journal

This morning the minimart, Coop, for alimentary necessities, that is, self-catering, was open, thankfully. Last night when we went past it had been shut. It had been Sunday. Dominica. The peaches looked delicious. I asked the lady in charge if the price was per kilo. As has happened repeatedly,

I ought to add, after the fact, that the question of Rome’s postmodernity only arises in the light of the Berlusconi effect. Part of which, a major contributing part, has been and is his reliance on the media by way of a controlling influence if not always outright ownership

On the way home from the evening airing we give ourselves to try and beat the jetlag, a brilliant gypsy band playing by the Trevi Fountain: percussionist, with bass drum slung around his neck supporting wood block, cymbals, hand drum and snare; tenor sax man; bass sax man; upright bassist,

Awoken early by bells tolling the hour. The bell tower within a stone’s throw of the balcony. Not I suspect advisable. Jetlag exacerbated by headcold/sinusitis. But the day warm and bright, the sky blue, and Rome on our doorstep. Which is overstating our proximity to all of the

the endless night in which eight hours were lost is over. We are in Rome. what seems morning was night and midday in Munich. Although, it was still, after the 3 hour delay on the tarmac at HK Airport, early morning, when we arrived there. The delay due to a

Where does it all tend, the constant movement? Is there a pattern to this chaotic activity from which you could draw a character of the city? Or is it better to ask how the city chooses to express itself? I don’t mean in the Symphony of Lights, the show