Now staying at a vast 1920s spa hotel at Lillafured, complete with turrets and landscaped grounds. In the dining room yesterday evening we were treated to a selection of light classical 'favourites' by an organist. And at breakfast this morning there is a very competent guitarist whose set includes two taken from the Jazz Traitors repertoire (Black Orpheus and Mercy Mercy Mercy). I squint carefully to see whether it is Zoltan, but it doesn't look like him (no grey fleece). After our walk, during which we get hopelessly lost - again - we arrive back at the hotel in time to see a big wedding party motorcade turn up, complete with three police motorcyle outriders and a police car, all with sirens whooping and the other cars all honking their horns. This is unusual behaviour hereabouts:
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