When you is in Barcelona.

Here we are at Manchester Airport ready for an E A R L Y rise to fly to that there nodnoL and then onto Barcelona for a few days.

As can be seen Mrs Fogg has found somewhere to hide before our early evening meal where she sat explaining something I stopped listening to.

And as we sat eating, we did get to enjoy listening to one of our colonial cousins putting the world to rights with his poor oppressed partner just nodding and agreeing (“if your mother wants to see me she can get in a car, train or plane to come to me!”, “I don’t care about that man, the only time I wa t to hear about him is that he has died”)