I've finally made it back to the UK after some interesting journeys across Europe ( both East and West) and a few days in Camaiore to catch Turandot at Torre del Lago.
It started in Cluj airport where I was wearing my Clujana yellow shoes, which you may recall from some time ago. As I joined the queue to check in, a policeman beckoned me over, and took me to the front of the line. He then had me checked in and waved me through security.
The point about the yellow shoes is that they used only to be worn by high-ups in the Government, and there are only two possible explanations for the policeman's behaviour.
Either he thought I was a VIP...
Or more likely the Mayor had told him to look out for me.
Quite a lot of time in Italy was spent having a beer and watching the world go by, mostly consisting in the early evening of groups of girls and boys ( and more elderly ones too).
Quite a few of the younger thinner ones were eating huge slices of pizza, which will ensure they take on a more rounded figure - that's the kindest way I can put it.
What interested me though was an older woman, perhaps early 50s, who had clearly had a life.
She was neither particularly good looking, nor particularly well dressed, and she had varicose veins in her legs. But the way she walked reminded me of the "Dove" advertisements for old is beautiful. She walked with enormous pride in herself, perhaps for what she had been.
The older men's eyes followed her rather than the Twiglets.