Getting to A Coruña, and onwards to Ferrol
Firstly a massive thank you to Mr & Mrs B for rising early and transporting us to Heathrow. As is virtually always the case these days, a flight booked via BA to Spain ends up being operated by Iberia, so it’s off to the horrible dated dump that is Terminal 3 rather than the glistening T5. Either way we’re fleeced £5 for 30 seconds of sensationally exciting drop off. I’m really sorry for the language, but this remains the ultimate f’ing rip off of post-Thatcherite Britain. Anyway, what we lack in lustre in the terminal we make up for on the plane. None of the bog standard A319/320/321 variants. Today we have a lovely wide-body 330-200 with enough in-seat gizmos to keep me entertained for the relatively short hop to Madrid. What a beauty I’ve decided that layovers are a pain. You never quite know what hoops you’ll have to jump through. Invariably in a quite a rush too. Madrid’s Barajas airport didn’t disappoint. Going through “passports” was no great shock. The “todas pasaporte...