Dante’s Beach, Ravenna

The Feast of the Assumption began for me just after midnight with a WhatsApp message from my eldest son, Francesco Winston, 20, which said: ‘Papà don’t come, the police are everywhere.’

He and my eldest daughter, Caterina, 21, had invited me to a party on the beach organised by their group of friends to mark Ferragosto, the most important day of summer. There would be a bonfire and sausages, booze and guitars, and all the rest of it, until the blood-red sun emerged out of the sea at about 6 a.m. to bring it to an end.

The huge, shimmering sun rose up out of the sea, a wondrous way to end a party

I cannot remember the last time I went to a party. I avoid small talk if possible and am currently not drinking. So I was not exactly an ideal party guest. But I was curi

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