Jerez part the first...

In May of this year I travelled to Jerez in southern Spain with my mate Graeme. I had intended to keep this blog updated with our adventures as they occured. That plan fell by the wayside.

I did, however, keep a notebook journal. And since Graeme has left for Australia I thought I'd put a few pics and transcribe some of those silly scribbles on to the blog so that he can check it out from afar. All 3 of the rest of you, lunatic right-wing commenters aside, are welcome to look as well.

This is from my first entry (which is the only entry I typed into my iBook)...

"Many journeys start with a taxi. It may be apt that this journey started with the taxi driver confessing that he was nursing a severe hangover. There are those reading that will say it was my duty to refuse to continue with the voyage as this was the case, but I had a plane to catch, was half asleep and my holiday had begun. So, slightly wary that my driver wasn’t entirely sober due to the previous evening’s revelry, I was on my way.

The queue at the airport was long but moved. The flight was late but I got there. With all of my luggage.

There is something very temporary about the open-plan nature of London-Stansted. Something about it reminds me of the Spielberg movie, The Terminal. Just a bit dirtier. It is also a great deal more crowded than I was lead to believe. It is tempting to attribute this entirely to the success of Ryanair as their checkin desks seem to be the only ones with any punters about them.

As usual, I head for food and beverage, a Pret club sandwich and then to O’Neill’s to get some Guinness into my system. A lot of continentals kicking about. Far more used to Heathrow.

Graeme’s late. Git. Been sitting in an airport for 3 ½ hours waiting and it seems the geography of South-East England has escaped him, as Kent is fucking miles away from Stansted. Fortunately O’Neill’s is not running out of Guinness and there is a pretty girl sitting opposite to occasionally lock eyes with. I might be better off having a look at my book on Andalucia, but to be honest I’d rather take advantage of my battery while I still can at the moment. Besides, there is a certain amount of joy at going to a place totally blind."

This is Graeme standing in front of one of the largest Sherry houses in all of Jerez...