Filthy mouth

The evening was buzzing, the bonfire razing in the air, children's voices filling every space, teenagers finding their age group, most in pairs, and the rest cackling loudly.

My father sat with a group of men, drinking the locally made Ichnusa beer as they discussed what smelled like primary politics. I was surprised when I heard my father siding with President Nikolai against the others.

What was wrong with men?

The children and a few lovers were close to the fireplace, dancing to the tune of the gosos, played by a local band.

My mum and I were pushing flowers into a strewn of ropes, then throwing them over people's heads, especially couples, as they walked into the live arena.

I inhaled the air of happiness; this was how I remembered it, the fun, the laughter, the little kisses stolen under the moonlight by teenagers, then mothers throwing cautions at their daughters, suddenly deciding now was the time to teach them sex education.

Mia was with my father, and Matteo stood in the midd