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...

fwihpeiorpapsdufiauspwefdhgmvsdgyvpa

still no update on my life in Milan. You're just going to have to get used to it.
Instead, a little rant.
I visit all your blogs religiously, and post several comments on them - at least when I can be bothered. I think I am one of 4 people more or less who visit your blog. Still, you refuse to accept the bleak reality and insist on the ridiculous request of making commenters type long obstruse sequences of letters, to prevent spam.
now, really, do you think you're going to get submerged with all these web-generated ads about viagra and holidays in Kabul, that you need to keep the wretched thing on? the one person who DOES get about 1m visitors a second, Le Duc, doesn't have one. he'd be the only one to have a right to. and he doesn't. is his blog submerged with spam. I don't think so.
so please, spare me the torture. turn the wretched thing off!

tribute

I know I have been here for over a week and still haven't posted a thing. But some things come first.

This one for example. A tribute to Paul. Possibly the most perfect man ever to step on this planet. Even more than Jake...

1928

I am slowly drifting towards Friday, departure day (if, that is, we manage to fight our way onto the 1 Eurostar that is leaving on that day - "if you can, please postpone your trip", says the website, like, we're all here doing nothing, yeah, sure, I'll just go to Paris some other time, and relax in the park in the meantime, shall I?)

Naturally connection with train to Italy will be missed, causing huge row with French ticket office who will cite clause 2.4.5.3d, clearly stating that

"... even in the event of gross error on our part, such as the burning down of our own rail system, you will still be made to bend over and be buggered with a large, cactus shaped tool and be forced to apologise, while loosing any right you ever had to recoup some of the millions you have poured into out pockets to avoid travelling by plane and make the planet a better place, and in fact loosing even the right to sneeze on sacred French soil".

Yes. I can see all this unfolding before my eys. It's all so obvious, I don't even know why I will bother getting out of bed at 6 am - instead of 9 as originally planned - to haul myself and my luggage - including Lady V - to St Pancras.

Push on through? Natch, that's what we do, in'it?

Am exhausted, in the meantime, by the sheer amount of work I have to do and the sheer insanity of the tasks I have to accomplish in that hostile and insane bumble-bee country that is Italy. Why not leave it rot in its own mess, like those bankers that are now crying outside their offices, pretending they didn't know all along they were bringing it all onto themselves, the greedy f*ckers? What about the lives they ruined?

"Oh, terribly sorry we just lost all your pensions, mortgages and savings", they said for years with a grin on their face as they played with your life as if it were a toy. But when it's their lives in question we are told "You should feel sorry for them".

Well, call me a mean person, but I am not sorry for them. They all knew. That's why the whole castle is coming crumbling down. A crisis in confidence my ass. No one was confident. They were all simply trying to stash as much money into their pockets as they could before the party was over. And now someone switched the lights on, and all the cigarette buts, the spilled drinks, the old rusty stains and the used condoms are there, offending the sight as they lay on the floor, corpses in a battlefield, and the smell is suddenly pungent in a way that was unnoticeable before. Except that no one mourns today all those billions who have been paying year after year for this insane capitalist system in which we live. No. It's the bankers we're supposed to feel sorry for.

Yeah, right.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAnyway.

Sorry, just had to get it off my chest. Had a bad night sleep.

Off to see GG now.

The Visitor

Flying back from New York, as Lady V grasped my arm in terror at the horrid turbulence we had to endure for some 2 hours, I lazily selected a film on the screen in front of me, about which I had heard little, and from which I expected even less: The Visitor.

The trailer barely does it justice. This is a complex, profound drama about intertwined destinies in a fragmented world, in which the characters move aimlessly in search of meaning and human touch. Above all, it is about the insanity of immigration policies in a post-9/11 world, were security concerns are able crush people's lives in a web of Kafkian consequences. The set is New York, but it could easily be London or Rome.

I cried when the film ended. Not many have achieved this. Astonishing.

