LAST week, I called one of my colleagues, Ann, for a long overdue chat – since lockdown we hadn’t seen or spoken to each other.

In general, she was fine and coping with most things, except for this one particular day.

You see, Ann had to drive her partner John to Hairmyres Hospital in East Kilbride from the South Side of Glasgow.

“I was nervous leaving the house for the first time in ages,” she admitted.

“But I was also dreading driving to East Kilbride as I’d never driven there before.”

Turns out poor Ann was right to be nervous as she circled around the same roundabout for the third time before taking the wrong exit.

“I then found myself heading towards Hamilton.”

Ann was majorly stressed, not helped by John who was apparently pecking her head too because he was running late for his appointment.

“Oh Ann, we’ve all been there.” I attempted to make her feel better about her disastrous journey.

“I left Airdrie to go to Cumbernauld and ended up in Twechar and another time left Lesmahagow to return to Airdrie and ended up in Edinburgh.”

All this chat of getting lost reminded me of a night my friend Bobby saw unfold during his latest adventure in Spain.

“Well Janice, my two pals, Scott and Daz, were each buying a house in Marbella and had arranged to fly out and meet me in Spain as I was organising their viewings,” Bobby said.

“And by the way, Janice, they’re not the brightest pair.

“So, Scott flew out on the Monday, but Daz, who had a wee job on, couldn’t fly out till the Tuesday.”

“I had promised to pick them up at Malaga Airport and take them to view their prospective property.”

Bobby sounded as though he was a high-flying overseas estate agent all of a sudden.

“I got Scott no problem and took him to his new villa.”

Bobby seemed chuffed.

“And by lunchtime he was sitting by the pool having a nice cold San Miguel.”

“Sounds lovely,” I said. “Wish I could afford a villa in Spain.”

“Well, Janice, between you and me, they both landed some cash after a large compensation claim.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that so thought it best to say nothing.

So ... Bobby went on: “Tuesday, and Daz called to make sure I was still picking him up.

“‘I land at three o’clock mate,’ he assured me.

“‘No problem,’ I said.

“‘I’ve got a wee white Fiat 500 hired car till the end of the week, and I’ll make sure I’m outside Terminal One.’

“So, I got there at 2.45pm just in case the flight was early.”


“Twenty past three, Janice, and no sign of the idiot.” Bobby sounded less than pleased.

“So, I called Daz’s mobile.”

On the phone to Daz, he said:“Where are you mate?

“I’m here.” replied Daz, and added: “I’m walking up and down the terminal big man, but I cannae see you anywhere.”

“Well, what with the heat and everything, Janice, I was getting a bit hacked off,” Bobby told me.

“‘I’m right here mate,’ I yelled down the phone.”

Apparently Bobby was flapping his arms in the air hoping his daft pal would spot him.

“I’m in a wee white Fiat 500 hired car,” he reiterated.

“Ye canna miss it.” But apparently Daz did miss it. Big time.

“I called him again five minutes later...

“‘Look mate, you cannae miss me, I’m now standing right outside the exit of Terminal One.’

“‘Well so am I,’ replied an adamant Daz.

“‘Whit are ye wearing?’ I asked.

“‘Ma new Adidas Man United trackie,’ was the reply.

“Janice, the place was mobbed, and I was getting completely frazzled looking for the idiot when the phone went again.

“‘Bobby, I’m waving and I’ve not moved from the same spot, but I still cannae see you anywhere,’ he told me.

“‘And I’m wearing me new contact lenses.’ Like that made a difference!

“That’s when the penny dropped.” Bobby looked harassed.

“Daz, whit airport are you at?”

“Whit do you mean whit airport am I at ya daftie.”

“Alicante obviously.”

“Alicante?” Apparently, Bobby lost the plot.


“Yer supposed to be at Malaga Airport as you’re buying a house in Marbella ya bloody numpty.”

“Aw right,” Daz replied. “I’ve only ever been to Alicante Airport, so I thought there was only one airport in Spain.”

He went on to explain: “My Ma booked ma flights and she always goes to Alicante when she’s going with her pals to Benidorm.”

“But you’re not going to Benidorm, you’re going to Marbella.”

Frustrated beyond belief, Bobby was fuming: “Stay where you are and I’ll come and get you.”

Reflecting on it all, Bobby told me: “Do you know, Janice, when I put Alicante Airport in the satnav I was even more raging.

“That’s almost a six-hour drive ya *******.”

Bobby’s language was now rather colourful.

Which made me realise that Ann’s trip to East Kilbride and mine to Cumbernauld really weren’t so bad after all!