Bee team

Caroline's handling of her bees this morning was described by Mike, the expert, as "fearless". Roll on the honeycombs!

As for England last night, well, I reckon - having seen a few of the other sides in action - they're nothing more than a B Team: destined to be so near - but so far. I am not holding my breath following the defeat by Italy. Optimism has its limits.

Arrivederci?

The two Italian teenagers who have been here this last fortnight left this morning. Carlotta and Virginia couldn't complain about the weather, and indeed spent quite a bit of time sitting out in the garden - though apparently quite impervious to any attraction a garden might have in the way of plants (or vegetables for that matter). Curious to send students in a pair like that, to learn English, when they are clearly going to jabber away together in their own language. And when they weren't jabbering, they were Tweeting.

Totus to us

"A handbag?!" must be one of the most recognisable and shortest quotations in our literature; but handbags are not something you associate automatically with Caroline. Now, however, she has a glitzy new one with the label Silvian Heach: it was given her by Carlotta and Virginia, two Italian teenagers who have just arrived from Milan, due to stay for a fortnight while studying English at a local language school.

Today's Guardian carries an obituary of the British TV and film director Jim Goddard: In New York City, in 1983, the obituarist states, he took an hour off from filming... to visit Bloomingdale's to buy his girlfriend a handbag. Dithering at the counter, he was viewed with sympathy by an elderly woman wearing a mackintosh, scarf and dark glasses. "Who," she asked him, "is the handbag for?" Jim explained. "My advice," the woman said with a smile, "is that only the most expensive will do." By now the assistants had fallen silent and were watching in astonishment. "Here," the woman said. "Buy this one." She walked away. Jim bought the handbag. "Jesus," said the sales assistant. "Do you know who that was?" Jim blinked. "I mean," said the assistant, "you don't know? That was Greta Garbo." Jim shrugged his massive bulk. "Strange birds," he said, "often sing to me."

The thick of it

I took this photograph in 1999, when we were walking along a strada bianca near Pienza: it hardly does justice to the lichen, an extraordinary colour. I remembered it this morning, as I caught up with the latest goings on in The thick of it. It really does get better and better - and in the whole hour of this bumper episode there isn't a single F word (well, in direct speech anyway). How do they keep a straight face?

I couldn't watch it on Saturday as we were at the Parabola Arts Centre, where they were showing a recording of the Royal Opera's 2011 Tosca: a great cast, and - still more important - Antonio Pappano conducting. Before we went out, there was another Royal Opera House recording on Radio 3: Otello, Pappano again conducting. And earlier in the day, I'd been catching up on the Covent Garden Ring. Conductor? Pappano again.

Caroline's week-long Wagner widowhood ended last night. The highlights of this Ring for me were Act 2 of Die Walküre, with Sarah Connolly outstanding; and Act 2 of Götterdämmerung last night - Tomlinson terrific as Hagen, notwithstanding that wobble: only to be expected in a 66-year-old. (What contemporary relevance in the Prologue too - with all the Norns' talk about ash dieback.)

Are there other operas besides Tosca and Götterdämmerung where all the principals end up dead? (Is there a post on my blog containing more hyperbole?)

La Scala

We are home again after our eight days abroad. My head is swimming from side to side rather, from so much rail travel - six different trains today alone. It's swimming, too, from many rich experiences.

This time yesterday, we were enjoying (very much) a Debussy/Ravel concert in the wondrous setting of Milan's great opera house. I had seen it before from the outside, but it was closed for repair in 2001, when Thomas and I spent Easter Monday exploring the city.

Our train from Florence arrived in time for a pavement lunch near the Brera yesterday: thus fortified, we tackled what for me (despite only one previous visit) rates as a favourite collection. It's not too large, but nearly all top notch. And amazingly almost empty. We then set off for an ice cream, and to show Caroline a different sort of gallery, the Vittorio Emanuele arcade.

En route, you can't miss La Scala, and there outside was one of its characteristic yellow bills announcing that the Orchestre National de France (under music director Daniele Gatti) were in town - and playing at 9 p.m. that evening as part of the MITO Festival.

