Yesterday. It’s wet. And cold.

To be honest, anywhere in the cold, very damp conditions of today, looks quite grim. Plus, I arrive at the station – never the best place to see a city. Add to that, that, I may have paid extra for a 1^st class ticket with a guaranteed seat but it’s the first time the train has been used that morning and the heating isn’t working in the carriage, after an hour’s journey it’s not really going to place you in the best frame of mind.

And, so it was that I arrived in Parma. A city know the world over for two things – Parma ham and Parmesan cheese – well, we are in Italy! It should also be known for being the birthplace of Giuseppe Verdi, amongst other famous people.

It seems as if it has already been raining for days and days, even if that is not the case. I walk towards town finding myself, unexpectedly, on the right street. I keep walking, noting that, as it is in Italy, few people tilt their umbrellas as they pass you; and me, being in Italy for long enough now, doing the same. We are over an hour away from Milan and yet, these people seem more unfriendly that the Milanese. Maybe it’s the weather? Maybe it’s me, because of the weather?

I am nearly at the centre. I am struck by how many black people there are here. There seems to be more than in Milan, at least percentage-wise. I check the street number and realise I am nearly at the end (or, actually, the beginning). I have not seen the hotel. I check the email. I have walked past it. I retrace my steps, nearly all the way back to the station.

I get to the hotel, colder and wetter. I wish I had brought gloves. I phone his wife’s mobile. No answer. I leave a message. I check with reception. They went out over an hour ago. I phone again and leave another message. I wait.

At least it’s dry and I can start to thaw out! They arrive. They had got lost.

After the usual chit-chat we get down to business. At five minutes to one I say we should go to lunch. I had booked the Gallo d’Oro (Golden Cockerel?) for lunch. The receptionist points it out on the map. We brave the cold and wet – good food is calling. We arrive. I announce that I have booked for 3 – the lady slicing ultra-thin slices from a nice-looking Parma ham nods her head towards the corner. This is a Trattoria not a restaurant, after all!

We order. I select the ‘best’ Parma ham to start. It is divine – truly good. We all have some Parma Risotto. Creamy, cheesy and piping hot – just what you need on a day like this. I have rabbit, Nick has meatballs – (polpette) like beefburgers but left round and not flattened.

We go back to the hotel and finish up. They walk me to the station.

It seems to be raining harder and it’s colder.

I buy a ticket. It’s more expensive coming back! This time there is (a little) heating in the carriage but my window seat is, in fact, next to the solid wall of the carriage.

We stop at Piacenza. The man in front of me gets off. When the train is moving again I move up to his seat. I have a window.

The song ‘Day Trip to Bangor’ is in my head. It is still raining.

I saw nothing of Parma, really. When we did our bit of walking we had umbrellas and I was entertaining so I did not really ‘see’ the buildings. It looks quite nice. Worth a trip back in April or May, perhaps?

I was going to shop at a salumeria on the way back to the station and get some Parma ham but as Nick and his wife walked me back to the station, I didn’t like to stop.

Mah!