One step nearer to God?

I have rubbed shoulders with a few notables. I have found myself within arms' length of the Queen. I have even sat three rows behind Princess Diana at the theatre. But last night was something new.

We went to a charming and quite intimate evening of poetry. The event  took place at the National Portrait Gallery, in a pretty auditorium. The poetry had been chosen by the daughter of a painter who died recently who, it appeared, had loved poetry. The poems chosen included his favourites and each was read out - beautifully - by a well-known poet.

The choice included Byron, Coleridge, Cafavy, Edward Lear and Auden, among others, and then there was one by the 17th Earl of Rochester called The face of Sodom - Actus Secundus.

There was a problem because the Archbishop of Canterbury, for it was he, was sitting in front of us. The reader hesitated, alluded to the august presence in the audience but continued. It is a  very funny poem, about as explicit as it gets but I don't think the Archbishop turned a hair. As for me, well I could drop his name in the odd place, couldn't I?

Utopia

Italy is  always a great destination for a minor or major break. Padua excelled itself. First of all, wall to wall smiles and friendliness from one and all including the young man who passed us as we were ambling along the street, calling out "Have a good holiday!". 


Then there was the hotel, filled from top to bottom with the owner's paintings and collages. No nimby pimby chocolate box pictures but in your eye, exuberant and over the top manifestations of her joie de vivre. Not just pictures but the furniture, lampshades, fire doors and bed heads were all covered with Rossella's art. Our bedhead included a teddy bear and a swathe of sparkly netting, dipped in dark orange paint and stuck on to a wooden panel.  
As for the bed itself, it was so vast that had we decided to play hide and seek, it might have taken us some time to find each other.


A fantastic public transport system with sleek state of the art trams and also buses, appear within a couple of minutes, even though you can walk from one end of the Old Town to the other in about half an hour. And, as for the streets, there is not a yellow line in sight. Cars park anywhere and nobody even seems to lock them.  Best of all, it was hot - while London enjoyed the advent of a second Winter, this time in May!


Padua? Most of us know that it is mentioned by Shakespeare and not much more but, as the Michelin Guide would say, it's worth a detour.