Mr Black, I presume
“You don’t need wait in line, you can go through the fast track line, just enter the details in that machine over there”.
After a few puzzled looks at the touch screen terminal, and entering random flight numbers we came away even more confused over what was going on. “It didn’t work, we cried”, so we were allowed to go down the fast track lane anyway, ignoring the massive queue of poor travellers waiting in line.
Handed over the passports, and the tickets. “Oh dear” said British Airways Man. “Your ticket says Mr Blake, and your passport says Mr Blake”, as Ali started to giggle; “but your checkin information says Mr Black. The first 15 minutes of being in the airport, hours before we needed to be, and already we, or rather I, was in danger of being thrown out. A few phone calls later, and a sly check with British Airways woman across the desk next to him “Can’t I just add a note and leave it at that. I don’t want to have to change the booking”. And I was allowed on the plane again. Which is fortunate for both of us, because all the luggage went under my name. Hah.
So we’ve spent a good few hours wandering around the airport now. We have a Spanish phrase book. ‘Ha perdido el conocimiento’, and Ali’s favourite ‘Grassy Arse’ – we’re going to take to Gran Canaria like ducks to slowly hardening cement.
And now we have a pub – all we need is time to hurry up and get on a flight. Woo 
Oh, and cheer for Hedgehunter, Lord of Illusion and Iznogoud in the Grand National later. If Iznogoud wins, my 50p bet stands to make me 100 quid. I’m all about the odds, me.
