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Vicenza - 05/09/2010

We drowsily, sheepishly rose in the morning praying, in vain, that our late night revelries (we were celebrating a marriage after all) might not have disturbed our neighbours. My unfortunate spill out of the bus door the previous night had likely warned the bride's parents what was to come though. We had heard tell of a maiden by the name of Juliet in fair Verona so off we went to cop a feel. And most accommodating she was too, restoring our luck though though she could do nothing for our reputations. I strongly advise all travellers to take such fortune when offered be it by bosom or big toe.
Grow grapes, pick grapes, squish grapes, ferment grapes, drink wine. With whatever is left make grappa, drink grappa, hold table. The local spirit has its home at Bassano and like true resentinieros we made our pilgrimage. Bassano's bridge rather pales next to the Stari Most but that's hardly the point. We spent the evening, in crude terms, pissing ourselves about pissing ourselves and eating great pizza. We also drank so much wine I am surprised British customs didn't try to charge us import duty on our livers the next day.

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The Duke

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