After back-to-back isolations, at the peak of the bleak mid-winter, we were on the brink. Driven by the madness of self-isolation day three, Jasmine had a revelatory carpe diem moment and hit Skyscanner. Hard. After the trials and tribulations of Lent Term, we decided to return to the glorious bygone half-term holidays of secondary school. We were going to make our dreams come true, with 24 hours in Madrid.

At first, we had the rose-tinted image of a romantic getaway in the winter sun. Yet what they don’t show you in jet-setting chick flicks is that logistics are fundamentally unsexy: our Valentine’s Day consisted of several hours bickering over Spanish Covid forms. As it was so early on in the relationship, Lily was anxious her meticulously organised folder of paperwork would give Jasmine the ick. Yet, as it turned out, her preparedness was a saving grace, given the chaos yet to come.

“At first, we had the rose-tinted image of a romantic getaway in the winter sun”

We rose from the grave at an astonishing 1:45am. Alarmingly, Lily’s neighbour was coming in from her night out as we left; Jasmine had not yet come to her senses and greeted her with a sleepy and stupid: ‘Good morning’. Stansted opened a new wave of comedy for us as we suddenly remembered we didn’t have any euros – Lily was supposed to organise this and simply forgot. All we could do was laugh.

What we haven’t mentioned so far, dear readers, was that we were about to fly on the worst day of Storm Eunice, and our flight caused a dire moment of reflection: we had left the country in the middle of a storm, in week five, each with thousands of words due on Monday.

Once we landed, we realised that we spoke no Spanish, which caused havoc on the Metro. We took three wrong trains and found ourselves back at Terminal 4 each time. Jasmine also said ‘ciao’ to many confused locals. However, it was all worth it for the moment when we emerged from subterranean depth into the sunny Spanish streets. As expected, the day itself was rather spectacular. We roamed the Gay District, wombled around a cathedral, and perused the Reina Sofia Art Museum. Between these moments, we had surreal reality checks, picturing our friends in the library. We had immersed ourselves into the narrative of a Mediterranean city break, and had dressed accordingly, bare legged in summer dresses. We only realised how our actions looked to the citizens of Madrid when an elderly Spanish lady approached us, wrapped in full winter garb, and declared her amazement, in Spanish, that we weren’t cold.

“We found we had proper time to talk and enjoy each other’s company”

The day was plodding on, and we were getting tired. Our sleep deprivation was beginning to show. But a picnic in the park momentarily revived us: We realised the real value of our trip. Over a baguette and some Fanta Limon, we found we had proper time to talk and enjoy each other’s company, without being rushed to lectures, or hushed in the library. It was a space without distraction, where we didn’t have to compromise our work or sleep. Yet this bliss was short-lived.

When we arrived back at the aeropuerto, we lost all sense of social norms due to exhaustion. When our gate opened, we found ourselves talking too loudly about Cambridge’s lesbian politics, too tired to feel any shame, much to the dismay of the poor family next to us, who definitely gained some eye-watering insights.

As we came into land, once again we realised the dire reality of Storm Eunice. During the descent, the pilot made a disturbing point of going over the emergency instructions. Disaster struck when we arrived at Stansted: all trains and buses were cancelled; the queue for taxis was longer than the line for Robert de Niro at the Union, and Ubers surged to almost two hundred pounds. We felt like we’d never get home. A stroke of genius came to Lily, who remembered that Panther Taxis are always there for you. While waiting, we began to re-think our summer dresses as our hands turned blue from the cold. We tore down the M11 in our chariot of dreams, relieved we were going to make it, and to this day we don’t remember what we discussed with that poor taxi driver on our surreal journey: the delirium was too much. Exactly 24 hours later, we were home.

So, is the 24-hour half term holiday worth it? Here are our dos and don’ts:

• Needless to say, it’s not for the fainthearted: don’t go with someone you can’t laugh with, or someone with whom your relationship cannot stand the test of the Madrid Metro system.
• Definitely don’t go in a storm.
• And don’t make a habit of it: our actions were taxing both for our wallets, but more concerningly, our carbon footprints, and we can’t say this didn’t lurk on our consciences, but we considered it a rarity.
• Final tip, don’t be like us, learn some basic language skills for your destination.

Ciao, and happy half term!