Still stuck on the romantically futile idea of a 2nd home in Italy…

And it’s burning away because I’m immersed in Frances Mayes’ fabulous memoirs “Under the Tuscan Sun” and “Bella Tuscany”.

Heavenly, sensual writing…her intensity, vitality and this kind of poetic density of language just drip from the page. There’s this very personal love of…I dont know, call it “place”.

It’s the way she sees herself not so much as the owner of Brimasole, but as the custodian. She knows that the house has a life of its own, that it connects back to generations of forebears, and that it will endure long after she has gone.

I love the way she gives herself to us through her writing and through her use of language, is able to paint the most sensual, embracing portrait of her own little world.

It was a crap film though…