Summertime

Summertime

This week the FT asked some of the great and the good about how they spent their summers. Here I gate crash the party.

How are you spending the summer?

July in Quebec, September in Umbria. August in London, cycling to and swimming in the Serpentine, days out walking the South Downs and evenings going to the theatre or the proms. In between, drinks and alfresco meals in  Vivien’s lovely  garden.

Ideal companion?

Dr Johnson, no end of conversation and someone as grumpy as I!

Summer reading?

Just finished the brilliant Cormac McCarthy’s “all the pretty horses”,by a delightful mistake I am rereading the sadly missed Kent Harif’s “The Tide That Binds” and I have just ordered Stanley Price’s well reviewed  book on the Joyce and Svevo friendship.

Holiday selfies?

When I look in the mirror I see a 25 year old thruster, when I see the photos I notice a 70 year old man. No more photos.

Best souvenir?

A bust of Mussolini made from Sicily’s Etna rock.

Worst holiday?

Two weeks in South Wales when the children were 6 and 8 and it rained everyday. There is only so much Monopoly you can play.

Dream holiday?

Galle in Sri Lanka or Arthog in North Wales.

Travel Tip?

When going to the theatre or travelling long distance the money spent on better seats is never wasted.

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One Response to Summertime

  1. The long hand of Mussolini, so Italian. I resisted the Mussolini mugs in Riccione with the slogan “Non me frego” (I don’t give a damn).

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