Road rage

Italy, for the uninitiated, is a long, thin country with 2 big islands off the south west coasts. Most people travel by car so a long weekend means the roads are not just full, but overflowing.
Now that I have had some experience of Italian autostrada traffic, my heart sinks like a stone when I see a tailback on the motorway.
Sunday night sinking like a stone does not even cover it. I needed to start work today - back in Big Pharma at Sesto Fiorentino! - so set off in good time to get to the residence, drop off my bags, then take the car back to the car hire place before the 4pm deadline.
The journey from Marche to Florence usually takes about 3.5 hours. So when I saw the sign that said that I was 137 minutes from the next exit (mine) that was only 20 kilometres away, having already been stuck in traffic for 2 hours, I was less than happy.
This feeling only got worse as I saw my motorway-bound mates careering down the hard shoulder with hazard lights flashing looking less than in need of pulling over or emergency assistance. The emergency assistance was, more likely, required for me as my blood pressure rose more with each car that raced past. I hoped that the police would be waiting to nab them all, but, in fact, not. I was seriously tempted by the old adage - if you can't beat them, join them - but my English sense of fair play meant that I queued with the rest of the people not brave enough to chuck on the hazards and make a run for it!
The only silver lining to this cloud of over 4 hours is that I had 2 bags full of stuff from my fridge in Marche with me - as I was moving for work I had cleaned out my fridge - so somewhere near the Incisa turning, i had a cheese and tomato sandwich and some fizzy water.
But when a 3.5 hour journey instead takes almost 8 hours - it takes more than a sandwich to make me smile. The glass of Rosso Piceno Superiore I had on arrival at the Residence went a lot further in this regard!