I almost forgot it was Monday, what with all the Bank Holidayness to enjoy. It’s not been enough time, though and I’m kind of thinking I need a real vacation. At least this will be a 4 day week; next week will be a 2 day working week, since I’ll be away for my sister’s birthday, being chased across Bristol by zombies; the week after I’m at a conference and then taking a long weekend for my own birthday.
But, oh, what wouldn’t I give for a few days somewhere warm and sunny and Italian? I could throw open the shutters in the morning, to look out over a soft blue sky and vine-tressed hills. I could spend a week getting drunk on architecture and paintings, and then sober up reading Sciascia in cafes, over endless cappuccini and slices of torta della nonna. I could wander cobbled streets in the early evening, window shopping Prada and buying Florentine note paper and coloured inks. Then, when I got hungry, I could search for the perfect looking restaurant that has a table outside by the fountain. Bruschetta, followed by pasta with truffles, half a litre of the house red, and a tipsy, tired walk home.
Yes, I am pretty damn sure I could handle that.