How ironic, and probably predictable when you think about, that in all my travels to India, across Asia, throughout Central and South America, I was never bitten by a single mosquito. Other bitey things, yes, but never by anything from the Culicidae Family. Heard them countless times, seen them whine around other people, slapped the critters away whenever I've had to, but never has one dined on me.

So, to be bitten in Italy at the weekend, and bitten multiple times, in one of the world's most developed and civilised countries, has an ironic quality deeper than any echo sounder can probably pierce.

The Italian mosquitoes loved me; penny sized red weals all over, including to my embarassment, one on the tip of my schnoz. It's red enough to make me be seen in the dark.