On Monday evening, Delia and Sally, who had arranged my visit to the Sir James Henderson School, took me into town to cram in a bit of sightseeing. It had been sunny the week before, but I’s brought e very gloomy rain with me, leaving sunshine behind in England.
logo stuff emblazoned all over it. People would know where you bought it, for goodness sakes!
Whatever! The Italians obviously love it. Everyone was beautifully turned out. They not only have a feel for chic they seem to need to be seen to be chic too. I was amazed by the Italian men. On the metro, they would not only stare quite openly at a beautiful woman, but as she walked down the carriage, all their eyes would follow. Most Italian men seem to have a high opinion of their chances as they all seemed to go further to make embarrassing “come on” faces, which were expertly ignored by the ladies. People watching is such fun.
We went to see the Duomo Cathedral. The front is stunning, even in the rain. I was expecting sandstone, but it is all finely carved marble. Delia and I picked out the tower of Babel, the Tree of Knowledge and David holding Goliath’s head, as pilgrims would have been able to do ever since the place was built. Sally, being such a young thing, didn’t get the references. Something happened in the 1960s and 70s. British education eased its connection with the past. We have lost the common connections with our ancestors. Things I learned as a child were rooted in a common history taught across the nation and built on things taught in the past.
Weary from World Wars, we decided to throw out the old and bring in the new. The last big change, the introduction of the National Curriculum with Literacy and all went far over in the other direction. I’m hoping that the new curriculum will be much more sensitive and positive. But we have probably lost that religious link with the past, when every part of life was coloured by the bible – British law and culture is based on our past reading of that book. I can’t see that it will ever go back, and I wouldn’t want it to, but you can’t understand who you are if you don’t know where you’ve come from. In an effort to be fair, we now teach other religions almost as much as if not more that the religion that our whole culture grew out of. All those bible stories and parables are at the root of who we are.
Any way, as I was saying – We went and had a cup of tea and coffee under the dripping umbrellas around the piazza. Our waiter convinced us to go the whole hog and try some cakes that he swore were his granny’s best recipe They turned out to be carrot cake muffins – Not brilliant, but we were ready for a little something.
Afterwards I dragged Delia and Sally into an exhibition of Egon Schiele and other secessionist drawings and paintings. I think Schiele is a brilliant draughtsman and spent my time carefully studying the quality of his pencil line, far superior to any of the other artists. Only Klimt was on a par and I think Schiele is a better drawer. I didn’t really taken the subject matter, most of which were nudes in a state of abandon. I didn’t bother reading the interestingly translated explanation boards either, I get worn out reading stuff at exhibitions. So I was quite surprised when Delia told me she found he exhibition quite disturbing… perhaps we should have gone to the Goya instead!
The next day, I tried to see if I could get into see the Last Supper, which is booked up for moths in advance, but sometimes you can get a cancellation. I left my map[ and guide book at the hotel! By the time I got to the Santa Maria delle Grazie, I had walked a very long way round. I had a look inside then went and had some supper (delicious tagliatele and wild mushrooms) and went to bed, ready for an early flight the next day. It’s quite tiring, performing all day, y know!
Thanks for a great visit, Delia and Sally. Next time I’ll let you choose the exhibition