Do you believe in ghosts and circles? Well I do.
I had wanted to go and somehow relive last September in Venice, and touch the past. You see, last year, while I was here, my mother had been rushed to hospital and had later died. As I entered the Cipriani I said to myself: 'Please show me somehow, Mummy, that there is somewhere else.' So I got to my room and - guess what - it was number 317, this was my mother's telephone number all her life - Woodborough 317. There are coincidences, of course. Nevertheless weird.
Anyway, tonight was a little mad, as I went round the whole of Venice by water taxi, starting with the exhibition at the Palazzo Fortuny. It was apparently the only thing worth seeing in the Biennale - and although it was put together creatively, I am a bit fed up with the meaning of life. I just try and live it. I have a fascination with the black hole, death etc, but I want to see some beautiful, well painted pictures. I am a trifle tired of contemporary art and the importance it is given. However, at least this show holds your interest. Well, sort of. It looks like the decorators' page in Casa Vogue. Of course it's pretty - but somehow empty. The public graves are a bore, too honest and too ordinary. I don't give a hoot who they are by.
Thank goodness artists before us created architectual beauty, because floating through the canals cannot be beaten. So I was happy to visit the Jewish Quarter, and later the Excelsior where the Film Festival Awards were taking place. I bumped into Michael Nyman, which is always a witty affair, and then caught up with Colin Firth who has brilliant reviews for his passionate portrayal in Tom Ford's A Single Man. Tom was as charming and attractive as ever, taking compliments graciously. Colin brushed up nicely. I am a member of his official fan club.
The evening was rounded off with a delicious dinner at Harry's Bar. My diet begins tomorrow.
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