This is the account of Jenn and Hann's lives so far in Italy. From Venice to Bologna to Parma and Rome! All in less than 3 weeks!

For those of you who've never visited Italy before, you've probably got images of hot, sultry summers, gorgeous Italian men, the best cuisine in the world and fashion at it's best. Scrap that, rewind, and let us take you on a journey through the Italy that we've come to know!

We've been in Italy for over 3 weeks now and as well as improving our language skills, we've also had to make significant adjustments to our patience, eyesight, tastebuds, time keeping and above all our swearing. These adjustments coupled with the lack of essential items such as blu-tack, duvet covers, A4 lined paper and post-it notes, costing under £6, has made for a frustrating first few weeks in Italy.

Ok, let's start at the beginning. We're living in Parma, a small city in Northern Italy, the birth place of Parmesan cheese, Parma ham and Parma Violets. We share a small but cosy appartment with our landlord Francesco, who, after extensive investigation, (and much to our disappointment,) turned out not to be a member of the Mafia.

The appartment has its...quirks, shall we say. There's the string in the shower, which when pulled rings the front door bell, the cheerful clouds that have been painted onto my (Hannah's) ceiling, the fortress like window shutters which once shut form a barrier, laughing at the sun's pathetic attempts of penetrating the appartment with its rays. (11 o'clock has now become our usual wake up time, as we can no longer tell when daylight has arrived).The hall light, which lets off a shrill buzz when pressed each time as if it's angry at us and finally the "sofa", which requires the aid of professional climbing equipment to get off it. However, we have actually come to think of this appartment as home, (well we have no bloody choice really).

In response to the influx of queries about our landlord Francesco, here's a whole paragraph dedicated just to him.

He's from giu :DD(down South)and has been living in Parma for 7 years. He's become the godfather for taking in poor, non Italian speaking Erasmus students, like ourselves. As we've mentioned already, we've made extensive investigations for evidence of Mafia connections, in the meantime we think Francesco may have made his own investigations into any lesbian activity between Hannah & myself!!! Mens fascination with lesbians really is a universal thing!!! He works buying & selling parts for machinery (or is that really code for importing machine guns for Mafia bosses????). Although he doesn't speak any English, he understands a lot, although we have yet to master the art of Italian sign language. For example, last week Francesco decided to go out jogging, so in order to communicate to us that he didn't have his house key, and therefore did not want us to lock the door when we went out, he waved a bunch of keys in front of my (Hannah's) face. Now, is it just me, or does someone waving a bunch of keys in your face imply that said person has said keys?

Top tip for living in Italy: whatever the logical explanation of something is, reverse it, and that's usually the right answer.

If we had applied said rule to the key incident Hannah would not have received a text message from Francesco saying he had to break into the appartment from his balcony. (Note, a skill synonymous with the Mafia).

Finally, after 3 weeks touring round Italy, our language has come on quite a bit. However, there have been a few hiccups along the way. In Rome Jenn fancied a nice ice-cream. The flavour she wanted was called Bacio (which means kiss in English). She wanted it in a large cone and therefore (logically you may think), asked for "Un grande Bacio". Strangely, she found herself surrounded by hysterical laughter and it was not until the ice cream seller told her that she could have due grandi Baci that she realised she'd asked said ice cream seller for a big kiss!!! Our unintentional flirtations with Italian men doesn't stop there however. I (Hannah) was looking forward to a quiet evening in with a book and a cup of tea. Francesco asks me what my plans are for that evening. I reply "a little bit of internet, a little bit of reading and a little bit of tea"(un po' di te'). Francesco looks at me a little bewildered. It's only when I retire to my room that I realise that my Bristolian accent has let me down. 'Un po' di te(as said with my accent)translates as "a little bit of YOU" Francesco didn't know whether to be happy or to be dissappointed to discover that Jenn and I were not lesbians after all!!!! Learning a language is a dangerous job. And with that thought we'll leave you until our next installment! Ciao x