Some brief comments only.

It has been raining in Italy the last few days, heavily. Quite glorious. After months of weather being too much the same all the time my Melbourne-girl self was glad to get soaked to the skin walking home on Tuesday night. My sneakers are still drying.

I went to Assisi. It was beautiful. Yes, Pete, I said hello to St Francis for you.

I'm still reading Peggy's autobiography. She had a lot of love affairs. So far I'm most impressed by Samuel Beckett, because I adore him.

Moy is leaving early tomorrow, and I'll have a corner to myself for a week. Am still shopping this afternoon to try to find a present for Miss Moy to take home to Sacramento.

I seem to have bad luck with wines from San Gimagnano. I'm clearly not supposed to remember them.

I bought squid ink spaqhetti and strawberry and balsamic vinegar sauce. Apparently the sauce is good on meats, cheeses and ice-cream. I should sell tickets to the first Scoffers meeting on my return!

Apparently the Czech Republic is the only place in Europe you can legally buy absinthe. Duly noted. Will be in Prague in just over two weeks.

Will be in Roma tomorrow. Am assembling all my memories of the bits of Latin I translated so badly in high school. Trying to remember Ovid's advice for picking up girls at the theatre and such things.

Will also go to Pompeii. And next Tuesday is the day when the Fiorentine folks become a little less serious. There'll be fireworks on Piazzale Michaelangelo. Jealous yet?

Wimbledon begins next week. I am sorry to find Venus and Serena in different halves of the draw, glad Lleyton's likely second round opponent has withdrawn to let in a lucky loser, sad that my favourite player, the obscure Arnaud Clement still hasn't made it back into the top twenty players in the rankings. Am hoping that either Arnaud or Nicholas Lapentti (who signed me at the Australian Open) will make it through to the quarters. My wildly irrational prediction for the event is that Arnaud will win. Maybe Lleyton can be runner up or semifinalist so he doesn't cry too much.

When Peggy's done with all her love affairs am going to read a little history of fascism, and then start packing up all but a few of my books to send home. Our merry home is broken up.

Firenze