After half an hour of freewheeling, I spluttered into a Q8 - not the Fifties fantasy filling station I'd imagined, but a welcome sight. "Fill it up" eluded me too, and, to help matters, a gang of Italian lads with their girlfriends riding pillion pulled up on scooters, giggling at my attempts to demand 10 euros' worth of fuel when it proved to be full on half that.