They Shine Among the Gods…

I applaud anyone who attempts to put their finger on Italy, Berlusconi excepted.

There is a tangent here…A Nation concerned only with the here and now.  It is 1997.  We are in Faenza on the East coast of Italy. Originally a Celtic and Etruscan settlement known as Faoentia – translating ‘I shine among the God’s’.  Funny then that everyone is wearing neoprene bubble coats that glitter in the new sun.

They will dress us to boot as is so.

Gus wears a black lacquer poncho and motley tweed hat.  Biff is in a silk flurry and buttons. Liz Green – Justin Timberlake. Hannah Moulette wears Faberge tidings. They dress me in war and a pink scarf.  Thankyou Faenza because last time we were here you dressed me in a backless robe, attached heart monitors to my nipples and covorted me round the local hospital with a saline drip stuffed into my veins. Then you released me and my wreckless wreckless heart with a pouch full of barbiturates, a head full of barbaric Italian invocations and no diagnosis. This is true. Last year I was a sick puppy. I thought I was dieing and our patron saint Morena held vigil over my poor lungs until the devils day break.  This year however I am as strong as a bird as we feast on Pumpkin Mouse, chestnut ravioli and noisette parfait.  Its pinball from here on in…


Milano is no. It is not something but a chain of diabolic recess.  A blurry maybe that never quite happens but we are here to do a job and we may be professionals yet.  Now we eat dry pasta and sweetcorn, the olives amidsst this hearty supper gorge themselves on capers and bits of red pepper and we can only be satisfied with the efforts we have made to be on time.  We shall never be Italy.  Here it is the ninties, it may always have been and may always will be.  The Lighting Seeds blare through our sorry minds, Bryan Adams is amongst us.  Escape is necessary. It is imminent

When we finally play we are all drunk. Us, them, the whole catasrophe.  It all makes sense. It all makes sense.  We cheer. They cheer. We dig in. They dig in. We are displaced and for them, I hope it is no longer decades ago and that we have decades to go. Yes Milan

When you play for Liz Green you play for the scene, and the scene plays back…



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