As Tony Servillo says in La Grande Bellezza.

“Life is just a trick.” I suppose if I knew the exact moment the giraffe would disappear it might have helped. The other evening I stood looking at the spot at Le Terme di Caracalla, where the giraffe might have been, and the evening finished where it all began. One minute it was there, the next it was gone. Perhaps the giraffe will return, but that is up to the great conjurer.

Every so often these moments appear in real life and like with the beautiful Ramona, she puts all her efforts and money trying to cure herself, when as so often happens, the cure was always all around her.

That “The Great Beauty” is somehow a curse, when really it is a force in a journey to accomplish great things.

Very profound you all say. Maybe Adrian has been at Neil’s algae (Moss on a Tibetan mountainside, not Kate), the Absinthe has taken its toll or perhaps he’s just been to see too many Art House films. See, Tony; it could be your fault!

But whatever the reason, Seneca said “In order to be loved, one must love”.

That’s enough of the existential navel-gazing stuff. For a change I am not writing this on a plane. Yet! But I might continue later whilst sat on a train.

Currently I am sat in an office in Rome with my friend Max, Maurizio ad Papa. Yesterday I spent the day with Max, his wife Michela (Happy Birthday) and son Michele. He seems more like Max every time I see him. The card he made for me is below.

OK, a little existential, but there is talent here.

Outside it’s raining; well not just raining, we used to say it was coming down like stair rods.

If that’s the case then they are dismantling the stairway to heaven. Everything is flooded, even the puddles have puddles, but I’m not worried, this is Bella Italia the sun will come out today.

It is a country where “Dear Silvio” is still trying to control everything; leaning on his minsters trying to get what he wants, perhaps another trophy? In the political mess they have created, the left and right have formed a coalition government to keep the moderate centre party out. This is like, UKIP and The Socialist Workers Party joining up to give Nick Clegg a damn good kicking. Actually now that I think about it, that doesn’t sound such a bad idea!

In preparation for my half marathon, I was going to go out for a training run this morning, but I’d left the flippers and the snorkel at home. Given the weather here in Rome I would have been properly attired, when am I not? Remember the mankini? Still I feel I have put enough miles under my delicately manicured toenails to finish in under 5 days. I am of course going to run dressed as a frogman, complete with those flippers, which means I will be doing it backwards, plus ca change.

As far as the Footie is concerned, the Crissy and Gary show, rather than holding hands and looking like a marriage made in heaven, they are more akin to the British 100 metres relay team, over running each other, running out of their lane and dropping their batons at the same time. The only thing gelling is their hair.

Jose’s strictly regimen has moved on to pastures blue, and he looks like he has been replaced by Bruce Forsyth. However even Jose appears to have mellowed, espousing the length of time he has been involved in the game, and has of course seen it all before. I suppose I could appear content earning a large figure every week. Cripes, I’d even do a Paso Doble down the touchline for that kind of reward.

Ibiza came to London this week for a tattoo convention; I caught up with Neil, Blu and Lisa. Tony and I wandered Emi around the show, trying to tempt her with a butterfly tattoo, but her favourite was a “Death’s Head Moth” made up of skulls. The youth of today!

So we all got her drunk, and Emi spent Saturday complaining she wasn’t feeling well. A Volpe night out is one of those rights of passage that we must all go through before we can move forward. The fact that I regularly go through them has no bearing on the fact that I have no clue in which direction I am travelling; currently it seems back in time, all I know is that I am travelling backwards, literally at over 200kmh on a train. I’m not sure I’m that comfortable sitting this was round. Wait was that a Pterodactyl I saw just then through the window, the distant peaks look like fiery volcanoes to me, and was that Raquel Welch I saw in a furry bikini?

So it was Neil’s algae or the Absinthe, hold on, and let me take another sip. Let’s see where my life as a Lord of Time takes me.

Perhaps to India, where I can learn to pluck the fine hairs off the belly of a cashmere goat, with my muse, a beautiful maiden by my side. However that would be at a point in the future, once these dark rain clouds enveloping Rome have been swept aside, and as I said before, this is Italy the sun will come out today.

All will remain in my imagination, only the best parts happened, and only the best parts remain.

I shall add some more photos of new stock shortly.

“Our journey is entirely imaginary. That is its strength.” – Celline

Sent from my iPad

Copyright © 2013 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.