Buenos Dias!

And Ecks is returned...minus his suitcase, which is believed to be loitering in a holding pattern somewhere over Madrid...having been sent back and forth (ida y vuelta, si quieres) four times between Terminal 4 and Terminal 4 Satellite (a trip of some 25 minutes) yo-yoing between various Iberia desks staffed by an exquisite mixture of the ignorant and the apathetic in a sanity-fracturing Herculean labour of trying to get iberoaerobureaucraticos to arrange for him a transfer onto a different flight...ending in a final exasperated exchange:

"Solo quiero ir a Londres, y que mi maleta va a Londres también."
Tippy-tappy-tippy-tappy-telephony-telephony-tippy-tappy
"Vale. Este vuelo - S49, 14:45."
"Ahora, qué hora es?"
"15:00."
"Joder!"

...having to sprint for the flight that had boarded 15 minutes previously...having initially been subjected to a two hour delay on the flight from Granada to Madrid...due to snow.

The moral of the story: the snow in Spain falls mainly on the plane. Oh, and don't fly Iberia.