Returning at 8.30, you could see at once that this was a high fashion occasion. I felt a little under-dressed in my shorts, but despite the plentiful décolleté all round us, there were no armed soldiers turning away the scantily clad, as at the entrance to the Duomo earlier. The box office seemed more than happy to let us in to the Gallery - the tickets, a mere five euro each. What's more, the concert began with a bonne bouche: to commemorate the life of Milan's late beloved Cardinal Martini, there was the Ave Maria from Otello, Act IV. I can't think of any religious leader whose passing might attract quite such treatment at our Royal Opera House.

Florence

Thanks to Charlotte's introduction, we are staying for our last two nights with an Italian friend in her apartment at the top of a palazzo near San Ambrogio. In other words, we have a room with a view - over San Miniato al Monte to the South and Fiésole to the North.

Two nights, but really only one day, so we have been making the most of it, and are now completely exhausted, what with so much walking. We started off at Santissima Annunziata, its beautiful square and del Sartos - rather a shock after Siena's Gothic. Going backwards in time, we moved slightly West to San Marco: they were dismantling a dinosaur exhibition behind the church. Fast forward to Fra Angelico, however, and those extraordinary frescoed cells. On to San Lorenzo, and Michelangelo's Medici tomb sculptures ("Let me have men about me that are fat." Women too in his case.)

But even after all of this, and a caper through the Duomo and over the Ponte Vecchio, Santa Maria Novella has been the highlight of today. The church's outside appearance is no preparation for what's within, particularly the Ghirlandaios. All the history of which our hostess has been explaining to us over tea in an amusing way and in faultless English!

Siena

After three days of country living, and most generous hospitality, we have once again become townspeople. Last night, we booked in to Hotel Almadomus here in Siena. It's not visible in my photograph, but very central, below San Domenico. We are here for less than 24 hours, so there's little point in being anywhere else. And anyway the hotel came with a warm recommendation from a knowledgeable friend.

Arriving at dusk last night and opening our bedroom window, there was the Duomo looming above: turning my head to the left, I found myself looking immediately into Santa Caterina's Sanctuary, and at the saint's more than life-size statue, arms outstretched: this morning, I was able to get to the 7 a.m. mass in its Church of the Crucifix, despite sleeping until woken by the tolling bell. (I was one of about 20 in the congregation, which included five nuns, who form the resident community and maintain the Sanctuary, an oasis in this busy city.)

We have had an exhilarating time, walking the narrow streets, exploring churches and other buildings of different periods, as well as the famous Campo. But the highspot has certainly been the Duomo, its Crypt and Museum. From the latter, we climbed up onto the facade of the unfinished "new" (that is, early 14th Century!) Cathedral, from where I took this photograph. Isn't it extraordinary how, when in these high places, one always feels a bit of an urge to jump off?

Tuscany - 4

In a previous post, I surmised that the wide view from where we are staying was - as it were - "unspoilt". Today, a clearer day, mostly sunny at last, I know differently: my zoom has picked up these two cooling towers, far away to our West, a reminder that we are not in fact on another planet.

When you're on holiday, it's easy to be comforted by those words of Sir Toby Belch that I've quoted before: "Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?" Nevertheless, swimming up and down and seeing those plumes of steam does make you reflect upon the logistics of transforming a ruined farmhouse in the middle of nowhere into a luxurious marble-floored holiday home, with half a mile of drive properly laid down, new garden - trees included - planted up, all services (electricity, water, drainage, wifi...) buried beneath the soil etc. And about the energy required for such a transformation, not to mention the sustenance of the establishment once it's done. No matter how much greenwash you apply to this exercise, the needle must swing far across to the left (on the "How bad are bananas?" scale).

Ah well, that's us crossed off the list for any future invitation...

