So I guess this is a follow on post in someways from the Salvo Montalbano piece and a desire to present a fictional appearance, through the clothes of another man. It also ties in nicely with the recent news of a successful interview to secure a promotion at work. A promotion that elevates me to
As icons go, a balding police inspector from Sicily may not be up there with the most obvious choices, even more so given that he is a fictional character. Yet there is something in/about Salvo Montalbano that sings to me. That makes me think of all the time I have spent in Italian department stores
How many people like coffee art? If you don’t know what I am talking about, it’s when a barista takes their time to pour an image in to the top of your milky coffee – a fan, a heart, a leaf etc. How many of you think the experience adds to the, well, experience of
This is just a quick post. Sort of post to ease back in to the writing lark after a while away from the blog. Real life has taken over somewhat. Pressures at work, getting the house sorted – or at least, LLK’s room sorted – have been a necessary, but unwanted distraction. Unwanted, in that
I’ve done a fair bit of walking on this trip. As I’ve walked around, I’ve not, as is customary, looked in the expensive shop windows of Milan. I’ve been more interested in the grey, soulless looking buildings that sit above, or behind that gloss of fashion. It’s no secret that I would like to live
I tend to talk about Ice Cream, Gelato, a lot when I am in Italy. It is, as though, a holiday can only be measure by how good the Holy Trinity – of Gelato, Birra and History have been. I’ve already confirmed how good the beer is in an earlier post, and to be honest,
It’s a river. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s a fairly non-descript river. A river that has, through nature and man, had its course changed – its quality eroded – its importance altered over time. But it is, for all intents and purposes – still, just a river. But as an idiom; it’s more than that.
I’ve made a mistake. I’ve convinced my mum that we should go to Rome for her birthday. The flights have been booked. The apartment has been booked. An itinerary is taking shape – but I know, in my heart, I should be taking her elsewhere. Vigàta Forget that Vigàta is a fictional town. Vigàta is
I can’t ride a bike. Not in the technical sense of can’t, more so the physical act of. My last knee operation left me with a leg that I can’t bend beyond 110 degrees, if you view a straight leg as being 180. To ride a bike, to push the pedals round, you really have
Forget Cotoletta alla Milanese, that greatest of all rebranded regional dishes (it was pork, originally, not veal) inherited from the days of the Austrian Empire – the perfect accompaniment to tonight’s Derby della Madonnia (AC Milan v Internazionale) must surely be a Negroni. There’s a good chance that you won’t have had a Negroni before.