the sultry vixen has blisters from all her hoeing… in the garden, not to disappoint those hoping for a more demonstrative visual. So blisters on fingers, nothing contagious or requiring salve. By the by, should you catch yourself in the process of weeding, I highly reccommend dresden dolls for your training montage; the perfect metaphor tottering effortlessly between a naval marching band and dust bowl sideshow. You’ll be having so much fun bending and plucking, you won’t even notice your back break in half.A short stint amidst hay and weeds, and we head to the bus for Narni, our hot shower awaits, bless. And it was good… In fact I do not believe christiane is ever coming out. We drive through the hastening verdant countryside to Carsulae, and jump the fence to enter. As I shoot a few of Brittney using a reflector in an ancient church, a couple of reps from the achaeological society barge in; they’ve been peeking via video camera. Oddly, we don’t get told off for fence jumping, just that we need to sign a document stating the never use of imagery for anything money garnering… Even though I was the camera clad pony, they had Germano do the honors, so as far as I’m concerned, these bitches are ripe for a nice magazine cover. Germano says jail in Italy is very nice anyway, and he could use the rest. The ruins themselves are epic in a singular way; they aren’t butted up, like everything else I’ve seen in every big city from Rome to Paris, against anything new. They are surrounded by meadows and mountains, and one truly gets a sense of scope, of the environment as it might have been, only fractured and abandoned. We actually have a bloody picnic amid the columns. With the Umbrian wine. After a long, ambling afternoon, I am treated to a more modern Italian moment. A couple has picked this particular parking lot to fuck in. Being that the cars here are like little pinpricks with wheels, it’s a rather yogic experience, I imagine. On the way back we discover first hand the ferocity of the Italian sheep dog, as one, deciding our presence on the road going 60 km was a threat, launched himself into the side of the car, and chased us 100 yards down the street. Apparently, when you happen among some sheep here in the country, on a leisurely walk perhaps, you fucking run away. Because the dog actually tried to eat our car. We are spending the night at brittneys watch tower, an actual medieval one mind you, straddling an arch above the via Flaminia. After a long wander in Narni, and some tourist priced pizza, we sleep. At least for now…
a sad, tragic day today, as a masterstroke of a volley cracks the only ping pong ball. I think I dislocated my pancreas weeding the garden, but aim to put it back with a spell of jumprope. Our shoot in the closed castle of narni has been approved for tommorrow complete with medieval gowns and weapons, which should make for an interesting change from chickens.
Plenty of work to do, much hoeing and ping pong abounded, at least until mid-afternoon, when the farm is assailed by a thunderstorm. The power goes out in spurts throughout the day and night, and I am consoled by further battlestar, and finally succeed in getting some important photo retouching out and about. Almost done with my magnum opus of Neil gaiman and Amanda Palmer as Odysseus and siren. I still hate eggplant, even if Its grilled on the fireplace coals… Now pancetta on the other hand, turns out I can swallow 2.5 pieces of smoked, chargrilled dripping pig bits before passing out.
a few nudie pictures around the tower to surprise Brittney with on a later blog. 2 cappuccinos later, I am taken on a tour of germanos tower, and incredible ascending labyrinth bathed in glazed tiles and hand painted wallpaper, overseeing the main piazza in narni. It’s most recent inhabitants were a pair of old women, and although impeccably decorated, the apartments are definitely granny infused, down to the hats and shoes still stowed neatly in the armoires. We pick up a newly arrived robekkah at the piazza, and return to Santa brigada for a thoroughly demonstrative evening.
Morning commences with my hauling rocks out of the pool with a rake. After work, we take the bus to Narni, the geographical center of Italy, and one of it’s first republics, astride a deep, sullen valley. Narni was originally the roman province of narnia, and being that it provided inspiration for Lewis’ chronicles of narnia, I don’t believe I need to go into much in the way of detail in my description of how fucking pleasant it is. Just picture a bunch of fairytale towers and castles and curves and shit, and you pretty much get the idea. An actual sacricicial altar from immemorium, like a buoy announcing the town entrance. But no full throated lions. Brittney lives above an old archway, just beyond one of three enormous gates leading into the town, in an old guard tower redolent of eua du particular granny. It has winding stone stairs that lead nowhere! How awesome is that. We attend her wish for lunch, and meet Romano her lover along the way, who takes us to his favorite hillside resteraunt, loosely translated as The Embarrassed Chicken, for a proper Italian dining experience that leaves my mouth too full for small talk. Manfriccoli, that I may bathe in your soapy coils, lo it is far too cold out, so I shall merely eat you with bread.
After the initial test shoot, I get to pick up even more Albarran noise from a stylist in London. Back for further mining experiments…
