Got the anniversary present for W, who loved it. Why is it, though, that Italians never seem to actually want to sell you something? I mean, here I am, willing to spend a ridiculous 1100+ in Euro, and it's like pulling teeth. I actually had to go twice: walked out in frustration the first time. Wouldn't have gone back, either, except FNAC actually does have the best prices by far, plus they were doing a deal where they throw in an extra 32 MB of memory. Which, by the way, they were out of. Maybe it will arrive next week. Maybe not. Maybe they're hoping I'll forget the whole thing. I don't think so.

So what did I get him? A digital video camera. Which meant that I spent the whole weekend being filmed, watching W film, or watching W play back things he filmed or just playing. This was OK, though, because I did all of the above in San Gimignano, which is possibly one of the most enchanting places on earth. Totally Medieval, on top of a mountain, surrounded by lush green Tuscan countryside. And it was warm! I sat out in the sun yesterday in nothing but a tank top (and trousers, of course), drinking prosecco in a charming stone square, just watching the tourists go by. I loved it. The food was fab, too-- rare for such a touristy town. And at this time of year, the tourists were mostly Italian, which actually doesn't make a difference.

Actually, we're starting to be Italian tourists. We brought back seven bottles of local wine, specialty sausages (cingale, or boar), and a chunk of local cheese. W also went off wandering and bought some art, which I guess is what you call an expensive pitcher with a hole in the middle which is not suitable for filling with a beverage of any type. It is pretty though. Actually, W has been quite arty lately. He got me three lovely, framed drawings from Venice for our anniversary.

It was an almost perfect weekend. W started out a bit crabby, being so tired and stressed and all. But he got better. So much better, that we stayed an extra night and drove back this morning, which was a bit fraught. I have never seen so many trucks in my life. Also, given that we hardly ever drive anymore, much less in Milan, we managed to get ourselves lost and stuck in the one-way dead ends surrounding the Duomo and Galleria. Which I thought was pretty hilarious-- we can't be the first to have done it, after all. In fact, there was a station wagon in similar straits, but he had a harder time turning around. (The only time being in a Punto with an engine with less horsepower than my toothbrush came in handy, I might add.) In any case, W did not find the situation funny AT ALL, thus negating any remaining rested, relaxed feeling that survived the drive to that point.

Still a wonderful weekend though. And now that we're back, we no longer have to endure the Moira posters at every turn. Moira is a woman with an oversized head, tacky diamonte earrings, too much make-up, and an evil smile framed by bright red lipstick. There is also something very disturbing about her eyes. She is frightening, the way a clown is frightening to small children. And she is omnipresent. Her poster was in every shop, on every street in town, plus at three meter intervals along the highway. Apparently, this Moira person is with the Circo di Mosca, which is either the Moscow circus or she has a fly circus. Or is that fleas? In any case, I don't miss her. Although I did think of swiping a poster to hang up next Holloween, but that probably would have had W incandescent with rage, thinking he had seen the last of her and then having her turn up in his own home. I don't think I could live with it, either, come to think of it.

Spent the rest of the day cleaning and doing the newsletter for April which was due for the printers today and which, of course, I had not finished. Should have done it Friday, but that was Festa delle Donne, and we were off being womanly. Which in our case entailed looking at a nifty church in Monza, window shopping, doing lunch. Lunch was spent eating (of course), drinking wine, and trying to decide what our magnolias smelled like. Best I could come up with is soap. Not Dial or the like, but the cute little soaps found in guest bathrooms all over the world. There were a bunch of cops at the church-- both flavors, too, carabinieri and the regular police. I asked one of the group of cops in the square outside, smoking cigarettes and gossiping while their compatriots were attending Mass, what was going on. Apparently, it was a special Easter Mass for the police forces, despite the fact that Easter is weeks away. An old man pushing his bicycle, however, said they were there to keep the town safe from all the women. Such wit.

We passed a cafe near the church that was stuffed full of various police, drinking coffee and eating brioche. Cops are cops the world over, I guess.