2 boys, 1 Milan

There has been plenty of romping around town these days, in preparation for the moment when we practically leave for 2 months. Yes, our Milanese time is rather short, so we're bound to make the most of it while we can.


First and foremost, Tot T has turned into a thief. He first confessed to me to "never, ever getting over stealing a candy from a shop at the age of 6", when he was forced by mother Lynne to return it (half chewed?) and apologise to the slumping teenager who worked there during the afternoon slots. Then, as if by miracle (and thanks to the intervention of a few large G&Ts), upon stumbling home he eyed a row of green rococo pillows lining a barfront not far from la casa.

Needless to say, before I could even realise, he grabbed one, shoved it under his t-shirt and walked home with the grin of a mouse who's eaten all the cheese.


The pillow has been named Madonna (the Pillow) since she too has a tendency to snatch stuff, mainly babies. Only the following morning, did the full reality descend into Tot T's brain. Yet, after a few protests that sounded very much like Adam's recriminations against Eve after HE ate the apple, he decided to adopt Madonna the Pillow, which is now as inseparable from his bum as... well as... erhm...


Other remarkable events include going to the Mix LGBT Film Festival of Milan, conveniently located 200 yards from la casa. The homosexuals have been spilling onto the square opposite Il Piccolo, the main prose theatre in Italy, for days now, moving in synchronicity to the sound of thumping house music and ready to face muscle-crunching squeezes through the theatre's narrow doors in order to see the likes of Antartica by Yair Hochner


or The Way I See Things by Brian Pera.


We, however, were not so lucky in our choice. We believed the hype, ignored all those alluring pictures of semi-naked men (what were we thinkink?!?!) and chose to go see Sally Potter's new flick Rage.


I rarely regretted a cinematic decision so much. In just under 100 minutes, Sally and her accomplices Judy Dench, Jude Law, Dianne Wiest, John Leguizamo, Simon Abkarian and Steve Buscemi bore us to death through an infinite series of interviews to fashion people involved in an obscure and silly series of events, which may or may not represent a conceptual metaphor for the meaninglessness of life.


It was one of those circumstances when you know there are a lot of intelligent people who've given too much thought to producing something terribly obscure which makes them feel all terribly interesting, but which in fact is a load of rubbish. Next time, I am sticking with the films advertised with naked men on the front.

Finally, we're doing the rounds of our local restaurants, in search of the perfect meal. Our luck in this chapter took a sharp dive when we trusted Time Out's recommendations and ended up at Ol's under the false promise of candlelight and large platters of meat.


What we actually found were thousands of teenagers and tweens (pre-teens) running around in packs, and heavily sweating waiters and waitresses from India and Eastern Europe respectively struggling to contain their enthusiasm for the end of the school year. We were also seated next to what appeared at first a stag night, but later appeared to be a motorcycling club for boys in their 30s. Much beer was drunk. Many references were made about loose women. And so on.

What next? A real fashion show? Thank god it's Friday and we're off to Tuscany for the weekend... as Tot T's clan descends onto Italy. Expect many more stories...

Small-town train stations

Cremona, apparently, is famous for 3 Ts, which is why I thought it would be the perfect place where to introduce Tot T to the pleasures of small-town Northern Italy. The three Ts are in fact the Torrazzo, the Torrone and the Tettone.


The first one is a large tower - the tallest in Italy and the second talles in the world, in fact - which we climbed effortlessly. From its top, we got to see many pleasants sights, but not a single large-breasted woman, or Tettona.




Torrone, it seems, is out of season, being a traditional Christmas pudding. So we settled on a large jar of Mostarda, a mustard and candied fruit based sauce which the Cremonesi add to boiled meats and cheese alike.


As we strolled aimlessly along the empty streets of the city, I had a sudden feeling of being plunged back into the 1970s, an era when glasses were larger and life simpler. A few old men sat around tables, discussing football and women. Children ran around the public square, which was being prepared for the evening's celebrations.

So, it is without surprise that I strolled back to the train station and found it immersed in that yellow tinge characteristic of 1970s polaroids. That's when I took a few snaps for a certain friend who, it seems, loves small-town train stations.

