My year of art is off to a very slow start, but visitors from home are a lovely distraction.
When we first arrived in CF, Snowy and I were nearly bowled over by a little Fiat 500 held together, it seemed, by packing tape. As it passed us in the narrow street and careered around a bend, the driver's door flew open and an elegant arm reached out and casually caught it. Without, it seemed, even coming to a stop it was thrown into reverse and screeched back into a tiny parking spot. I was fascinated by its driver, an intensely elegant dark haired woman waving a cigarette around as she slammed the door and swept off up the street. Eighteen months later we now know that this is Anna's car and that she is the charming proprietor of a very classy boutique a few doors down the street from our apartment. Today Snowy and I don't even flinch when a car bowls past with barely an inch to spare.