Next obsession

Is Woody back? It seems so... Cannot wait to see this...

Amerika, Round 3, part 4

And so here I am, back from the US of A, jet lagged and still high due to the wonderful experiences I had over the last week. Russian spider-cabaret, star-covered Limos, s’mores, A-rides on 1948 Chevvys, poo-riddles, apple pie-making, chess-playing under mounted bisons, swimming across monster-infested lakes, walking in flip-flops across mosquito-infested woods, and on and on and on. It would take over an hour to list all the amazing things I did in just over 8 days.

But most of all, P & M’s wedding. Everything about is was perfect, except perhaps the little drizzle that accompanied the ceremony – but quite appropriate if you consider the two met in London. Yet, even that gave way to an astonishing sunset, as we ate and danced and drank ourselves into a frenzy of joy and love.

And of all people, I should know. My role as officiator was so honorific, so unique and so incredible that this will by far be the best wedding of my life. P & M, I have no words to convey the joy I felt for you both on Saturday. I have never seen two newlyweds transmitting to all their families and friends such immense happiness, that it was virtually impossible to sit and stop bouncing around. This has been by far one of the most memorable days of my life.

Naturally, the whole event didn’t go down without a little romping, as my sermon rightly predicted. Tot V and Tot T, having downed the former a few good litres of wine, and the latter something between 10 and 12 tequila shots, managed to entertain the crowds for hours Marjorie. There is plenty of photographic evidence, unfortunately not in my possession as my camera phone died and was unable to revive itself. But I am sure someone will post something sooner or later. Perhaps a couple of snaps taken in a loo, since the duo has taken to going to there ensemble and documenting all on camera.

Then of course there were hundreds of other fantastic moments on that day, beginning with Little Pea’s smashing of the P&M-shaped piñata, a highly symbolic act, given he was not allowed to express his grief during the ceremony. And of course all the preparations before the actual wedding, the groom pacing nervously up and down the living room, while the bride demanded lashings of cava in her dressing room. It was like being in a movie, really. And finally, a little stop-over in NYC, which was glistening under a blue sky and looked absolutely amazing. I have now officially fallen for that city.

So, here I am, back in London, under a grey rainy sky, sad at the people I have left behind of course, but confident there will be more adventures like this one in the near future.

As Lady V would say, good times, happy days!!!!!

Amerika, Round 3, part 3

As the grand day approaches, we have been treated to the life of kings here at Shelburne Farms. The place is absolutely amazing, and I can't think of anything quite like it in the world. A stunning 1,400 acres property full of the grandest collection of barns in the world. Some of them are truly unique, like the Breeding Barn, once used by M's ancestors to breed what was supposed to be a unique cross between town and country horse. Unfortunately this project was somewhat interrupted by the invention of the Ford T.



The other buildings in the estate are just as stunning, most of them now used to fulfil the conservation purpose of the social enterprise that runs the place, which was created by M's father in the 1970s, when the power of flowers had still not been put in doubt.




The Inn, the oldest building on the estate, is where M was taken home straight from the hospital where she was born. The family still lived there, until the building was turned into a hosting facility to suppor the social enterprise.


But it's not only the ancient barns that are providings us with plenty of entertainment - that, and the impending wedding of course. The property is awash with old items that could easily fit into a museum. This 1948 Chevy, for example, offered us lots of photo opportunities, including the old favourite Lady-V-over-bonnet snap:


But more than the buildings, including the one where we are staying, a beautiful beach house overlooking Lake Champlain, this whole event is about the people who are playing a role in it. First of all, of course, P&M, who have been the most amazing hosts, worrying more about our well-being than about their impending wedding:


Then, of course, the ladies in all their glory, here in full attire for the gala dinner at the Inn, which took place on Wedensday:


Then, M's mum and dad, who are two wonderful individuals whom we have all fallen in love:



And then there are all those other people who are living on the farm or in other places around the world, who have come here for this momentous occasion.


