My sister had found a real bargain price for our trip to Marrakech. As an old friend of mine used to be married to a Moroccan and had family in Marrakech we told her about the deal and she decided to come too,with her son A who is 10. My friend loathes her ex-husband. Everything about him gets right on her nerves. On the way out she was complaining that her son hadn't seen him for a fortnight, and she hadn't been able to get hold of him at all.
We were being met at the airport by her former brother in law. He was there with his 6 year old son. It was really sweet seeing him greet B and A, neither of whom he had seen since his son was a baby.
It isn't possible to get Moroccan currency outside of the country so the three of us went to the bank in the airport whilst the uncle and nephew tried to communicate in spite of neither speaking the others language. As I reached the front of the queue (thankfully far shorter than the queues in Gatwick) A ran up to us shouting "Mum! Dad's here!" And there was us thinking he was in Peterborough.
A's total delight was mirrored by B's total and utter horror.She declared the holiday ruined.
We had yet to get out of the airport.
So that was a good start wasn't it???
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