In my next life I am definitely coming back as Stanley Tucci. Or Francesco da Mosto (that Venetian count with the exuberant hair who was all over the schedules a few years ago, do you remember?), or Steve Coogan or Rob Brydon or any celebrity, really, who is sent off to foreign parts on jollies disguised as work.
I am never going to be a world traveller. But if I were, I would, like most of the above, stop at Italy. Why, honestly, would you go further? Why would you not stay in the place that breaks your heart with its beauty everywhere you look? That is suffused with the confidence and style that screams “We owned the Renaissance! We proved ourselves once and for all. No need to sweat the small stuff now! Sit down, chill, and eat penne all’arrabbiata until it’s time to prostrate yourself in awe before some ancient frescoes. And btw, the spirit of Michelangelo wants you to eat your body weight in gelato before bed. That’s why he released David from his marble. So you know you can never compete.”
