We’ve arrived.
A day of driving, taxis, waiting, queues, standing on buses, sitting on planes, reading, walking across dual carriageways.
Aperitifs by roundabouts. Staffed by waiters who offer their sincere condolences for our Queen.
Only abroad do roadside restaurants in the shadow of a brutalist apartment block serve delicious food. Where rotund restaurant dogs roam freely. Playing the game with their endearing eyes imploring gullible punters to donate their delicious leftovers.
