I don't know, Mario, I don't know, I don't know, you know - I'm confused. We've only known each other for a couple of years in this political adventure which has upset my life. I now see my life in a different way, with a different kind of confusion, differently messed up, so far away from then and what happened in the meantime... those white weeks in Baia Mare... the oysters in Paris and the Loch Fyne... and then following you in Brussels and your political ambitions... Mario, I fear, I sense that someone wants to harm you. Actually today on the high street a blatantly fake Indian agent, a tanned white man who did not even speak hindi has lifted the house keys from my purse and made a copy, but I noticed that he was acting suspiciously before, on the bus, when he attracted everybody's attention by attacking a real Indian agent who was chasing him. I kept on shopping to give him time to act and coming back home later I found it newly equipped with state-of-the-art bugs. Whoever he is, we now know how to let him know what we want him to believe whenever we're pleased to. Kisses, Miss Welby.