Just back from a long holiday trip to Vancouver (about which more may follow). That flight arrived at Heathrow right on time. The onward leg to Rome was delayed about 90 minutes. And then, as our 'snack', BA offered up an overweight, but heavy and more than somewhat chewy, bridge roll, topped with sweet ketchup, tasteless bits of something that may have been bacon, and rather oleaginous warmed-over cheese. They called it pizza. On a flight to Rome!

Alas, I did not have the chance to ask any returning Italians what they thought of this delight. The chap next to me was English, with a Tintin-style quiff and small, arty glasses, his nose buried in T3, a toys for boys mag. You know the type. He ate his. And I ate mine. In mitigation, M'lud, I would add only that it had been a long wait with neither euros nor sterling to my name, so I was a bit peckish. But I wasn't proud of myself.

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