WEEKENDS are probably amongst my top ten all time favourite things; high on the list with
Manolo Blahnick shoes, Vogue Magazine and the perfect cup of tea when you wake up in the
morning. But long weekends are that little bit more decadent, and you can’t help an element
of smugness coming through at the knowledge that not only are you having a great time, but
that most working people are not.
I decided on Friday that it was time to catch up with my father, who lives in Madrid, and that
while I was at it, I’d make it a long weekend. (Well, it is rather a long way from London.)
I checked his availability (he told me with great excitement that he would be around and would
love me to come over) and then I looked for a flight on the internet; and before you could
order a skinny-decaf latte with vanilla flavouring, at your local Starbucks, the job in hand
was done.
My phone rings and it’s my friend Sam. ‘What’s up?’ says Sam. ‘I’m in M&S doing some food
shopping, what are you up to?’ I tell her I just booked a ticket to go to Madrid the next
morning and that I’m going to pack and get some gifts for my dad. She offers to take me to
Victoria Station in the morning, as I’m taking the Gatwick Express. We make arrangements. ‘See
you at 8.30′, she says.
I don’t have much time, so I make a list of what I need to get for my dad. I purchase some PG
tips (which are nowhere to be found in Spain) and his favourite Scottish oatcakes, which I
discover in a limited edition tartan tin (how perfect is that!?). So far so good, so I go
back home and put a few t-shirts, flip-flops and jeans in a bag and write on a post-it
note: Lock windows, check iron, turn heating off, passport (this is underlined) and the
post-it note is left on the table. I wonder as I get ready for bed how I ever survived before
the arrival of the post-it note. And, all excited, I fall asleep.
8.30 am – Sam is outside, and I greet her with a smile. I am wearing a tracksuit top with a
football on the front and ‘Madrid’ written across the front. She shakes her head and laughs. We
drive to the station through Kensington, Knightsbridge, Belgravia and finally reach
Victoria. The streets are virtually empty and London looks particularly elegant. As soon
as we reach the platform I jump on the train. We wave goodbye as the train starts to move
away and she eventually disappears into space. I find a seat and relax into it. A recorded
message is read out by a robotic-sounding female voice in four or five languages, telling us
we are going to Gatwick Airport and that this will take us 35 minutes. Then a rattling trolley
with drinks and snacks is pushed through, followed by the ticket inspector.
Soon we arrive at Gatwick and I make my way to the desk to check in. I go through passport
control and finally am told to wait in the lounge area until the flight is called out. This
has always been my favourite bit of the journey. Time to kill and nothing to do other than
shop. I go to Books etc and buy Mike Gale’s latest book, His and Hers, and then to WH Smith
to get the Sunday Times, Marie Claire (which has a freebie book telling me how to look perfect
in a bikini in four weeks,) and Red Magazine (which has a freebie handbag). I realise how
irresistible I find freebies, and sit down in the café area to order a latte and a
croissant — possibly the most expensive latte I have ever had, may I add, but this morning
it really hits the spot!
The screen still tells me that I am to ‘wait in lounge’, so I start to read the paper. I turn
to the weather pages to check out the weather in Spain. It reads Madrid: 40 degrees. I am so
excited (we haven’t had any sun for days in London and this morning on my way to the airport
it was raining and chilly) that I really can’t wait.
My flight is called out to Gate 107 (by the same robot woman who spoke to us on the train) and
I am off to enjoy my long weekend.
