Verona was a ball (as in a lot of fun, not an ache). GI, Skooter Farm Dave, and I flew in on Thursday evening, setting up our booth in a corner of one of the vast halls in what we presumed was the London underground equivalent of Ealing Broadway - ie a long way from the action, and the end of the line. Added to which we were tucked in behind a Routemaster double-decker. It seemed like everybody else had already set up shop. The floors were still covered in protective cellophane and I nearly got run over by an Oompa Loompa from the local Hog Chapter, on a Segway.Mr Martini kindly sorted a big Trace Elliot amp for Dave, and Paolo had arranged the new Zaeta street-tracker. Once everything else was in place we necked a few fluorescent Prosecco Aperols and went for some scrummy dinner.
Friday morning we pulled on the balaclavas and got down to business. Dave acquired a fluff covered mitten.It transpired we were next to the Lowride photostudio and there was a constant steam of tarty totty and shiny motorcycles wafting past. The bus turned out to be the number 11 I actually took as a kid growing up in Chelsea, and the centre of Mr Martini's stand. What with all the gawking punters it felt like we were in Covent Garden and not the sticks after all. BP