I don’t suppose I’ve ever mentioned before but this place reeks of marble. This is, so I am told, the place for it. It is mined (or is it cut) from the mountains that sit behind me – me being on the beach, looking out to sea.

Apparently, this place (of which I had never heard before I came here with F) is famous, if not infamous, for it’s marble and. In particular, it’s white marble.

Various famous people have come here to pick their own marble for their kitchen or whatever. There are big yards, near where F has his house where there are huge, almost square blocks of the stuff, where they also cut it into huge flat sheets. Yesterday I saw some people who were being shown round one of these yards, obviously choosing the block or sheets they wanted.

The marble, since Roman times, was hauled down the mountainside, to the sea front where it has been shipped all over the world.

As one would expect, with marble being such a big thing here, marble is used in some of the strangest of places.

I mean, there are the usual, expected sculptures and monuments. At every roundabout, variously placed outside public buildings, in squares and one, of what looks like a baby polar bear, outside the school.

Some are modern, like one with waves with hands and heads sticking out – I guess to remember those lost at sea, some old and rather forgotten like the one of a dog, about 5 feet tall.

Then marble is used on houses that, elsewhere, would be unthinkable. Like, for instance, the base of houses, up to the damp course. And for tables and instead of skirting boards.

Then there’s the street. The pavements are not paved with gold but often marble. And, for me, the most extravagant thing is its use for kerb stones.

This is certainly a place for marble and mostly white marble. And it gives the place a rather opulent feel.