Dead inside

It had been a while since I last gathered my belongings and ventured passed the Apennines to our little Tuscan retreat, but this weekend a mixture of holiday mood around town (June 2 is holiday in Italy, so most poeple are taking Monday off too) and a work trip to a fair in Florence persuaded me to brave the drive on my own all the way to Maremma.


Before getting there, I therefore stopped in Florence for the day. Hadn't been there for 15 years Marjory. Unchanged, as far as I can tell. Beautiful, stunning, and dead inside.



Luckily there are some eye-candies to keep us entertained...


The fair I went to, Terrafutura,


was full of do-gooders and barely-camoufflaged Commies:


But at least there were some bizzare things in there, including this wall of coloured beans. Beans, yes. Not sure why they featued in a fair about stuff that is saving the world, but apparently these beans are doing something good. I was too tired to bother checking what exactly though...


And then, it was our little hideaway and a gathering storm. Just what we like, and what we'll be doing again next weekend...

Back from Blighty

I am of course bereaved at the thought of abandoning the island. I will particularly miss my Sunday strolls along the Thames...


... and I will miss being inspired by high-art, which for once relates to what I care about...


...as well as art which means absolutely nothing, but is still pretty cool...


... but most of all I will miss walking down the road and stumbling upon this crucial piece of news:


Ah yes. Nothing like a good weekend in London...

Milan, yah

With all of you posting furiously about your lives, I feel a little blackmailed into doing the same. Mind you, I will still do what I want, when I want to. But in this case, I will indulge you a little.

So, as Lady V pointed out, the first few weeks in Milan have been rather eventful. Naturally we're both being terribly cool ad fashionable, wearing only the laterst knitwear and hopping around in flaming pink Vespas.

Well. Not really.

I have rocked a bike up from Tuscany, and am now riding my favourite means of transport in possibly the most cycle-unfriendly city I have ever visited. Why? Well, to begin with, most of the roads are covered in this:


As if bumping up and down on these little buggers wasn't enough, occasionally I find myself having to cross through these:


The combination of trecherous gaps and slippery metals has already made me fall twice in front of indifferent passerbys. Thus I REFUSE to stop using my helmet - considered terribly unfashionable in the fashion capital - since I know at some point I am going to get hit by someone.

The living situation, as some of you have already been able to hear from me, is far from ideal. In a mock-1960s Doris Day and Rock Hudson sitcom, we sleep side-by-side in the little space available to us, while my sister camps in the livign room. I feel like a member of the Frank family, except if I remember well her and Peter had their own sleeping spaces, so you see it's worse than the Holocaust, or at least Vietnam.

Hopefully this will change soon, but I doubt so.

The rest of the time is spent journeying up and down the peninsula to reach our beloved litte Tuscan retreat. There, it must be said, I still have my room, which makes going to bed a really pleasant affair. Lots of movie-watching, lots of relaxing, and the occasional bureaucratic nightmare to do with the chicken shed. Gosh. Don't even get me started, but let me say that the little derelict building will end up costing us more than a flat in New York.

I am now in London, about to go back. A quick visit to do with the launch of the King's Cross Hub, which looks amazing. Coming back made me realise how much I love this city, which in a sense is my real home, and how much I want to make sure I come back here soon. Milan will never be my home, although, for the time being, it's really cool to be there. Truth be said, I miss everyone here, I miss the long evening rants around the table with Little P and Little H, I miss hanging out with P&M talking about life and Tuvan throat singing, I miss A's little rants about the banking system and D's dark humour, I miss B's fondness for turquoise, and G's reassuring presence.

Ok, enough of this. Off today, back to the Dark Heart of the Med, ready to kick ass.

And you'll just see, 6 months from now we'll all be celebrating huge victories and planning how to take over the world...

Big Chillin'

First of all, apologies for the late posting of these pictures, and for the fact that they are just few and not terribly interesting. The thing is, too much stuff was going on in my brain to be too concerned with what was happening outside, and it took me a few days of regenerative fruit juices to face the blogosphere again.

But enough excuses. They are only being made because someone is constantly moaning at my erratic blogging.

