coast in december

spring after a long winter is what you can find by the sea. even though it's december. landscape of colours and light that you'd have never imagined. suddenly out from what is supposed to be a chilly weather, a very sunny time

right out of your place a heap of lumber, freshly cut. 

and away from that place little gardens climbed up on vertical house walls

light going out at night, light casts the morning after filtered through the closed window

and light during the day, during an everlasting sunset,

with californian palm trees and everything

but actually, it's just the same old place. 

your same old place.

the mountains are behind us

as every winter I like going some weekdays among the mountains and this year it's been really infrequent because of my being abroad.
but I always have, a couple of days, to go there every season and this is probably the first time I took some pictures.
and this is maybe because I'm not leaving in this country anymore, so I want to keep this memory with me. or with my camera at least.


slim trees just to watch and white white snow just to mirror your shape in. and a forties tiny chalet by a design master. this is definitely one of my favourite spots in the world.
enjoy with friends.

around the east midlands

Black rubbish bags look like men:

fog conceals everything.

Children are having a sausage roll for breakfast, walking.

It's Sunday

Outside it's raining

and I'm listening to the perfect music to go:

some surfing mood music

with 70s riffs

walking in Leicestershire's streets

A steep steeple peeps out from flat department stores,

silent, naked, ancient,

it's trying not to sink

in a loud crowd of slogans and signs 

and bricks with imperfections stand one on the other.

I love the suburbs:

they reveal the true side of a place

and its true colours

and I found myself dreaming,

between golden paper strips,

and sprigs

of thyme

To come back home it's time

latte by latte

these days are made to stay in, drinking something warm, drying from the showers out there.



hopkinson is a nice place in notts station area, quite nice to go for a saturday breakfast, or to just buy an old piece of second hand stuff, like pottery, books.. even the chairs are on sale. I had some crumpets and my friends the classic english breakfast, all prepared by the weird vintage lady behind the counter.

the night solution is probably to have a warm dog at blue monkey brewery in beeston. but this time I went for a local beer tasting tray.

when you've got all the day to spend around the city you really can afford to move from a boutique to the art gallery before the end of the matinée. I've even stolen a couple of shots from Paul Smith's original showroom (actually Paul's former house). that's because you're not really allowed to take pictures in this place, they're kind of scared that someone could steal the ideas. but they let me go for these.

brum trip



I've been with a couple of friends to what is considered THE chocolate factory here in UK (close to brum; birm'ham according to the road signs, indeed). careless of the whole marketing thing behind an establishment like this, I've been trying to stay sober from their strategic persuasion. but still, the big violet letters were staring at us with supremacy and pledge.

I'll skip all that I've considered about the tricky purpose of the place but, after the whole day spent on this stuff, the only thing you don't want to do is finding yourself, night time, in the middle of a Christmas market. including all the kinds of fudge you could have imagined, obviously. pure nausea sense.

I think I'm over it. flashy colours and soft things. I think the only thing I could do now is to recover myself for a bit, opening what I call the clafoutis season, which actually will be coming in five months from now. but that doesn't matter if the only fruits you found are tough plums, the ones to play tennis with, so uneatable that you have to make a clafoutis from them. and since here it's not that easy to find crème fraîche I've used sour cream instead, which I believe is a valid substitute.



and afterall, UK is the place where you miss french food the most. the only thing I can have for tea tonight is fish and chips (which come with peas, as always), at a dirty local pub.
enjoy.

closer to the deadline

london at first sight

london. a thick city, like its fog.

a bus is crossing and it rocks
an arctic monkeys' hit on its top.

it's light by the river.
it was like I magically met you:
I bought an underground card.

I ate a beef burger.
I crossed bridges in the wind.

I rode the blue line, alone.

I met a old friend in a casual café.

back home for a while

Italian House

 travelling transforms learning. here they come: the beautiful couple Giuditta & Augusto (aka The White Stripes!)

I love to look at beautiful things.

rain after sun: welcome to the changing city

 

and after a shower in open air

I finally reach their place

to have a homely beer

 

someday,

around quarter-to-nine

I come along my friends' house

 

after a half -past-four lunch,

but before a nine o'clock dinner

 

pouring right when I went out.

me drench.

 clothes dump.

a glass of red stout,

all around is silent music,

drops of water,

dark lightening.

friends eating burgers and moooshrooms.

 

rapid clouds

are going all over my head

 

later on,

coming back home has never been so quiet

 

silence and pure air

the only things

that set you free

after a crowded night

Notts city

here they have strange red berries on the ground.
wind and dropped red leaves.

I heard a "shhhh"

of flapping wings

 

I met Amy

from Midwest

 

I cried

in front of a handsome guard

 

I bought

an inflatable bed

just in case I have to go round and round

 

I had lunches

with boxes of chips

 

I saw the waterproof

book-crossing

 

I wore

mediocre lipstick

 

I laughed at a boy

standing in a park surrounded by a drum set

 



 

 

ribbons and leaves

and time in a tin,

behind the walls,

in the kitchen...

UK, here I am

it all starts in a windy noon.

this is a very peculiar place. I like it.

looking for houses.

all day long.

64 emails sent.

3 cups drunk.

and the sun went down.

 

 

a new house is all the ways an extreme pleasure.

even if it's not mine, actually.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the city early in the morning looks asleep

drunk men are going through their final stumble

all sundays
end in great ways.
back and forth
thru the streets of Notts

chill
windy gusts
sun
and drizzle

and bricks
musk
black paint 

 



last days of summer

september wedding