More about the outward journey from Stansted to Malaga….

“We made it to the Premier Inn at nine in the evening and were assigned our rooms and advised to get some sleep, since we would be rising at an ungodly hour.

As it turned out, rooms had to be reallocated due to their respective beds-to-occupants ratios. When it was all sorted out, my room-mates Mollie and Bjørk decided to head to the adjacent McDonald’s at goodness knows what time of night. My well-intentioned plan to save time by having a shower in their absence was thwarted by my ineptitude when it came to switching on the aforementioned bathroom appliance, and they had returned before I discovered that it was not, in fact, broken.

After we’d finally had our showers and got changed, we climbed into our respective beds – Bjørk in the comfy double bed, Mollie in the nice single bed by the window, and yours truly in the tiny and rather uncomfortable bed wedged in between the two.

At least I can get some sleep, I thought.

How wrong I was.

A conversation sparked between my two room-mates, and I admit I was also drawn in. I do not remember how long I stayed up talking, but quite some time had passed before I politely withdrew and attempted to settle down to sleep.

My room-mates did no such thing, and Mollie asked to swap beds with me, so that she might talk with Bjørk more easily and I might be less distracted. The latter may well have been the case, had they not then decided to watch television.

I spent goodness knows how long lying awake in bed, fervently trying to block out the light and sound of the television and whispering silent prayers to whatever powers might be listening to send me to sleep.

After what seemed like an eternity (I kid you not), the television was switched off. The room darkened and the comparatively quiet chatter of my room-mates was the only sound that remained.

I am convinced that I dozed off for a short while at that point, for the next thing I remember is looking around in a slightly disoriented manner and Mollie and Bjørk telling me that I had gone to sleep. But the night’s trials were not over yet.

The television was again switched on and my room-mates discovered to their delight that Miss Marple was on. I too am a loyal fan of the late great Dame Agatha Christie, but I firmly believe that there is a time and a place for everything. Watching Miss Marple in the small hours of the morning, in the company of a person who is desperately in need of sleep, does not, I think, conform to this belief.”