So, needless to say, there were plenty of celebrity feel-like moments, as proven by this picture:


But I should also add, some people were celebrities in their own right, and look just like Kate and Pete when paparazzi snap away at them leaving from a Mayfair nightclub at 5 am on the Wednesday:


And then of course, our wonderful Festival Barbie, without whom many Kitty jokes might have ended there. Instead, she managed to pick them up every time, rehash them and reserve them as new, over and over. We are not official Kitty lovers, in some cases literally:


So, S asked me last night: what's the verdict?

Well, the festival does what it says on the cover: it chills you out. But to be fair, I don't know that I have yet reached that age in which I need to go to bed early and take my morning pills. The whole place felt like Glastonbury on morphine, gently rocking between relaxation and sleepiness, and hardly a mindblowing experience.

Does it have to be mindblowing? Well, maybe if you have 2 kids under the age of 5, that might be the only choice, so parents: do go to the Big Chill, it's the place for you!

But as for me, and for now, Glasto remains unbeaten, despite this year's insane musical line-up. I am afraid we'll have to give it one more try next year...

Get ready for some mud!!!

Along the South Bank

Trotted along the South Bank yesterday on an official visit to young Maximilian, who joined us 5 weeks ago and is as gorgeous as his parents.

On the way, I snapped away and cool things. Like this giant green living room at the National Theatre:


Or this Eden Project-like sphere at the Hayward Gallery:


Couldn't take a better picture unfortunately, but you should still be able to see a celebration of someone's mum, alongside Gandhi and Mandela. Go Jennifer!!!!


The view of Lambeth's beauties from H & H's balcony:


And finally, I had a chance to go see the much talked about graffiti oeuvre by Banksy & co. on Leake Street. This one, for some reason, caught my attention. I know of one Papist at least who won't be pleased...

Milanese notes

Having just returned from a week-long visit to Milan, I felt the urge to dedicate an entry to this wonderful city, which despite historic waves of foreign invasions, forced industrialisation and reluctant globalisation, manages to retain an untamed and unique spirit.

Milan is an ugly city. Yet, after a few hours of aimless roaming through its cobbled streets, one cannot help feeling a strange attraction for this incoherent assembly of ancient palaces and cement blocks. It is only after a few days, though, that one understands what the secret of Milan is: its people. Notoriously hostile like Newyorkers and rude like Parisians, one should hate them. Instead, they soon reveal a rather unique trait, a mixture of dry humour and cheekiness that is most endearing because it comes across when least expected. Never have cab journeys been so much fun.

So here's to Milan, to its wit and to its wonderfully bizarre citizens...!

A la mensa collettiva a gh’è el mangià che stracca
se va denter con la forza e se vègn foeura con la fiacca
la minestra semper bònna perchè la dis mai nient
t’en dann ona tazzinna ma ghe manca el condiment.

la minestra semper bonna perchè la dis mai nient
t’en dann ona tazzinna ma ghe manca el condiment.

Se te voeuret per vint lira te dann anca el bologna
la grassa che gh’era denter l’è scappada de la vergogna
quatter rav in insalada fettin ben ben tajàa
merluzz che te refilen el campana ’me on dannàa

quatter rav in insalada fettin ben ben tajàa
merluzz che te refilen el campana ’me on dannàa.

A la mensa collettiva gh’è i sbarbàa de la via Arèna,
ghe va anca el scior Giacòbbe con la sciora Maddalèna
Lisander ch’el starnuda e’l Rico perrucchée
la mensa collettiva la fa sú di grand danée ,

Lisander ch’el starnuda e’l Rico perrucchée
la mensa collettiva la fa sú di grand danée.

One Blackfriars Road

Just got all excited about this website I found, AEC Magazine, with lots of cool 3D visualisations of architectural landmarks about to be built in London (and elsewhere).

One of them is One Blackfriars Road, a scheme which

[...] contains a 375 bedroom 6* hotel, 120 residential apartments and a publicly accessible sky deck. These elements are integrated into a slender, sculptural 65-storey tower and six storey podium building which frame a landscaped plaza.

Here are four images from the website. Absolutely mindblowing...

getting ready

a few hours before the flight takes off.
the excitement settles in...

Palais Bulles

This has to be the weirdest and coolest place I have ever seen!