many years ago, my husband and I drove to and around England from Rome, where we lived. in our car. At that time, Italian numberplates contained the name of the region where the owner resided - so ours showed "Roma".
On our way back, we decided we'd pass the night in Fontainebleu, then toddle down to the Cote d'Azur for a couple of days. We were booked to stay in Venice for four nights before cruising back down to Rome. In other
words, we were in no hurry to get back.
While detouring Paris on its ring road, I noticed my husband was behaving very oddly: accelerating then slowing down while peering anxiously into the rearview mirror. "We're being followed!" he exclaimed and, sure enough, right on our tail was a large grey car, full of people and with a weird, long-haired moustached guy at the wheel. Very bravely, my husband drew over to the side of the road and got out of the car. So did the weird, sallow-faced little guy from the other car.
"Excuse me," he said to my husband, "Is this the way to Rome?"
It turned out he was was from the consulate of some minor Latin American country, transferred with all his family from the Paris Consulate to the one in Rome. He hadn't a clue how to get there so when he saw our Rome numberplate he decided to simply follow us!
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