• 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.

    Delia and Sally
    We saw LaScala and the Galleria, a very posh upmarket shopping centre, where I quite liked the Louis Vuitton windows, even though I just don’t get the whole designer label thing. Who would want Louis Vuitton luggage with all that cheap tacky LV (Luncheon Vouchers?)
    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

  • My head has nearly stopped spinning after a very busy week. Monday and Tuesday, I went to visit the Sir James Henderson British School in Milan.
    I was very brave the first morning, and rather than hop in a taxi, I braved the metro and walked the last part. You don’t get as much local flavour in a taxi.

    I had a wonderful, warm welcome at the school from Delia O’Leary and Sally Ellis, who I’d been organising the trip with. Mostly they were relieved that was actually there. I’d had to rebook flights twice as EasyJet cancelled from Bristol and BA went on strike and Heathrow. Eventually I went RyanAir from West Midlands.

    The school goes from Nursery up to eighteen. I was expecting a large number of expat british children, but they were very much in the minority. There were a lot of italian children and a great mix of other nationalities. English is very much an international language these days, the parent see fluency in English and rubbing up against English culture a positive step, while maintaining the family culture at home. I think I would have enjoyed that as a child.

    My session with the nursery was very memorable. As the children are not so conversant in English at that stage, we had an exchange of words. I taught Eric that a Crab is a crab and he taught me that it’s called Granchio in Italian! We almost got round to singing a Nip! NIp! song. I think I’ll have to work on that. Nip! Nip! is ridiculously deceptively simple story about looking for the smallest crab. It is SATPINMD basic phonics and nothing is over three letters long. I have no hesitation showing to year six or over – they seem to be seduced by it and all end up smiling. Such a little story, but one I’m quite proud of.

    I worked my way through the lower school over two days, reading drawing and having fun. Year 4, I think it was, even got me to sing! The school has a lovely, friendly atmosphere. It’s British, but it’s not – it’s different. The children have an evident hunger to learn and the year sixes are not so jaded as they are at home, especially at this time of year, when they are ready to move on. I feel they haven’t the same pressure to be grown up.

    At break time the whole place comes alive with hundreds of children, of all ages, pouring up and down the central staircase. I have a wonderful image of the Nursery children clinging to the handrail, on their way down to my session. Bigger children tumbled all around them, but they doggedly continued, like a roped-together mountaineering team, until, some slightly older children, unasked, took pity and helped them down the long descent of “Big Steps”. A small sign of the caring attitude that was obvious through out the school.

    I didn’t take any pictures because I ate far too much Pizza and was busy having a wonderful time! Many thanks to you all.

  • The centre of Milan is built on a pretty monumental scale. Built to impress right from the early days. I did love the streets, which are criss-crossed with tram lines, that cut a path through and force the order of the fabulous granite (I think) stones that make up the roads. They are laid in simple but beautiful patterns. It looks to me as though at sometime they have been covered over with tarmac to make for a smoother ride, but the Italian drivers are so full of machismo, they must have asked for their bumpy rides back again – or it proved impractical or too costly.

    There is something romantic about trams. I arrived back in the UK and had to spend a few hours in Nottingham, which also has trams – much more modern, but still quite romantic in the centre. I wonder if they are still romantic trundling through suburban estates?