titting around

Sat 5 stories up, eating peach pieces out of a plastic cup, the night terrace is candle-lit, the Duomo stretches up and out of the Florentine roof-top panorama teasingly close. This moment feels far feels further away than the map would reveal it to be from the the morning’s bleary-eyed roll around Bologna, accompanied by a cheery bloggoteque film crew recording harp besides ancient Roman statues of horse-slaughter. (Video to come asap x.)

I’ve got a bit of a secret love affair with Florence, though I know I’m just one of many nameless lovers passing through her. One of my most joyful, vivid moments was squeezing myself diagonally, wheezing with claustrophia through the tunnel of uprising stairs in that big white bulb, a morose teenage escaping from ordinary reality for a few days courtesy of our Italophile Latin teacher. I feel like I’ve been back many times, always short trips, but on each occasion I’ve experienced that same otherworldy feeling. The streets are impregnated with the glowing ghosts and I can almost feel the print on my fingertips, picked up through sweat from the personalised, annotated map I carried around with me last time, Van Morisson ululating in my ear..

The girls from CasaRosa made it wonderful night, introduced me to their famous cinnamon tuna (sorry mother…) and gifted me with a jar of air from their salon…

And now, Roma capitale! To the famous Forte Fanfulla, to join Woolshop team-mates Giampierro Riggio and Claudio Cataldi. Baci! xx