A great little spit on a blind highway corner. What a beautiful building, warm welcome and a clean fresh room. Our daughter sings and makes a grab for the oil painting. We thought it would be bliss. At 7 we are exhausted and starving, how un-Italian. The restaurant was due to open in thirty, we can wait. Skip forward an hour and thirty and it’s still a mosquito infested furnace downstairs with a disinterested mobile phone clasping patron who keeps telling us about an invisible event as a valid excuse for horrid service. We give up, go to the room, complain and ask nicely for some food in the room. We ask for red wine. White comes. We pour it and it looks like sherry mixed with orangina. We call to reception and repeat ourselves again. ‘There is a problem’. The waiter comes and apologises, bring us some basic but tasty grub, our daughter finally sleeps and we follow. The next morning we get the worst coffee we’ve had in 4 years living in Italy. It’s flat, cold, gritty and a bit like a swamp water. The reception asks ‘oh was it too strong?’. The condensention doesn’t land. I think the untrained teenager was the problem. The damp single omelette is cold and soggy as all the kit is unplugged. We ditch out on breakfast and head out. The meal from the previous night costs us €54 and we argue about it driving to the airport.