It started off badly (for Monica at least) first thing. Monica's alarm went off and she crawled into the bathroom to get ready. Why hadn't my alarm gone off? A quick check revealed why. We had another hours sleep. Monica's phone was still set to Spanish time. I let her spend half an hour in the bathroom before I told her of her error. She was not amused.
We said our goodbyes to the staff and left for the station at 8:45am. It was 9am before we got to the station. Total chaos everywhere. Welcome to rush hour on the underground. How we managed to get on the tube was a miracle. There was barely room for us both, never mind the two suitcases we were lugging about. The commuters didn't see the funny side of things. Neither did I. I was getting increasingly agitated. Stuck in a tight enclosed space. I had all my winter layers on and it was boiling hot in this sardine can. Sweat was pouring down my face. Looking around the carriage and people were eyeing me with suspicion. What must they think? Me wearing a large winter coat, backpack on back with a large suitcase between my legs, sweating and not looking comfortable at all. They think I'm a suicide bomber!
Over 30 minutes we were stuck on that tube. I nearly passed out. Monica was worried that I might collapse any second. If I did I'm sure she would have left me to it. We made it to Liverpool Street before I hyper ventilated. Now, we were seriously late for the plane and had to catch the Stanstead Express sharpish. Safely on board for the 45 minute journey to the airport I began to calm down a little. Only to panic that we might miss our flight. We made the gate with 10 minutes to spare.
Safely through security with the check in lady's stern "go straight to the gate!" still ringing in my ears, it was time to relax. We had made it. Hadn't we? The walk from the arrivals gate at Málaga airport is a long one. It's a short stroll compared to the marathon you have to endure getting to the departure gate at Stanstead. Its never ending. So, with the end of the terminal in sight (still 500 yards away!), it wasn't the best time for Monica to tell me she had lost her boarding card. This flight wasn't meant to be I was convinced as Monica ran back down the corridor in search of her boarding card. Luckily, someone found it around the corner (Still some 400 yards away). We boarded the flight with no more incidents. I don't think I could take any more.
Attention turned to Venice. Time to relax. At Treviso we were met by Roberto who drove us back to Venice. I was content in the passenger seat already contemplating my first Spritz when I saw a bizarre traffic sign. Surely my eyes were deceiving me? The stress of the day had finally cracked me up. 250 Metres down the road and there it was again.
Attensione prostitute!
I asked Roberto about the sign and he confirmed what I had seen was not a figment of my imagination. Apparently the mayor of Mogliano had the signs commissioned to reduce the number of traffic accidents along this stretch of road. Apparently punters would pull up with out notice to pick up the girls only to be shunted from behind.
Adesso mangio pesci.
Arrival in Giudecca was greeted in the usual way, loads of food. After telling Antonello that I now eat fish, it seemed that they were going to test me straight away. The table was full of every different fish and sea food that Venice had to offer. Lovely. The meal was capped off with a tiramisu, complete with candles for Monica's birthday.
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