Oh the life of an international jet-setter (as if).

Just got back from a lurvely holiday in Funchal, Madeira (as in Madeira wine) – part of an Portuguese archipelago of islands off the coast of Morroco (like 1000km) in the mid Atlantic.

Lovely island – friendly people, beautiful scenery, that sort of thing. Not that we were too adventurous as the purpose of the trip was for us to chill out, and spends lots of time with granny. We did wander a lot through Funchal, did a walk along a levada, and peered over the highest cliff in Europe.

I clearly have a jinx on flying though – we got stuck in traffic on the way to the airport, and had to run through the terminal to the sounds of a “final boarding call for passengers…”, and on the way back we arrived an Funchal airport to discover our plane hadn’t left Manchester yet (and it’s about a 4 hour flight!). This wasn’t so bad, as Funchal airport has a great children’s play area which kept the little ‘un happy for most of our 6 hour wait (having got to the airport 2 hours early, like good bunnies).

The best bet was yet to come though – after the plane finally arrived from Manchester, we boarded and sat happily in our seats, only for them to ‘pop the hood’ on the port engine and start tinkering. Joy of joys – 90 minutes sitting on the tarmac while they search for a hydraulic leak that I don’t think existed in the end.

So we landed some point after midnight, and finally got home at 2.30 am – a good 6 hours after we should have got back.Perhaps I should give up flying?

Haven’t forgotten about Boston, by the way…