Needless to say, he wouldn't follow my advice to ditch them, instead choosing to hide them amongst his underpants, in the hope that the scanner wouldn't be able to see through cotton and detect them.
Boots have good range of toiletries, as Vincent subsequently discovered.
The flight to Madrid was good, albeit with the standard Ryanair short delay and we were whizzing under the streets of Madrid on the Metro, en route to Sol, where the hostal was. Oh, did I mention that we only had a single room booked? And it was probably the smallest single room I have ever had. On the 4th floor, on a street off Calle Arenal, it was literally somebody's house, with rooms let out. I had to walk through the living room, with an old Madrileno watching telly, to get to my room. And as it was only booked as a single, we needed a covert operation to get Vincent in. Much cloak and dagger.
The weather in Madrid was beautiful and we were soon sat with a cold beer, plates of tapas watching the Inter and Bayern Munich fans engage in a friendly sing song. The atmosphere was good and we spent the afternoon bar hopping and wandering around the plazas of central Madrid. Very pleasant way to spend the day.
We did have good intentions to return to the hostal before dinner, but as they say, when the drink is in, wits are out. And we ended up just drinking through, snacking on the free tapas we got with each round of drinks. Needless to say, we didn't make it up to the Santiago Bernabeau, instead, watching the game in a bar off Plaza Mayor. I remember that Inter won the match, I even remember the goals. I don't remember buying the kebab that ended up down the front of my t-shirt. Enough said. And with that, it was time to turn in.
