As always, the flight back from Lisbon to Barcelona was pretty full and Cristina and I ended up being allocated separate seats; 20 E and 21 E respectively. At check-in we went through something of a song and dance regarding the weight of our suitcase. The hostess was kind enough to suggest that we might like to remove some of the heavier contents that might add up to the three kilos of excess luggage rather than pay 120 euros so I pulled the suitcase off the belt and rifled through our dirty clothes to pull out a few pairs of shoes, under the watchful gaze of a line of huffers and foot-tappers behind us, that I then stuffed into my rucksack. With that the girl sent us on our way with a smile telling us to get ourselves to gate 21.

Getting through immigration was relatively painless but it was slow. Once inside we had enough time to stop for a couple of bottles of water before rushing on. When we got to our gate they had already started the usual announcement regarding the order of boarding (people with young children first, rows 16 to 32 to follow, please stand on the left, and everyone else stand on the right and wait your turn). As always, everyone stood up at once and rushed the gate in a tight scrum. Cris and I sat all that out and then ambled on with the other stragglers once the crowd had thinned.

Once on the plane we managed to exchange seats with two Spanish lads who were obviously traveling together and who had also been seated apart. I think I approached them about the exchange and they agreed readily and quite amicably. So Cris and I sat down together; me on 20D and Cris on 20E. One of them sat down directly behind me and once we had taken off he dropped the table behind my seat and spent the next hour and a half drumming offbeat to the sound of whatever it was he was listening to on his phone. I let it ride. The young girl next to Cris, sitting cross-legged by the window, spent the whole flight texting quite happily on her phone. Somewhere, deep down, I must still believe that if your phone is on when the plane takes off it’s going to interfere with the instruments and we are all going to die (I’ve long since been told the real reason behind why airlines demand you switch off your phone) and I think I must have glanced over at her every so often with looks of increased irritation.

And so I get to the elderly Catalan lady on 21C. No sooner had we taken off she went into a violent coughing fit. By this I mean an incredibly loud bark going off every five seconds or so. This must have gone on for a good five minutes before I turned around (we were still climbing steeply and the seat-belt signs were still on)– I suppose out of some sort of concern – to see if she was alright and perhaps should we call the stewardess. The lady was reading a magazine, seemingly quite unconcerned at her state, coughing rhythmically into the air at an eardrum ripping volume, without even bothering to pretend she was covering her mouth. And she must have gone on at this pace for another fifteen minutes before she stopped quite suddenly. Absolute silence all around her! Then the man in front of her sneezed followed by the person sitting next to him, and then by someone else on the row in front of them, followed by a fourth person sitting behind her. At this Cris and I broke into peals of laughter.

I got off the plane in Barcelona thinking I should take an overdose of vitamin C when I got home; just in case. In fact we went home, dropped off our bags and saw to the cats before going off to El Chipen for beers.. which I suppose is sort of the same thing.