Monthly Archives: January 2016

“I can’t think without my glasses” Vivienne Westwood

Except my love for the iconic Vivienne Westwood, I can safely say not to follow fashion and I dislike fashion bloggers and those who praise them; I don’t need anybody to tell me what to wear.

I have a flat and uniform way of dressing, and yet I have an insane passion for striking prints and bold colours, I really like them (on the others, of course). This reflection on fashion is born from the fact that Tom has recently started wearing the clothes of a young British designer (just 24 years) whose menswear collections are an explosion of colours. My favorite thing is that, not only the company is based in London, but that all production takes place in England; creative process and manufacturing take place in one country as opposed is happening to to many Italian fashion brands.

As well as I support Indie artists, I speak willingly of this designer called Rachel James, her past collection was inspired by the world of flowers, but now she is working on new prints and judging by the shirt that Tom displayed in Las Vegas last night, the result will be amazing. Good luck!


TRACK OF THE DAY: Vogue- Madonna



“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction” Virginia Woolf

Random thoughts …

I’m desperately trying to earn some money with translations because the first point of my 2016 bucket list is quite ambitious: LA.

I’m still looking on the wrong side when I cross the road, I suffer from perpetual jet lag and I’d love to have a decompression chamber to pass unscathed by the vision of JD & friends in the hot tub to the endless controversy about lice, something that leds me gently from a visit the grand Canyon to the schoolyard.

I try to overcome this through reading and writing. I keep myself busy with short essays for contests on Facebook where the greatest pleasure is given by reading other people’s works and a new fanfiction perfectly outlined in my head, but that is hard to come out as if I were afraid of soiling my memories with words, it’s at times like this that I wish I had the inspiration and the creative abilities of my musician friends!

Probably I’ll never be a Michelle or Rosanna and JD doesn’t run the risk of being remembered as the new Mr.Darcy, but I like the idea that if a writer or musician fall in love with you, you will live forever.




“Distance means so little when someone means so much” Anonymous

I suffer from jet lag without traveling, as if the red thread of fate that I carry tied to my pinkie knew where it is and settled itself to the different time zones. Endless nights staring at the ceiling, devouring books that never satisfied my desire to escape, writing pages on pages that no one will read.

And suddenly my nights fill with words, with fascinating places that I will never see in person, of projects that will never be realized;  I slide slowly into sleep with a smile cradled by music that will forever be mine.


TRACK OF THE DAY: Jet lag- Simple Plan


“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high” William Goldman,

This blog doesn’t have a theme because it has to reflect who I am, but the other day I was in the library and, glancing to the guides of London, I noticed that they shows all the same things so I thought it might be a good idea talk about my LDN.

Instead of the usual Hyde, St. James or Regent’s parks, I like very much going to Holland Park which is located in the district of Kensington and Chelsea and then frequented by baby and dog sitters, sportive people, elderly people quietly walking, intellectuals who enjoy a good book and not many rude tourists despite the presence of a youth hostel.

No coincidence that Holland Park was a favorite retreat from writers and intellectuals of the nineteenth century as Lord Byron, Charles Dickens and Walter Scott and I assure you that especially on sunny days, it’s a place not to be missed (even very romantic, but this is another story, let’s stick to the tourist information).

It can be easily reached with the Central line, until August 2016 the station Holland Park will be closed, so I suggest you get off at Notting Hill Gate and not at Shepherd’s Bush (unless you are on the circle line or you use the Overground ) because the road is downhill. Follow Holland Park Avenue and then turn to Holland Park to find one of the entrances (I generally go in from Abbotsbury Rd. where the Greek embassy is because I stop to rest at the Solar Terrace and to share my gluten free food with squirrels that are very cheeky here.

And then I love walking aimlessly: there’s a beautiful orangery, a giant chessboard, sports fields, one of the best children’s play areas in London and my favorite spot: the Kyoto gardens which in addition to being aesthetically pleasing, it should be a zen area where to stop and meditate. I said should, because not all visitors read and adhere to the sign at the entrance of the Japanese garden and it is hard to remain unperturbed by the giant peacocks that are around (and hungry squirrels who even chewed the shoes of a friend of mine).

