Well. What a different trip to the one we were expecting! After picking up our shiny new camper (only 15,000km on the clock) we headed down the A1 to Naples, in the search of Pompeii & the crumpled remains of those unlucky citizens who got caught up in the blast of Versuvius. After pootling down for a couple of hours, we headed for the sign for Pompeii, as you would.

This is where the lovely Italian roadsigns, or lack thereof, got us in a pickle. After driving round in circles for a while trying to locate the next sign (think of it as an Italian Challenge Anneka if you will) we got stuck on a very long, very straight, road. That we couldn't get off. For about 20kms . Which led us completely in the wrong direction, and spat us out roughly 30kms from where we wanted to be.

Ever the optimists, we turned the camper round & headed for Pompeii once more, miraculously finding it!! Except that we drove into the roughest, dirtiest part of New Pompeii, not the geological wonder that is the ruins of Old Pompeii. Locking the doors to the camper, we slowly began a circuit of the town...and another circuit...and another. After seeing one sign telling us to turn left and dutifully doing do, we came upon nothing more than street after dirty street with sullen looking Italians staring at us with looks of deep mistrust.

Eventually, after a few choice words betwixt the two of us, we decided to get the heck out of dodge. Overtaking a funeral procession straight out of a Mario Puzo novel - women wailling & brass band playing - and cheerfully scraping the wing mirror against the side of a house, we emerged, battered but not broken, onto the highway.

You might think at this point we would have given up, tail between our legs, and headed for the nearest campsite to get drunk and recover from our ordeal. Not so, feint hearts! On we ploughed, desperate for a glimpse of the famed Amalfi Coast, which had been thoroughly recommended by our Tucan Pals.

After yet another Challenge Anneka moment round the narrow streets of a town who's name escapes me, we finally made it onto the coast road. Not some idyllic, wide lane with views of white sandy beaches - oh no, that would be too easy for us intrepid travellers. Instead we found the narrowest, highest, mountain-hugging track that has ever been constructed. It clung to the hills like a limpet, with nothing but a small wall between us and a rapid & untimely death on the rocks below. And then it started to rain like there was no tomorrow. A thunderstorm came and squatted over our route like a toad on a lilypad. And the rain came down and the floods came up. And we were skiting across the road in a lively, if terminal, manner.

And if that wasn't enough for one day, those special road-makers of Amalfi had probably not envisioned some loons from the UK trying to traverse their majestic, if oh so narrow, road. So they only cleared the rocks up to the level of the highest car. An that, dear friends, is where our love affair with Italy ended. As we careened around a corner we heard one almighty crack with the special tinkle of glass that indicates an extremely expensive bill.

With Jim effing and jeffing at the pure idiocy of that silly road & myself in floods of tears (it was a loud crash & startled me quite a bit - I've never been one for shocks!) we admitted defeat and turned our trusty but no longer roadworthy camper Rome-wards.

And here we are, with one battered van serving as our home until Saturday, when we fly home to wonderful wonderful Manchester.

But at least Jim's chest is getting better. And I've got a bit of a tan.

Until next time, if there is one...

J&J xx