Casablanca!

Oh, I do like this Business Class travel! We had access to the new lounge at Edinburgh airport - coffee, sandwiches, cheese and biscuits, crisps were all partaken of. And a G&T.

What a haven of peace in the noisy airport - No muzak! I noticed a man in a dark suit standing for ages paging through all the papers. He looked familiar. Then I noticed that the trousers of his suit were tucked into a knee high pair of black boots with six inch heels. It could only be one person... Yes, it was Eddie Izzard*. He'd been in Edinburgh for a show, and to promote the Better Together campaign.

Emboldened by my G&T, I went to return my paper, and happened to chat to him. I then noticed his Union Jack fingernails and the bright red lipstick. Charming man, and we had a good chat.

We had a couple of hours in the Business Class lounge in Heathrow. It was not as nice, I thought, though there was plenty of hot food. I tucked in. And had another G&T. The selection of red wines was not to JR's liking - she sampled them all.

Very nice meal and extremely generous G&T on the plane. A tumbler, 2/3 full of straight gin. He came back with tonic, but the delay was enough to cause slight panic. We asked for another glass and emptied some into it, making three drinks. As I was sipping on my fourth gin of the afternoon, I thought I'd be better not finish it...

A stooshie at the border guards! I was standing waiting for my passport to be stamped, and my guard kept shouting and gesticulating at the guard in the next booth. Another came over and joined in the argument. Then another. Then another didn't want to miss out on the fun. Four of 'em - in my guard's booth - nearly resorting to fisticuffs, while I stood, jaw agape. JR had passed through incident-less, and was looking back wondering what was keeping me. I don't think they were fighting about whether to let me in to Morocco or not.

We had been really clever and withdrawn a pile of cash to change into local currency here without incurring bank card costs, so I went to change money at the bureau de change. I proffered my Bank of Scotland notes. She looked at them and waggled her finger at me, pityingly. Not recognised. Not even recognised in England, of course, and we get caught out every time! Hmm. They'll have to if we become independent....

We were met by the hotel taxi and whizzed in to the centre city on the motorway at 130kph. Beats our rickety old Edinburgh bus at 50kph on potholed roads.

Yes! Casablanca. 11:30pm. This is a light in the foyer of the hotel. It's all I can manage today.

We have the whole day tomorrow, then meet with our tour group at the hotel in the evening. That should be interesting...

* A famous cross-dressing comedian/actor with political ambitions, it seems.