LIFE IS NOT BEAUTIFUL

21 Jan 23

Yesterday, as you might have heard from my son Carlo, was a bit of a catastrophe because we wrote the blog and then we lost the blog. I am sure all of you have had this experience.

But it is tiring doing this work and when we lost it there were tears and recriminations. I accused Isabella of going the full Bette Davis. She said I behaved as if I, Marcel Proust, had written the whole of the Remembrance of Things Past on a toilet roll on which a passing rent boy had just wiped his ass. 

This morning my two new friends, Miss S and the Maestro, came to my room for our coffee trip the bar, but the nurse said he was busy and could not push me.  

So Miss S got behind me, and behind her was the Maestro, and the two of them, in this wagon-train of wheel-chairs, pushed me all the way to the bar where we had an Italian orange flavoured drink called Crodino and white pizza.

Having promised myself as a young man never to drink anything orange, I did in fact enjoy the Crodino, and as you can see I have become a man of flexible principles.