we at? Well, apart from Lanzarote, obviously.
The day's events really began for me
last night when, over my third pint of San Miguel in a very
friendly local pub, I read on my Blackberry that another ash cloud
was expected over the UK, thus rendering even more unlikely the
prospect of any significant movements on Tuesday.
I woke to find that this was indeed the case and that the bullish
types at British Airways and Manchester Airport had been forced to
abandon plans to resume flying - an eventuality that I actually
predicted in my previous day's blog. Normally, I'm not shy
about saying 'I told you so', but in this case I really
wish I'd been wrong.
It appears there is a fair deal of brinkmanship going on the
moment, with cash-strapped industry figures piling pressure on the
authorities to lift the ban, with a seemingly diminishing regard
for passenger safety. By Tuesday night, this had even culminated in
BA claiming it planned to land 12 airborne flights, only to be
apparently slapped down by NATS.
While I'm sure this charade makes all concerned feel very
important, it's of little value to the thousands of confused
and frustrated passengers.
In this vein, we were pleased to see the lunchtime announcement
that Ryanair is to provide special flights from the three main
Canary Islands to Madrid today and tomorrow, which we duly snapped
up. So as it now stands we're off to Madrid later this week to
follow an increasingly well-trodden path of hire cars and trains
through northern Spain and France back to Blighty.
The ever-reliable Gordon Brown (I hope he won't make an
appearance in every blog this week) muddied the waters further
today by telling hundreds of stranded travellers in Madrid they
should convene in Madrid to meet a specially-arranged fleet of
coaches. Of course, he had most of his facts wrong and the only
thing he got right was the name of the city, so we should perhaps
feel grateful for small mercies.
More cogent sources now claim the centurion fleet will arrive in
Madrid tomorrow night, coinciding nicely with our scheduled arrival
courtesy of Mr O'Leary. Again, I'll believe this only when
I see the rolling fields of Spain passing me from the window of a
crowded and hopefully air-conditioned coach. I just hope they
haven't used Happy Al's!
There is definitely a cost attached to an extended period of living
the highlife, both for my shapely figure and my wallet. I'm
beginning to resemble a pile of pink-coloured jelly in sunglasses,
while my burgeoning poverty guarantees I'll be living off rice
and beans for the next four weeks. Perhaps this is a happy
coincidence but it certainly means I'll be overjoyed to get off
this island.
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