I didn't get up to much trouble while I was away. Other than having the ole passport and plane tickets nicked in Rome, a couple of last minute sprints to airport gates, our plane to JFK crashed in to a glass wall coming in off the runway....but very little actual mischief. By the time I got to Florence, I think the boy was concerned about my lack of antics, and encouraged me to meet up with his cousin, sitting on my lap in the photo. Usually a Sydney resident, Miss charlotte was in Florence for a month learning Italian. As you do. So we met earlier in the evening, I was excited. A link to him. Some new company. And as it turned out.....a whole lot of mischief. We had a nice dinner and a few drinks in this piazza near to where i was staying. Not far from the river Arno, on the other side from the duomo. We were drinking these deceptive wee drinks, a mix of bubbly and strawberry or peach liquer. Then i pulled out this lovely chianti that i had got the previous day on a bike tour on the outskirts of Florence. Well it was a wine tasting tour, soaking up the Tuscan countryside and hanging out in an 11th century castle, all in the company of a Scotsman, a naughty Italian, and some Americans. So I pulled out this bottle of wine, and this very dark man, 'a man made of chocolate' Jacob would have said at one time, he leaned over to me, his white white teeth belying the accusation, 'excuse me, you can't drink that here'. I can't remember what my defence was, but i had had enough to drink that i had a fiesty, but of course charming defence. And next minute he was seated at the table with us. He had only spoken up because his friend was the premise's security, but he didn't speak English well enough to tell me off. Charlotte seemed very pleased to have the male company. I was happy to let the security guard take over opening my bottle of wine. And before you knew it us girls had finished the bottle and made some new friends. The one who spoke almost perfect English was an ex professional football player. I think he used to play for Berlin. Or Germany. But in any event he now owned a cafe in Berlin. By the time I had finished my wine, which was horribly wasted on getting boozed on, it should have been savoured over some candlelit table, I realised it was after midnight and i didn't have a key to get in to our room. Or a phone to text Sally. I vaguely realised in my foggy state that I was in trouble. But i walked back to the room, rung the buzzer, and then took off again guiltily before anyone could answer. Very effective. Once I got back to the crowd, the band was packing up, and my new friends were talking about going to a discotech. Dancing! But this place was like nothing I had ever experienced at home. It made the bars and clubs at home look like daytime children's television. There were mirrorball tiles floor, wall to wall and ceiling. And people writhing against each other in the flickering light. But there didn't appear to be a whole lot of women.....the music was unfamiliar to me, sort of hip hop, hip grinding booty shaking sounds. And I'm in my little sundress feeling incredibly blonde and pale and suddenly sober. We dance in a respectably distanced circle until some guy catches Charlotte's tonsils and I get served up on a platter to the Senegalese/German ex-footballer who dances closer and closer until he's breathing in my hair....and biting my freakin ear! I remind him, real friendly like, that I'm out with my boyfriend's cousin! And he grins that cheshire luminescent grin and says he'll come to Venice with me if i ask. I don't. The night progressively spins out of control......but i'm losing patience with this story. Tomorrow perhaps.