It is the early hours of the morning. The shutters are closed and the soft, mesmerising sound of the stream beneath my window should be soothing me to sleep...
A long day including a wonderful glimpse of the splendours of Gubbio and experiencing my hosts charm, tact and infinite patience as she negotiates - not only the complexities of the Italian highway - but persues her mission to put in order her property title.
The heat in the room is mild compared to the furnace that has forced an early harvest and is revealing the baked earth in many of the rivers.
So all is well?
Peace, stillness and admiration for mankinds ability to adapt to the challenges of nature is destroyed by the tiny almost undetected tickle of the flesh, which within seconds results in burning, throbbing and itching. This adds to and stimulates the other, older mounds and islands that are increasing in number across my legs and feet.
Various potions - t tree and lavender oil, natural and not so natural aromas have been applied, but I remain defeated. Antidotes are rubbed in at appropriate intervals causing an initial reaction that magnifies the ouch into an eek, followed by some relief, but little sustained improvement.
Does anyone have any suggestions on how to challenge the subtle, but nevertheless successful campaign of attack of the Italian mosquito?