SATURDAY – 8AM – COLIN FOSTERDescending the staircase, I am greeted by the unmistakable aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and warm croissants. I have forgotten how heavenly the breakfast here is and my taste buds are fired up before I even push open the door to the dining room. My usual table by the window is vacant and a copy of this morning's Guardian newspaper is folded neatly next to the side plate. It's the little touches that make coming here so familiar and one can't help but feel blessed at having such an accommodating host.
As soon as I sit, Maria is here with the coffee pot, pouring and chattering, welcoming me back but non-intrusive in her queries. I order my usual Eggs Benedict and peruse the front-page news whilst sipping the heady Colombian brew. Having slept well, one is