The place is beautiful, with the right company, more. Inside there are a café and a restaurant but I haven’t tried them: as an intolerant suspicious person I had stocked up on gluten free food at the M & S which is located down the street and still very close to the park there is a Nando’s which is not certified for allergies, but where are very careful and where I ate often without ever being sick.


TRACK OF THE DAY: Kyoto song- The Cure



“Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch”Walt Whitman

There is a beautiful post on a blog that I follow that is about the smell of special people, which is not necessarily a specific scent, but a pleasant, nondescript perception, a feeling that wraps us like a soft cover when we’re with our special ones and also when we’re back with them in our memories.

I cling in the scarf that smells of the tube, of the raisins from gluten free scones threw to squirrels, of vinyl discs, of coffee with milk and tea with caramel, the Burberry fragrance and I’m able to smile again. It helps me to endure the passage from five days of stimulating conversations about music, art and literature, with bright young people to a lifetime with people without dreams, speaking of food processors, online shopping, droppings, teachers and lice. It helps me to overcome the opinions of others who thinks I’m the weird one, childish and not very concrete.
I have my own special people, I count them on the fingers of one hand, but I have them and they help me to move forward with a smile (even if they can’t save me from my carelessness: even today I risked being invested because I still look on the wrong side and I sill have confidence in drivers).


TRACK OF THE DAY: Breathe- Rick Astley


“We travel, some of us forever, to seek other places, other lives, other souls” Anais Nin

Who wrote that “To leave is a little death’ forgot to specify that it is a sweet death like orgasm, then it depends on the person and on the type of trip, but it totally applies to me who has been back “home” for five days.

Five days where I could finally be myself, where I denied my role, my age and even my nationality as that morning when I approved the derogatory “Italians” of an unknown commuter who said that after being hit by a group of people whose uniform (“risvoltini” turns-up, Superstar, parkas, Starbucks cup) was screaming “I’m Italian” from all sides.

This trip helped me also to understand my limits, to underline the fact that my health will not allow me to be independent anymore, I can not take the leap if I haven’t someone on the other side to welcome me with open arms and that being twenty-five and feeling them, are two different things.

In any case, the true sense of the phrase is “coming back is to die” and I don’t mean that melancholy that comes after a relaxing holiday: mine is a real anguish,  like Cinderella’s once she came back from the ball without even dropping the shoe because her Prince is so distracted that he could stumble in it. I’m trying to fit my mask, I have to hide depression because children need a positive example, because I hate people who complain without changing things, but I’m already fed up by hearing speeches almost exclusively about children, problems and cooking utensils. I’d like to ask: where are your dreams? And I put aside the desire to talk about the last book I’ve read, how Bowie Goblin King is one of the interpretations I will never forget, about the new songs of my friends.

Fortunately they are not all like that, in the meantime, as usual, I can always take refuge in the memories and the scent of MY London stuck to my scarf.

TRACK OF THE DAY: I can’t give everything away- David Bowie


“Funny how a beautiful song could tell such a sad story”Sarah Dessen

Two years ago I was in London when two talented British lads started writing the song that would become my favourite one. At that time “Fight for you” by Jason Derulo was aired everywhere and I loved it because it was featured on “Africa” by Toto.

Last year I flew to London with a beautiful song in the phone, the only one besides The Cure’s “Trust” who made me cry at first listen. It wasn’t the melody (even if it’s sweet) to strike me, but the fact it tells the story of my life, it’s MY song and, twist of fate, it’s called “Fight for you”.

Today i look at the plane ticket that has once again London as its destination and I smile because the song I’m listening to it’s the same as the feelings it gives to me. This year my trip is going to be even better, there are new songs on the way, one has a cheekily Toto sound and if they don’t name it after me, I swear I dunk them in the Thames like tea bags.


TRACK OF THE DAY: Fight for You- Josh Devine, Ollie Green