On the road in pursuit of the angel voice of David Daniels, I leave this week's blog in the capable hands of Michelle Lovric, novelist, anthologist, friend, fellow Venetian-by-adoption and General Good Egg. Check her out at http://www.michellelovric.com

Ten days ago Venice briefly became part of Italy. Normally Venetians would agree with their poet Mario Stefano, that if Venice didn't have a bridge Europe would be an island. But when it came to the final of the Coppa del Mondo, well, suddenly Venice wasn't just part of Italy. Venice WAS Italy.
My husband was honored with an invitation to a private party at our local bar, where everyone stood for the national anthem, something Venetians normally wouldn't be seen dead doing. The owner, Emilio, is a huge football fan. The bar was decorated in the Italian team colors and all his staff wore the team livery. During the penalties Emilio was so overcome with emotion that he had to go into the kitchen to compose himself.
I wasn't watching the match myself, but I knew every time there was a near miss or a goal. Sirens sounded up and down the Grand Canal. It was 90 degrees and rising so everyone had their windows open. I heard every groan and scream. Nobody had to tell me Italy had won when it happened.
The fun started. With big splashes. From our terrace there's a good view of the Accademia Bridge, where committed fans were jumping off. It's illegal to swim in the canals here but the Venetian police are very retiring. Particularly on the night Venice, sorry, Italy, had won the World Cup.
On any important occasion Venetians take to the water, and so the boats started coming, up and down the Canalazzo for the rest of the night, crammed with people waving flags and singing, 'Siamo NOI i campioni del Mondo.'
WE are the World champions.
Indeed.