Enough images for the moment. Just another 2 of Lake Champlain, the other main protagonist of this site. Absolutely amazing...




Except a final post soon!

Amerika, Round 3, part 2

There is not much evidence of the Bachelor-ette party that took place on Brighton Beach on Saturday night. Only a couple of shots while we crossed the infinitely-large Brooklyn to reach our final destination, Tatiana, a heavily-decorated Russian restaurant on the seafront.




Needless to say, yours truly embraced the opportunity to dress up like Russian pimps and whores, only to be stunned into shame when we walked into the posh reception room, which was shared with a large Russian family with children and grandparents. They were not amused by our appearance, nor were all the other guests at the venue.

This did not stop us of course from downing far too much vodka, throat singing into the night and watching with a mixture of horror and marvel at Tatiana's stunning show, performed by skilled Russian dancers to the theme of Spiderman.

Memories of this night will remain buried into our brains, like treasures from a ship sunken into the Caribbean Sea. Naturally, they might be revived from now and then, when the opportunity arises - particularly to embarass a certain groom who slipped a large object into his mouth. You know what I am talking about...

Next, Rhodes Island, where Tot T's delightful parents treated me to delicious lobster, boat trips across the bays and the odd Baptist church.




Also, worth mentioning that the place was crammed with hippies, as proven by this picture below. Apparently, we were told by a gracious old lady on the pier, 2 days ago Mercury, Venus, Mars (?) and the Moon lined up in the Western sky, prompting a phase of universal healing for the Earth. Natch.


Now in Shelburne, which is of course amazing and requires a separate entry in its own right. Brace for some quality pictures in the near future...!

Amerika, Round 3, part 1

So, here we are again, frolicking in the delightful New World, this time for a worthy cause: turning M into an honest woman by marrying her to P - literally.

More on that later. This entry is really about our first 24 hours in the city that never sleeps, the big apple, etc etc. Stepping off the plane after an execrable flight on Continental (never, ever again! BA, I promise I'll never betray you again!), guess what we found to quench our thirst?


YES! Mango Tango indeed. Hopefully not a sign of things to come.

But this was the least of the surprises that awaited us. Stepping into Tot T's uncle's house, we were greeted by a number of interesting sights, beginning with Snowy:


An unnamed creature hovering over Lady V's 4-post bed:


An inspiration for my forthcoming wedding role?


Some controversial "art" by artist in residence N:


And some quality pictures from times gone past...



And some others not quite so gone past...



Yes. This is quite a dwelling for the Tots...

4 and a half sketches

No pictures for me this time. I left it to others to comply with your visual appetite. I am sure they'll show you plenty to entertain you for most of the winter.

As for me, I am a man of words. So here are 4 (and a half) sketches with highlights from our last adventures.

It all started with a trip to the Belgian capital, where I was soon introduced to the wonderful world of Belgian social innovation. To be perfectly honest, I think they should probably start with genetic innovation before moving onto to more complex tasks. On a short detour to the countryside, in fact, we managed to catch the wrong train back to Brussels, and found ourselves stranded in a small village outside Liege, where we were immediately transported to a world of basement horrors and man-beast intercourse. As I picked nervously at some fat-dripping chips, my eyes moved nervously from one obese figure to another obese figure, either related or soon-to-be related to the first. Catching the evening train to Paris made me sigh with relief. I can see why they sleep with their children, when the adults look like that.

Next, Tuscany (after a brief stopover in Paris). Not much to say about that, to be honest, except large amounts of cooking, eating and some occasional hill-stomping, usually camouflaged as running. I am afraid I might have to install internet connection there soon, to allow me to spend more time pretending to work while watching old classics (Irma La Douce the absolutely highlight, although there might have been yet another screening of some of our old favourites, such as Mr & Mrs Smith and - yes, Le Duc - Black Sheep, that Kiwi masterpiece of comedic horror). Discovery of the week: the valley harbours a Brasilian-like soap opera, the likes of which have not been seen since Slave Isaura. Marcella is of course at the centre of it all.

