Talking to me?

Somehow I seem to have got onto Harvey Nichols mailing list: the latest begins
Channel your inner lady of the manor.
Inner Lady of the Manor NO CAN HAZ.

***

On possibly related topic, am currently reading in ebook Elinor Glyn's The Reflections of Ambrosine. Feeling strong desire to smack Ambrosine herself and her French aristo grandmother with some suitably socially-elevated fish, possibly a royal sturgeon. Babykins, however, society flirt, witty gossip, and pigbreeder, is totally for the win.

***

Much of my dreams last night seemed to be set in Venice, which somewhat surprised me. Although I enjoyed the visit, it didn't, and probably couldn't, make the impression of the first day-trip in the early 70s.

This involved possibly the ideal approach - by hydrofoil from one of the resorts on the Istrian peninsula of what was then Yugoslavia, really early in the morning. This really beats out of hand arriving by rail or air.

Much has faded of that visit, but I remember how Venice appeared out of the sea in the early morning light. And walking round and round St Mark's Square.

(I really remember it as so much less crowded - and that would have been higher in the season too.)