IRELAND IS WORKING AS ONE COMBINED UNIT TO RUIN MY ITALY BUZZ. IT WILL NOT WORK. I SHALL OVERCOME.
Anyway. I'm not going to go on (much) about Italy, in case you were worried. I have SOME respect for other people. Instead I will dole out tiny anecdotes, in glistening, sun-shiney nuggets that offer wee tasters of the trip. Mar shampla, on Friday morning we had a champagne brunch on our terrace. In fact, EVERY morning. Over-looking the Mediterranean. Then I went for a walk on the beach and poked strange looking things in rock pools with a stick. Then I went for a run. For a mile and a half. On pale beige semi-firm sand, weaving in out of the water in my bare feet. Me. Running.
I'm going to let you take a minute to fathom how amazing this fact actually is.
That's how I spent the past four days. Weaving from champagne bottles to dinner tables to the beach. Constantly half-cut and half-dressed and wholly giddy on pleasurable things.
You are excused to vomit your envy away from the computer.