On The train ride back to Rome we had a cabin to ourselves so we reclined the seats, took our boots off and let some air get to our blisters. For our last evening in Rome we went back to the hippie hour bar for the gay choir chanting. They were really pleased to see us back and we were introduced to each member of the choir one by one. The woman behind the bar spoke pigeon English, but we got by ordering several beers, blonde, like Madonna, sometimes. After paying our bill she offered us a free couple of shots, she poured a couple of yellow drinks which we knocked back. It was advocat, but far stronger that the stuff my mom used to have at Christmas. "I made these with my own eggs" she proudly told us, to which we had no reply. 

Back at the hostel we might have called it a night if it wasn't for the accordion and trumpet players outside our window who have us many chorus's of  "those were the days, my friend". So we found another bar for a nightcap before catching a few hours kip.  Another early start as we headed to the airport where we passed the time by playing spot the nun and watching the freaks at the airport, who included an MC hammer look alike who was covered from head to toe in studded leather. No idea how he got through the metal detector. Ryan air managed to get us back to winter in Liverpool, this time with out the fanfair and more surprisingly i managed to get us back to blackpool, despite my lack of sleep, for a nice hot bath an early night and relief in the knowledge that i didn't have to do any more walking.