Gozitan Courtyard

A rainy day in Marlsaforn, a resort town on the north coast of the island of Gozo. So trapped by an unwillingness to tackle the roads of Gozo in the rain in a car not much larger than a washing machine surrounded by Gozitans with no comprehendible road sense (or an entirely comprehendible road sense depending on your perspective) some time has been well spent in the guesthouse courtyard. But the sun has now come out and I fear the man servant is getting restless and will soon inflict navigational duties on me. Yesterday I told him I was no longer navigating and then he told me that I wasn't helping and then I told him that if I was 'helping' in Australia it would be called backseat driving. 'Stick to the main road' is my advice I said and then had a little personal inside giggle for the main road is categorically not very main. Followed by, 'It's OK we must be going somewhere we're on a bus route.' Backed up with a succinct analysis that for very few Euro we could have obtained a tourist bus pass giving us unfettered and less stressful travel on the 'roads' we have been hurtling over. But apart from that all is fine.