Sunday July 22, 1979

_. 6th Sunday after Trinity

The saddest day of the holiday. We hung around the pool for most of the day just waiting to go home. Spending our last few pesetas on booze and ham and cheese toasties. The flies hanging over the hotel are nauseating. We laugh and say that 'Eva Braun' (the manageress) must be breeding them (the flies) in canisters and releasing them from a high balcony onto the distraught holidaymakers. Chat with Anne and Lorraine. They've avoided us for two weeks. Stuck up sods really. I snapped away with my camera like Lord Snowdon in an attempt to use up my film.

Left at 7pm-ish for the airport although we didn't fly until 10. Ate roast beef and carrots at 35,000 ft. Peculiar, eh?

We landed in Birmingham at about midnight and sat amongst the litter and Commonwealth immigrants faced with the knowledge that we were stranded here until about 8am. Billy refused to accept this and hailed a taxi. It cost us £40 from Birmingham Airport to Stockport. "Oh, it's not bad!" exclaimed Dave, as we sat in silence. "It would have cost just as much by train, anyway."

Hit Stockport at 2am. Greeted by Lily and a toothless granddad. Downed three bottles of Coca Cola in the Hollywood bar. Oh God, we're home. Bed at 2:45am.

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