We got a surprise parcel in the post last week from Mario, our Italian friend. In 2004 we stayed in one of Mario's properties in the grounds of his family's castle near Todi in Umbria. Once we had got over the shock of discovering that Mario was only in his 30s yet ran a thriving castle, farmhouse renovation business, lectured at the university in Rome and still found time to have his contemporary art exhibited in galleries in Manhattan, we liked him. Plus he had a way of saying Scarlett's name, rolling the r's in a way only Italians can. I digress. Last week he sent a full football strip from Italy's Fiorentina club for our Florence. Scarlett nabbed the football top at once and now won't take it off, oblivious to the gorgeous dresses that hang, unworn in her wardrobe. Here she is looking, like a mental, but clearly happy in her top. plus another shot of her in Rob's scooter gear. Florence continues to become a mini me of her Dad, so much so that when they were both in bed the other day, it was only Rob talking that alerted me to the fact that he was Rob. Other than that, there was no way of telling them apart.
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