For all my pale and delicate skin-tones and moderate aversion to the rays of Ra, I like this time of year. The lads are away – Chris in London, John-F in Poland, one supposes (he’s become a bit strange and secretive with the bus-pass years approaching) – and Lucy left to mind the fort, more a sparely furnished upper room to tell the truth. August minding is strictly a.m., and the afternoons are an ideal time to explore abandoned islands with a boating beau and a bathing suit. Alas, one is rarely alone in such a scheme, and finding a grassy arbour not already rife with abandonment can take more time and cunning than one has time and wit for.
You might have thought Poveglia would be a winner, what with all that ‘Island of Screams’ guff on the internet. In reality of course it’s a magnet for unclad Goths, and other, grosser undesirables. Buel de Lovo has a certain unkempt charm, with its mysterious cove of scuttled craft, but as often as not we end up playing safe and take advantage of Massimo and Viretta Micheluzzi’s open invitation to their garden paradise on Mazzorbetto. Massimo is an exceptional glass artist, second only some say to the great Ohira, while Viretta, well, Viretta only needs to be Viretta. Men do, women are, as the saying goes. Imagine your Lucy then with a straw hat and a faraway look in a deck chair only half an hour from home, while you’re all stuck in a torrid airport somewhere on that planned annual purgatory, your ‘holiday’. A bientôt!