Ben Hammersley — hacker, journo, gentleman adventurer — has moved to Florence with his three high-strung doggies and his devastatingly tall, brilliant and beautiful Swedish wife, and is chronicling an adventure there right out of a (very funny) fairy tale.
Down at Marco's, my newly adopted cafe-for-the-evening, a habit is forming. Pico bounds in the arms of someone lovely, Mischa wanders into the bar and receives pizza crust benediction, and Lucy stands outside and watches the passers-by, leaving me, leads taut in three directions, stretched in the doorway, balancing my caffè coretto on the icecream fridge, and trying to remember enough Latin roots to work out what people are talking to me about. It's really quite amazing how long you can keep a conversation going without understanding more than one word in ten. I had a long one yesterday afternoon about hare coursing in Argentina. I think. Still: lovely chap.
