Entry from the diary

At last the door is opened and we spew out from the fetted air that is in a plane for four hours as people fart and cough their way abroad to taste the aviation fuel laden air of the destination airport. I can’t believe we put ourselves through this. It’d better be worth it. At least the luggage is there – and in one piece. That’s a flippin win anyway. Oh and I’m told it was three hour in the air not four – even if it felt like five.

“Taxi?” Oh yes please. We follow the man outside to goodness knows where but yes, a van-like taxi does appear driven by his pal we have already met. Weird. Oop we get and we shoot off barely hampered by the queue of traffic at the airport. This man is an idiot – driving like its the last day of his life. If we carry on it will be the last for all of us. The tyres are squealing on the cobbles, we are thrown across the seats round yet another bend. I’m beginning to wonder if we have been kidnapped or perhaps are being driven by a relative a Roberto Benigni recreating his part in Night of Earth. 

"Pasqualle" the idiot driver fellow offers his hand over his shoulder . Pasqualle is his name I think so I tentatively shake his hand. Bugger, he is smiling. Is he Camorra and are we going to be sold for white slavery of summut? 

Won't get much for me anyway.

At last the hotel is here. Looks ok – even if it does seem to located in a war zone.