Hanging Around

So, up to leaden aircraftless skies. We’re told to go to the airport where arrangements will be made.
I trust it will be packed with glum travellers sitting on suitcases. And presumably the press will be there looking for a bit of human darramma!
The SK is primed, ready to cry if cameras approach. I shall put my arm round her and look grave. It’s a shambles I’ll say. We’ve been told nuthing. I was in the Falklands and we were better treated (lips tremble)...
But blimey, once there, we’re issued with water and snacks and driven to a five star hotel in Playa Blanca; there to be handed vouchers for an evening meal, pool towels, and given access to our suite of rooms. We’ve booked you in for two nights says the woman at the reception desk. I try hard to look disconsolate. What bitter news!