Today we’ve got a long and convoluted journey from Cadiz to Bologna in northern Italy. We leave our Cadiz apartment at 7.30am, which is 5.30am anywhere else in the world, and find, perhaps unsurprisingly, that there aren’t hordes of taxis queuing up waiting to take us to the station. This isn’t a good start. So it’s a long walk, a train ride, a couple of flights, a couple of taxi rides, and lots of waiting around - to Seville and then Madrid and finally Bologna. All very boring. So if it was that boring why am I feeling so grumpy. Lack of sleep perhaps, but more likely the long line of stereotypícal sorts who often conspire to interfere in the lives of weary plane travellers. And they seem to be out in force today. First up
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