Tuscany - 3

It's been another dull day, weather-wise. After the rain, I left the others watching Spiral (we had contributed our boxed set to the household) and set off for an evening walk. From "our" farmhouse garden, it's easy to cross onto an overgrown track leading into the valley below. A group of three deer gave me a long look before scurrying away: otherwise I saw no sign of wildlife, and certainly neither wild boar nor porcupine, as was suggested might be on view.

But what was this curious lump halfway up the stalk of a dog rose? It was quite solid. Created as a shelter by an aestivating animal perhaps, or a bird?

Tuscany - 2

If we had come all this way for unbroken sunshine, we would be feeling disappointed. The rain has bucketed down at times today, but luckily we weren't caught in the worst of it on our visit to San Gimignano this morning. And it is specially good fun swimming in the rain, as I did on our return, before lunch.

We are just off to eat more - to a restaurant in nearby Casole d'Elsa: we have been warned, it's a menu with no choices. Who's worried about that here though?

Tuscany

It's 13 years since we stayed a week at La Foce, celebrating with our late lamented friend Massimo his 50th birthday. You forget how beautiful Tuscany is, even on a less than 100% sunny evening such as tonight. Here, we are further North than before, looking towards the village of Radicondoli, across a wide valley: there's nothing much between us apart from a very few farmhouses, and indeed nothing that I can at this late hour see to mar the 180 degree view.

We arrived not long after 7 o'clock, met by our kind hosts off the bus from Colle di Val d'Elsa. After traveling all day, to immerse myself in a heated infinity pool overlooking such a view was absolutely delicious.

Paris Gare de Lyon

We have just been sitting under an awning outside the Duc de Richelieu bistro in rue Parrot near here, having an early supper. Though the air is warmer than it was in England this morning, the rain has been pouring down on a scooterised traffic warden, pausing to slap a notice on the windscreen of each of several illegally-parked cars alongside us. Our Geneva train leaves shortly, and then it's on to Lausanne to sleep, before going on to Florence tomorrow: a friend of a friend advises against the sleeper to Italy.

Leaders of Men

26-year-old Jonathan Kelham has been working at Meantime for a few weeks, and tonight he unveiled - under the above title - the most curious body of work I have yet seen there.

It seems to me a sort of artistic equivalent to Second Life. I listened in to a more or less unintelligible conversation Jonathan was having in the downstairs gallery, in which hangs just one work: it's a sideways map of England, it appears; but its significance entirely escapes me.

Upstairs, there are quite good (and recognisable) portrait sketches alongside pages of local newspaper advertisements: Jonathan inserts random small ads round the country. When I asked him whether he'd ever had a reply to one, he said "No". Very odd.

I returned home looking forward ever more eagerly to our departure for Italy in a week's time.

Penalty shoot out

Well, we lost again: not that we deserved to win. And Italy have spared us a greater humiliation - as it would have been if we had had to meet Germany this coming Thursday. We've been enjoying the other matches, without the habitual edge-of-the-seat stuff that goes with an England game. And they have all been played in what seems like a good spirit, give or take a few theatrical dives. Of course, the logistics of a tournament straddled between two countries as vast as Poland and the Ukraine makes the mind boggle. Our local paper reports one fan to be flying out for more or less every match (and back afterwards - presumably for a very bleary-eyed next day in the office). He'll now be spared any further need to guzzle carbon - this time round at least.

Meanwhile, on our back lawn this afternoon, William and Laurie were pre-enacting that Alessandro Diamanti/Joe Hart moment.

Guy Edwardes

Cheltenham Camera Club put on a special event this evening, a lecture by the photographer Guy Edwardes. I didn't bother to book a ticket in advance, and when I arrived ahead of time at the Town Hall the room was virtually full, all seats sold. Happily they squeezed me into a hot corner at the back.

I'm glad I went, as Edwardes' work is thrilling, if rather more artificial-looking than the effect I strive for. One of the 300-odd landscape/nature pictures he put up must have been taken from a similar vantage point to the one above. (His result is very considerably better!) My photograph dates from April 1999, and I was standing by the Belvedere at La Foce, Iris Origo's former home in Tuscany.