I had a delightful overnight stay with my in-laws in Harpenden, and they dropped off fairly early at Harpenden station on their way to a family christening. It was cold and damp at Luton Airport, but warm and comfortable in the terminal building. I checked in my rucksack in its own bag, and did various minor commissions and the I crossword, until it was time to board.

The flight was smooth and efficient, and we were in Barcelona by 4pm Spanish time. A day or two ago the new European entry system was introduced. No more suspicious border guards staring at you and then stamping your passport – now your passport is read by a machine, your iris is checked and the fingerprints of your right hand are taken. Dodgy passengers (well, me) are referred to border guards after the machine can’t decide whether to let you in or not, and when I gave the exact same answers I had given the machine, she gave in and waved me through.

But passport control was chaotic. Hundreds were queueing for their turn at the machines, and there were not enough people to help others through the new process, so movement was painfully slow. Eventually I had rescued my rucksack, found train to the city, and located my hostel.

The hostel was basic, but the bedlinen I was handed was clean. The clientele appears to be a mix of tourists, and a cohort of young men who have air of being longer-term residents, perhaps recent arrivals in temporary accommodation. A shower and a sort out, and I was into the city. I had a good walk round and absorbed what I could of the atmosphere of this bustling city. Beer and tapas left me ready for bed.

It has been a whole day of liminality – and in that sense, a little frustrating. But one more sleep, two train journeys, and I shall rejoin my path. I can’t wait.