"They seem to be all Italians in here, locals," I say as we walk from the pissing rain into the first small restaurant down from the hotel.
The fact is the human brain is nothing more than an explanation machine and creating explanations, jumping to conclusions, is the default setting.
After half an hour with a ham and mushroom pizza it transpires that the "Italians" turn out to be a large family group of Spanish staying at the Grand Hotel down the road, an Australian couple, and the rest are English, in fact the only Italians are behind the bar.
You just can't stop it can you? "making sense" of everything, sense which in reality is nearly always nonsense.
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