S*T*U*F*F* Reloaded

Such a miserable day is not conduisive to taking long walks in Milan. The sky is a mottle of stained greys, rain hardly even having the energy to fall. I decided, looking at the map, that Stazione Centrale was close enough to venture towards, perhaps with the vague notion of picking up something to eat - though I was well aware that Sunday in Italy is still sacrosanct and the 7-day convenience religion of London has not quite been adopted here yet.

The station in Milan is amazing, but in dire need of restoration. Indeed, there was a lot of scaffolding and netting up, which I assume means it is in progress, but the overall feeling was one of faded grandeur, a merciless beating adminstered by the years on that magnificent space. There is still an awe that overcomes me on wandering into the vast main concourse, which, coupled with the excitement I get in train stations everywhere, leaves me not far short of spellbound. I had run into Vincent on my way there, and he was walking with the air of a marauding dog, ravenous for food… I sensed it would not be a good thing for me to loiter in the station admiring the cathedral-like proportions as he starved beside me.

I’ve started reading “Harry Potter a l’École des Sorciers” - “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone” in French. Its a painful project, page by page, line by line, but my resolve is true - I will be able to speak good French by the end of this year. I’m surrounded by it - I just don’t know what I’m listening for… the schoolboy French of Bangor Grammar has long since evaporated, lost amongst my learnings of Japanese and more recently Cantonese. I met a Japanese Air fan last night and was pretty chuffed to be able to hold down a five-minute conversation with no stumbles, especially since I haven’t spoken any Japanese for a couple of years. Even so, French is where it’s at for now - I will get it together by fair means or foul.