Mantova, Saturday, 8th September.
We decide to have a drink at a bar. It’s very warm and we want to sit outside. As we walk towards the centre, we look up a side street, we see a bar with an empty table. It’s not an ideal position as there aren’t many people to watch walk by – it’s a quiet side street – and people-watching is one of our favourite pastimes. However, the beer’s the thing.
We order. We enjoy the sunshine and the warmth. We chat. There’s music in the background. Not really good. It sounds like some sort of Italian 70’s music. Now I like some Italian music but only a little. Italian pop has a limited market, I guess, so if you’re going to be really big, singing in Italian is not really the way to do it (there are exceptions, of course). And then we see where ‘the music’ comes from.
A little way down the road is a busker. I’m using that term in the very loosest sense in that, a busker is normally someone who plays an instrument, sings or in some other way shows us their talent.
A few metres away, sitting on the step of a shop that is closed, sits a guy. Next to him is a record player and a couple of speakers. In a box at his side is a selection of records – 45’s. Old and scratched. He s playing DJ and in front of him is a cap which begs for money. The record player (since stereo implies something much better than he had) is turned up to its loudest.
He’s hopeful; firstly being in this street (so quiet) and secondly for expecting people to part for money for his skills as a DJ with dreadful music.
Don’t get me wrong, this would’ve been sad were it not for the snazzy D&G jeans, the D&G sunglasses, etc. As it was, it was just funny.
On the other hand, the Baronessa, whom we met as she wanted to see PF, was no better really. She had the air of a slightly dusty, powdery old, used-to-be-rich lady.
PF was dreading her being there. She came to ask for his help as she does, apparently, every year. She runs some sort of Writers Retreat in deepest Tuscany. They select a writer that they invite/allow to use the retreat. That’s it.
However, they (well, she) are always on the lookout for help – or money. She spent a few seconds shaking our hands as we were introduced and then, assuming we were rich, cordially invited us to donate money! We followed her conversation with PF and she really was a most dreadful woman. Her interest in us waned after the first few seconds when she decided that we couldn’t help her.
All in all, if we were to compare the two buskers, I would prefer my money to go to the would-be DJ than the was-sometime-ago Baroness.
BTW – great random picture.’ Is that Andy Pandy the boy’s watching?