Napoli

Thanks to an overly helpful ticket seller, I was heaps early at Gatwick. I’d planned everything to what I thought was perfection but forgetting the almost regular occurrence of maintenance work between Aldershot and Guildford.

I asked the ticket guy if there were buses today instead of trains. He told me yes and said I should go to Gatwick via Clapham Junction because it would be quicker than using it.

He was right. Even with the multiple changes. So much quicker in fact that I could have left home a few hours later than I did. Bastards!

To top it off, you can’t drop your in-hold luggage until 2.5 hours before your flight departs. This means just sitting and waiting and waiting and sitting.

Still, eventually the time rolled around in that way that time has and I dropped my bag and set off in search of Weasels.

And I found John almost immediately. He was sitting, guarding a huge table and chairs in the Wetherspoons, with only his daughter, Sarah to help. I was another person to help spread the metaphorical towel.

Of course we had beer and were eventually joined by Anthea, Darren, Lorna, Lex and Bex. Bev and Jon finally decided to arrive and we all celebrated the beginning of another Weasel shenanigan.

Contrary to appearances we all had far too much fun before our gate was finally announced and we boarded the plane.

The flight was smooth and, apart from the very loud and clearly miserable child in the seat in front of me, uneventful. Two episodes of Games of Thrones and one of The Walking Dead and we landed in Naples to the usual enthusiastic Italian applause.

Saturday night traffic in Naples has to be experienced to be believed. Everything you’ve heard about Italian driving should be multiplied by at least a hundred. We saw some extraordinary feats of skill only possible with ice water in the veins of the participants.

Our tank like mini bus crossed above and through the mayhem before finally dropping us off at an alley. As the driver explained, he couldn’t go any further. It was either out of fear of breaking some mafia territorial code of practice or the bus was too big. We walked the final section and met Angela.

Angela runs the air bnb flats we’re staying in. Ours are situated in a gated alley full of flats over many floors, narrow balconies with washing hanging in the middle. Mirinda would be jealous because we’re staying in the midst of the locals.

But there was no time to reflect on our surroundings because we had an appointment with a pizza or ten. And what great pizzas they were. Even the house wine was tolerable. We finished up with some seriously syrupy meloncilla before heading back home, to the relief of the restaurant staff who wanted to go home.

We all settled down to sleep just before 2am.