'The train leaves Victoria at 8 a.m. , Mrs Volpe – try to be there a little early,' said the travel agent, who had assiduously studied his printed European train timetables, worked out all the connections and booked, by telephone, the many elements of Lidia's urgent journey to Montecorvino in southern Italy. He had then, from his desk, produced (miraculously, as far as Lidia was concerned) ticket books for the French railways, Italian railways and the ferry company, writing them all by hand through carbon-copy paper. His little travel agency sat next to the butcher's shop on the Goldhawk Road, and Lidia had never before had reason to use him, but she was ever so glad she had now. He was kind and decent, explaining carefully the things Lidia didn't understand, and he hadn't resorted to impatience or speaking slowly and loudly, as so many other people did. She'd arrived anxious and tearful in the agency but was met with empathy and kindness; she expected neit...
Michael Volpe Thoughts and opinions including the odd review of places. My personal views are expressed here. Inappropriate comments will be removed, including my own. "Noisy at the wrong times" new edition published in September 2015 on Two Roads