Some things never change - even on holiday

The hill was steep and the steps were plenty.Mr A reached the top before me, a rubbish bag in one hand, balanced by a box of cardboard tucked under the other. I'm not sure how he managed the bag of plastic bottles too, but he did.We'd already locked up the Swiss holiday house where we'd spent the week exploring the beautiful Lake Maggiore - all packed up just in time to hand the keys to the contracted cleaner.Well I think she was the cleaner. She turned up at the exact time we'd been instructed to depart, but she didn't speak English and I hadn't mastered enough Italian to ask. But she managed to mime a sweeping action so I guessed she was...

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