|The empty beaches of southern Calabria - windswept, and a tad forlorn|
|What! all four tyres need to be replaced!|
|High Five with the Michellin man|
|At least the manager treated us to a coffee.|
So, running on new tyres, wheels re-balanced, off we all went to catch the ferry to Sicily. Will we finally escape the clutches of Mr Murphy's law of the unforeseen.