Down to the Big City by the Sea for a tough match against Bari, only to hear whilst on the train that the match had been postponed because of ice on the terraces. At Genoa? Bathed in Mediterranean sunshine? Another local council weapons grade cock up. Haven't they heard of salt? Only in Italy.
So what to do? Off to a trattoria for a perfectly awful meal, followed by a couple of Camparis at this bar with its sadly festive tree and not much else.
Back to the station. This is Genoa Brignole. Isn't it impressive? This one is for Wilko.
Then boozing on the journey back. Marvellous. Neither of these are Ron, sadly. Far too young.