under the blanket

Almost 24 hours of blissful sleep. And it isn't enough still. My comforter is so warm and cuddly, my pillow is just the perfect firmness, my sheets still have the faint lovely scent of vanilla, and my bed is perfectly horizontal, which is more than I can say about horribe unreclinable plane seats and airport benches that have arm rests to deter people from lying down. And in case anyone is surprised, my cheap flight home on DifficultJet was delayed. At one point during the interminable wait, surrounded by loud Spanish voices and even louder Brit ones, I looked around the anonymous departure lounge, totally disoriented and wondered, "Where the hell am I?"

Was woken up by flat mate just now who wanted to see my failure of a tan. She proclaimed that my face is a different colour from the other parts of my body. The SUNKILLER [yes, that is the actual brand name and it can only be Japanese] that we used on our faces must have been very powerful, more super duper than the SPF 40 sun protection that we had on the body.

During the same time while I was in Spain, some people I know also went on trips, but more exciting ones than mine. One went to Ho Chi Minh to bribe officials to start an IT school. Another flew from Sydney to Tokyo to track down the love of his life to propose to her -- after not seeing her for five years.

My trip of sun, shopping and a little bit of sangria seems quite ordinary in comparison, and I have the usual tourist snaps to show. So, coming up the next time I surface from deep sleep, 100 lousy amateur photos of Spain [with only ONE consisting of both Lilian and I, since we are so camera shy]. You have been warned.