SOS!

Arghhhh! Fred's pitched up!

Fred Flies In

It was always going to be tough. Fibonacci arriving at Genoa, business class on BA with his latest squeeze in tow. 6' tall, high heels and Welsh to boot (the squeeze, not Fred). A late lunch on the Thursday set the tone for the weekend; five bottles of wine between the three of us (Mrs Combo having scented serious incoming and fled), down to the bar for a bottle of Prosecco and then off to a local trat for, well, frankly I just remember more Prosecco and then a lot more red. Back to Combo Towers for grappa afterwards. Ditto for Friday with a bit of an embarassing slowdown on Saturday due to drink exhaustion, but some fine wines in the evening courtesy of Car Dealer Bruno. On Sunday Fred took his Amazonian bimbo back to Genoa where they enjoyed as much BA hospitality as is humanly possible on a 1 hour 50 minute flight to London. These are the gifts they brought/half-inched from Duty Free: the mythical Hendrick's gin (untouched, waiting for a cucumber) and a serious malt with serious packaging, the Isle of Jura (touched, Friday night).
Someone, anyone, stop me before I drink again. But not just yet.