Spaghetti Junction

"Come and look at the view now," Pete said. We disentangled ourselves and climbed out of the lorry. Facing us rose tier upon tier of jagged mountain peaks, shrouded in mist. I had never seen real mountains before, and it was a fantastic sight. But that was not the view Pete had in mind. He grasped me by the shoulders and turned me away from the mountains. The effect was so amazing that I could only gasp. Far, far below us lay the sea, but not the grey of English sea. This was a sparkling brilliant blue, dotted with tiny white specks that must be yachts. Bounding the sea in the foreground was a most beautiful bay, and in its centre a straggling city, its whitewashed buildings gleaming in the early morning sun.

It was the start of a new day, the start of my new life. No, *our* new life. Pete put his arms round me from behind, rested his chin on my shoulder, and murmured in my left ear, "That's Genoa. Quite some view, isn't it? Come on, let's go and show you how to eat spaghetti!"