mns  2007-09-24 16:29   

It’s autumn in Chester, our first autumn here, and while I hate letting go of the last days of summer, there is so much to be done in the next few months and so much to anticipate.
My novella ‘An Angel at my Back’ is due out in November, as is ‘Party Animal’, a collection of short stories by Irish writers (of whom I am one).
‘An Angel at my Back’ will be published by New Island Books as part of their Adult Literacy Programme, the Open Door Series.
I keep being asked if this is hard or soft porn – trust me, it is neither. The books are published in sets of six and are aimed specifically at people who are improving their reading skills, but clearly can be enjoyed by anyone. I feel very honoured to be included in the publications, and thoroughly enjoyed writing ‘An Angel at my Back’.
The same goes for the pleasure I had in writing my story ‘Rites of Passage’ for Party Animal, all proceeds from which go to the Irish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

JC and I are back from a week in Rome, Florence and Pisa. Part of this holiday was a trip down memory lane for me as I used to live in Florence. Strangely though, I couldn’t find the street I used to live on, let alone the apartment.
I really hope I didn’t imagine that period so long ago.
Everything else was at it should be, the Ponte Vecchio, the River Arno (looking strangely green), the Duomo, the Uffizi, the Academia, but buy your tickets online, as we did, to avoid the horrifying queues.
(A tip: if you have bought your Uffizi tickets online, make sure to have your voucher changed for real tickets straight across the road from the main Uffizi entrance before joining any queues.)
And then there is the Italian food – oh the wonderful, wonderful Italian food – not to mention the equally wonderful Italian wine.
The advantage of no longer being a student is that this time I could afford to have coffee in the Piazza della Signoria, which I did every day, just sitting and gazing at Neptune and David and the throngs of tourists. Years ago I used to look at people having a drink there, and I wondered what that would be like.
It’s great.

We met the wittiest couple in the Uffizi, and Florence, being the way it is, (small and compact) we bumped into them again the following day in the Academia. We then had coffee with them in Piazza San Marco, and on our last night in Florence, the four of us had dinner in La Reggia, up in Fiesole.
A quick visit to the Roman Amphitheatre in Fiesole was followed by this horrifying walk (yes, I know it was a bare ten minutes) up the steepest incline to the restaurant. I had to stop at least three times on the climb and at one point I nearly gave up except that I couldn’t bear the idea of letting everyone else down, and arrived red-faced and panting at our destination.
It was worth every pant and gasp. We had dinner outside with a wonderful view of the hills and Florence below, and promises of a return visit, only next time for longer.

I have been trying to think what exactly were the highlights of the holiday for me, but the problem is that just about every moment of the trip was a highlight, and all I can do is enumerate them: staying with my cousin Pamela in Rome, the guided tour of the Colosseum, the incredibly long and fascinating guided tour of the Palatine Hill, lunch in Piazza Navona, a quick re-visit to the Pantheon. The weather in Rome was a lot cooler than last year, averaging about 26 degrees compared with last year when it was in the 30s. So although it was hot, we did not wilt quite as fast as a year ago.
Florence is a feast of Renaissance art, and I find myself thinking about it every day, and also making plans to go back again.

Last week I gave a radio interview on ‘Women lying about their age’, a topic I find faintly amusing as I consider age, like one’s income or one’s weight, to be a private matter. You can sort of roughly guess someone’s age, weight and income by looking at them, but do we have the right to ask? I don’t think so. I think it’s pretty rude actually, and I believe it is an area where women get a rawer deal than men.
Men are allowed to let their hair go white and age with ease, whereas women have to adhere to unwritten rules about how they can grow old. Women get their hair ‘done’, they put on make-up, they try to smooth the wrinkles from their skin – all of which behaviour is re-enforced by advertising and marketing.
You don’t catch many men doing any of that. They can grow wild white bushy mops on their heads, or go bald; they pay a pittance for an occasional haircut, and we say their faces have added character when they get wrinkles.
When a woman lets herself go like that, we suspect she is a bit batty.
Shame really.