Cold

Hey all,

A bit grotty today with a cold; thought I might spend the day in bed, but the cleaners, and the fact that at least one of them dreamt of being an opera singer, put paid to that. So got up and had a couple of cups of coffee (for the antioxidants) and a cigar (for the Vitamin C), then wandered around aimlessly for a few hours in one of those weird slightly dazed head cold states: sneezing, blowing nose, wearing thermal underwear in 30 degree plus sunshine. Found the Dante Museum, which really was not that impressive. Then took some photos of red boots in a shop to email home – the shopkeeper was very understanding: mothers – all women – very difficult people – men are much better. In hindsight he may have been a little too understanding...

Went out for drinks last night with the model agent lady, who it turns out is quite the Florentine celeb, which I guess you would be if you ran all the models outside of Milan – a lot of interesting people came over to talk to her, including a couple of art restorers – one from some gallery in England, the other a charming American from the Tate. When not restoring art himself, the Tate guy travels around advising on the restoration of wood panel paintings, which he specialises in – was on his way to St. Petersburg to give advice on restoring something, but was a bit mysterious about what. Apparently wood panel paintings present particular problems in that the back of the painting, unprotected by the paint, shrinks faster than the front, causing the whole thing to buckle outwards. I asked him if he ever, just for the hell of it, advised his clients to “just whack a few nails in, hold the bastard down.” He said no, he did not. But now I have planted the seed, it is only a matter of time – it will be the scandal of the art world – you heard it here first.

A few interesting things about Florence (another of the people from last night was some famous architect) – there are no new buildings in Florence because you are not allowed to build any. You can renovate internally, but not knock down any walls. And if you want to paint the outside of your house, it has to be in one of a very few shades – they have a strict colour palette for the entire city. One more interesting thing about the psyche of the place – the model agent, who owns a business here, an apartment, is half Italian, speaks it fluently complete with arm waving, knows everyone in town and has lived here for 20 years – the name everyone calls her translates directly to “The Stranger.” 20 years.

Photos – a church, before they figured out the flying buttress – you can get some idea of how thick the walls had to be if you look at the windows along the left. The toughest looking sportster that I have seen – the owner was happy for me to take a photo, apologised that it was “just a prototype,” then apologised several more times for the unpolished state of the muffler. A random street shot, the entire Divine Comedy on one poster, and finally, someone saving space four stories up – the bike was held there by a hook and an electrical cable.

Am off tomorrow to the Italian family I will be spending the next month living with as I try to get my head around the language a bit. No idea what the situation with the internet will be like there, so if you don't hear from me for a couple of days till I figure it out, or find a convenient net cafe (or an even more convenient idiot with an unsecured wireless network) then that is why.

Cheers, B.