On a night train from Grosseto to Syracuse, where we went to spend a few days in the African sun, we had two extraordinary surprises: a chamber pot, which offered hours of entertainment to Tot T, whose bladder appeared to contain the equivalent amount of water of 3 swimming pools, and a throat-singer, who performed enthusiastically for us from Messina all the way to our final destination. Our holiday resort was drenched with sun, sand and babies, both born and yet-to-be-born. Not offputting in the list, Lady V, if that's what you are thinking. Palermo glittered in its own decay, an ageing prostitute who still knows how to please. Tot T was naturally blown away.

Then, of course, the summer's highlight. Mr Vestibule's 60th shenanigans. Spared the indignity of having to drive tanks/shoot at immigrants, we managed to hide amongst the gin-drenched ladies until sunset, when the males returned from the manly activities looking sufficiently mud-covered. As the level of alcohol raised in our blood like a tsunami, the Von Trapp family broke into spontaneous singing and dancing, alternated with ghastly games, such as arm-wrestling and infant-murdering. Tot V, A and T thus hid inside the conservatory, refusing to engage in such execrable activities, only to be followed suit by the entire crowd. Viewing of teenage videos about saucy Cinderellas by the Vestibule sisters, led by the oldest and possibly naughtiest of them all, ensued. Some of us might have fallen from the chair laughing.

The return journey through Northern lesbian enclaves and post-industrial estates was somewhat both hilarious and terrifying. A perfect contradiction that appropriately sums up these wonderful last 2 weeks.

On the move again

So here we go again. I understand the frustration of those who would like me to sit at home all day waiting for the opportunity to cook them dinner, but alas my people call me and I have to respond to their cry.

But before I do that, I am off to eat chips and moules in that lovely pedoparadise that is Brussels.



I never understood people who say Brussels is dull. I think it's a charming little place, full of interesting people who all work in one building (naturally very large) and speak 5 languages. I also went to the best drag show of my life there, which is quite remarkable, given the English nation's propensity for cross-dressing.

Anyway, after that, there will be a little spell of the old Paris, and then the old Totty retreat, which these days does NOT look like this:



Subsequently, there will be a little spell on the Island of Gods, Sikelia - aka Sicily. I expect lashings of fish and honey-scented wine, followed by long dives in crystal blue waters off the coast of Syracuse. I am already excited...!!



The whole journey will be on board of lovely trains, which I am sure Le Duc will greatly appreciate, including the always pleasant Eurostar,



the flaming Thalis,



not to mention a string of night-trains belonging to the Franco-Italian railway systems, where the strangest encounters always guarantee a far from tedious experience!



So, in conclusion: I've posted twice today, and once I inserted lots of images of trains.

Am I forgiven?

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!!!

Double bill

This week has given me an overdose of good cinema, and confirmed me just how much I love the art. First, there was the obscenely opulent Dark Knight premiere at London's Leicester Square, with all the celebrities and flashes you expect on such occasions.



The Dark Knight is - as Le Duc rightly pointed out even before the director had seen the final cut (that man, always one step ahead of us all) - really very good. In fact, it's one of those films that keeps you nailed to the chair, despite being rather long. Heath is absolutely mind-blowing. Chilling and human at the same time.


The other wonder I saw was Wall-E. Everyone who knows me, knows how much I love cartoons. But this one is in a league of its own. It's funny, sweet, entertaining and political. I was so much in heaven that I had to go see it twice...

Don't mind when the US produce such high-quality commercial entertainment. If only it was always so good...

Just testing my new gadget

I know it's geeky, but I am getting all excited about the ScribeFire application.
Blogging is going to be SOOOO much easier from now on. If only time-management were that easy...

Savage Grace

I am speechless and breathless.

And also rather depressed.

I might go to bed now.

PS: Julianne is a goddess, but it's Eddie Redmayne who hold it all together and deserves to be worshipped.