A week in Majorca

Soller, Mallorca Margot and Bill urged us to go, and Bill said it had a beautiful garden that I’d love and Bob could sit in. And so Toby drove us to Southampton Airport, and really it is dreadful that a supposedly enjoyable holiday should be book ended by airport Security, of taking off belts and jackets and watches and storing them in a box – it’s like being admitted to prison.  Even with Assistance, where someone shepherds us, B in wheelchair, through, and someone else takes over the other side.  You’d have to be a sadist to enjoy working in security. So the flight, EasyJet, Squeazy Jet...