Jonny McCambridge: Lost in Mussolini's grand train station. Did I make the wrong decision?

We'll come back to that.

First some context and history. I am standing with something close to confused awe in the Milano Centrale station in mid-morning.

The building is, to deliver a frank verdict, bonkers. I struggle to find words to adequately describe both its scale and architectral grandeur. The facade alone is monumental, adorned with Roman-style columns and statues of naked men, winged horses and gargoyles.

If you were impressed by the scale and ambition of Belfast Grand Central, you ain't seen nothing yet.

There are hundreds of shops inside the Italian station, which resembles a giant warren complete with mosaic flooring, glass and steel domes and daunting, sweeping staircases. There is an enormous piazza out the front.

On the day I am visiting a TV or movie production is being filmed there and I come dangerously close to walking into the middle of the a scene until I am shouted at by a burly security guard.

The station was opened in 1931, a bombastic symbol of the power and dominance of Mussolini's fascist regime. Now, it serves more than 300,000 passengers every day.

I cannot tarry as we have just one day in Milan and a lot to squeeze in. We want to see the famous Duomo and the Leonardo da Vinci Science Museum. However, as the tourist bus drives us away from Mussolini's pet project, I'm still a bit dazed. A whole day could easily be spent touring this monumental building alone.

We are tired and weary as the taxi delivers us back at the station hours later in the fading light. There is less than half an hour until our train departs when I announce to my wife and son that I need the toilet before we get on board.

My wife is cautious; my old mobile phone, which she has been urging me to upgrade for several years, has finally given up, scorched by the merciless sun under Milanese skies and will neither receive or send messages or calls.

My wife picks a spot outside an agreed shop and tells me that she and our son will wait there until my return. I nod my understanding and head off, following the sign for the Toilette.

This proves to be trickier than I thought. Like much else in this station, the signs seem to follow no logic. I make several wrong turns, which eat up time, before the bathroom is eventually located.

When I leave, I attempt to trace my route in return, but I quickly become disoriented amid the throng of people and scores of retail outlets and cafes which all look the same.

I come to the place where I hope my wife and son will be, but I realise it is not the same shop where I left them. Panic is rising as I realise I am hopelessly lost and not contactable by phone. Our train will depart in around 10 minutes.

I have to make a decision. I know I have not come to the right spot and I've no idea how to find it. There seems no point in standing here, where my wife and son are not, so I head for the gate where the train will depart.

I should quickly point out that my intention is not to board the train without my family, but rather I am hoping my wife will have come to a similar conclusion and we can meet up there.

My wife has the train tickets on her phone, so I wait outside the gate and count the minutes down.

The announcer makes a final call and then I watch as the train slowly chugs away down the track while I am still standing on the concourse. For a moment I wonder if my family is on board, but my strong suspicion is they are not.

I am not concerned about missing the train; there will always be a later one which can be caught.

My concern is over my wife and son and the sure knowledge that they will be sick with worry, alarmed that I've had an accident or found some other form of mischief.

I begin to wander around the station again. Freed from any imminent time pressure I find more logic in the endless twists and turns.

I discover my wife and son standing close to where I left them half an hour ago. They have only recently shifted a few yards, on their way to contact security to have the alarm raised about a missing man.

The conversation which follows is animated. I have to confess to getting lost, but the discussion is around the appropriate steps following this.

My wife and son are adamant that the correct course of action for them was not to move from the spot where we had agreed. When the argument is put forward with such force, it sounds compelling.

I attempt to explain my logic. I could not find the agreed spot. Time was running out.

The logical step thereafter, even though it had not been discussed, was surely to go to the train and rendevous there. My wife and son look puzzled at my argument.

I have to fork out money to buy tickets for a later train. I spend a bit more on first class seats and a faster service, to take some of the edge off the continuing dispute.

Then we go for a slice of pizza where the two competing trains of argument are again ventilated.

This all happened several weeks ago while we were on holiday.

Since we have been home I have told the story to several friends. So far, they have all agreed with my wife's conclusion and eschewed my own.

I am, however, confident that there is someone out there who recognises my wisdom.

Surely, there is....