Until the doorbell...

puts an abrupt end to it, I shall tell you that I have ladies on my mind.
Ladies, who snog, get married, loose their virginity, knock themselves out for days, than commit suicide, whereby there shall be peace in Verona.
And I am waiting for Sophie who is one of there women in my head.
And she should bring wine.
And she should be here already.

And the Christmas market is already up at Vorosmarty square.
The smell of bacon is really unexpected in the underground.
A lot of pretty little dust collectors, neatly displayed and somewhat overpriced.
Go and walk hand in hand with a dark Hungarian and his deep voice, drink mulled wine, and buy some festive crap.

Doorbell.