Seems drawing badass celestial bodies is a thing I do when I’m drinking. I see two problems here: one, my knowledge of astronomy is fairly limited and thus already running almost dry; two, I can’t guarantee Drunk Colm won’t eventually think rubbish puns about white dwarves are the way forward. So over to you: suggest something else I can doodle. Something that gets a bad press and needs an image overhaul. Something that will benefit from a good ol’ bitta tipsy PR. And please note that you will be paying for the necessary Art Juice. I’ll be right over here.

(Context for the upper half: a bar in Berlin, an ill-thought-out game of Guess Who¹. Bonus points: German tries to correct my spelling, realises I was right in the first place. WhuPOW.)

1. First two questions: “Are they German?” “Can’t remember.” “Do they have a beard?” “Not sure. ” It went uphill after that though, I promise.

Somewhere in Cork, right now, there is a man with 2.6 gigabytes of Van Halen on his laptop. Did Van Halen even record 2.6 gigabytes of material? Who knows! This man has it anyway.

Secondly, there’s a project afoot. Uh. I’m not going to say anything about that yet.

Thirdly, I wanted to mention a nifty event I was at in Chapters on Tuesday – Neil Gaiman reading and Amanda Palmer ukelele-ing. Organisation was a bit dodgy, largely it seems because the staff were too busy shuffling awkwardly and going “Shucks, no one’s gonna turn up at our shop” to properly think it through, but it was a most enjoyable evening. Gaiman was reading from a book they worked on called Who Killed Amanda Palmer? and basically what you need to know is that his old school storytelling mixed with her gleeful sordidness makes for some top-notch material. Grimm fairytales but with hookers and crack, that kind of thing. You can see basically the whole show in five parts starting here.

And lastly, I’m off to Maastricht in… four hours. I’m typing fast here so I can stay awake. Exhilarating! There’s a carnival over there, you see, and I’ve been trawling Dublin’s various vintage shops (and River Island, and Tie Rack, which I don’t understand how they stay in business because surely cravats and cummerbunds aren’t exactly flying out the doors) so that I can bring the magic of Oscar Wilde’s Jakey Nephew to the streets of the Netherlands. On which note, either it’s bloody hard to get hold of a cane in Dublin or I’m just stupid.

Right, well, apparently some wires got crossed. Turns out the forty quid they mentioned was the total of my last two transactions, which were in Dublin, which is why their computer flagged the two transactions in Milan on the same day. The two transactions that burned me for seven hundred chudding euro. The hell, like? I was ready to write off €40 as charming roguery, but what arsehole takes €700? I tell you, as soon as that money comes back into my account I’m booking a ticket over and I’m going to personally slap every Italian in the face*.

In the meantime I’m going to mildly freak out about where this month’s rent is coming from, and try to console myself by looking at some Manbabies.

*Yes, I’m reverse-ripping off My Name Is Earl.

Arriving in Rome is a shock after spending time in Venice. The noise from traffic (remember cars?) is loud and constant. Speaking of which: an awful lot of pedestrian crossings don’t have traffic lights at them, because that’s not how Italians roll. You’re expected to just face forward and step out into the stream of cars and mopeds, which will stop only if they can’t see a way to swerve around you. It’s actually a great feeling once you get over the initial misgivings.

I was going to say the city beats you over the head with history, but that’s not accurate… the history is there, but apart from the main landmarks it’s pretty nondescript. There are ruined buildings and ancient architecture everywhere, but often there’s no indication as to what the significance of it is – there might be a fence around some run-down walls to stop people, you know, nicking them, but that’s about it.

Having said that, the aforementioned main landmarks are spectacular. Of the really ancient sites, my favourite was the Parthenon – we had seen ruin after ruin after ruin so it really caught us off-guard to turn a corner and see this massive former temple in near-mint condition.

Looking at some of the ruins, particularly the pieces of the Colossus of Constantine, you really get a sense of how impressive ancient Rome was. And while the more intact sites (Parthenon, Trevi Fountain etc) are undoubtedly well worth seeing, it is disappointing that the really impressive stuff is going or gone.

For this reason I was glad that we waited until our last day to go to the Vatican, because the inside of St Peter’s Basilica is the single most awe-inspiring thing I’ve ever seen. Everyone should make it their business to see it.

Finally, I want to mention the Keats-Shelley Museum, which we found completely by accident. It’s located in the house where Keats died (near the Piazza di Spagna) and contains a huge collection of books from the Romantic period as well as letters, diaries, manuscripts and so on. My favourite thing was a book of Keat’s prose with Walt Whitman’s pencilled notes in the margins; it’s a strange thing, but seeing a person’s handwriting makes them seem much more real.

It’s arguably even spookier during the day: very few buildings show any signs of being occupied, it’s completely silent, and it’s not uncommon to wander through the streets for ten minutes or more without seeing another person. (We were tired after the journey over so it was only on the second day that we realised how much of the day’s activity, among the native Venetians at least, is carried out before lunchtime.)

There are shops everywhere selling carnival masks. They’re mostly handmade, and you can watch the shopkeepers putting the finishing touches to the paintwork while you browse. There’s a huge variety, and some of them are incredibly ornate (my favourite was a white goat face with a gilded bronze mask over its eyes – yours for a cool €190).

Waterboats are a novelty, and apart from the noise of the engine they’re a pretty relaxing way to travel. We had one minor mishap, which was getting stranded on a small monastery island for an hour. (We were looking for Ezra Pound’s grave, which is to say I was looking for Ezra Pound’s grave, but we ended up going to the wrong island. Worth the trip though.)

Having spent those few days in Venice, I can see the attraction living abroad holds for writers and other artists. There’s a nice level of detachment from the language and culture that really fires up the creative part of your brain – I had inspiration up the wazoo while I was there, and I could easily have made it a temporary home. Of course, it should be pointed out that writers tend to enjoy their own company more than most.

That’s it for now. There will no doubt be more on the podcast, and stay tuned for my Exciting Thoughts on Rome.

So, uh, yeah. Italy’s a very nice place. Like, really really nice.

More tomorrow.