Severin’s Next Move

Severin has decided to call time on Taormina.

Long days and nights working as a waiter have meant that his German juices have finally run dry.

Severin is a drifter — or, as he likes to put it, a rolling stone. He wanders from city to city, from job to job, looking for another Pietro; somebody who will take him in and pay for everything.

But he still has to find his next Pietro.

I confess I had thought Taormina might be where he finally settled down. His up-and-down relationship with Alfio had all the hallmarks of being long-term. I realise now that Severin is still looking for what he perceives to be the right person.

He has come up with a number of options for the months ahead — and they all seem to involve me.

With Verona out of the question, he is now considering a trip to Britain and would like to stay with me. I have explained that I am selling my apartment and will most likely be renting a room at Deej’s place in London by the time he arrives.

He has also raised his ‘World Tour’ idea again, and I have had to let him down gently on this one because my finances could best be described as unreliable at the moment.

Then Severin suggested meeting up in Rome. What’s more, he wants to invite Elio. It would, he reasoned, be a chance for Pietro’s three boys to get together again.

I have a soft spot for Severin, but I have my doubts about Elio. He was Pietro’s favourite and benefited most from his death. If my understanding is correct, Elio is pretty much set up for life.

Unlike Severin and myself.

The last I heard, Elio had launched a modelling agency in Milan which, no doubt, would boost his coffers even further. I had only met him once, at a Christmas meal at Bulgari Milano, where Pietro had thought nothing of showing off his three young ‘darlings’.

It might have been a disaster, but the three of us had actually got on rather well.

Severin and I never attended Pietro’s funeral.

We weren’t invited.

That is probably where some of my irritation with Elio comes from.

I confided all this to Signora Bruschi by telephone.

“I have never met Severin,” she said. “But I suspect that he has a good reason for wanting to spend time with you.”

“And that is?” I asked, rather dimly.

“Have you not considered that he might want to have a relationship with you?”

I hadn’t.

Signora Bruschi might be right.

After all, I hear from Severin most days. He messages and rings me during his breaks from the restaurant. I rather enjoy our conversations, but not once had I considered anything more.

“If that is the case,” she continued, “there is the problem of Bianchi.”

Oh! I thought.

The Chase Never Ends

Back in the UK. University city. Freshers everywhere. Oh, it brings back memories.

Young people dressed by their parents, scared as shit, homesick by the hour. I remember being a big brother, a lover, the older one who knew a little more about the world.

But I get older and they get younger.

Still, the chase never seems to end. I’ve missed this.

Bailey appears as though I’ve never been away. Doe-eyed, beautiful, and seemingly thick as shit — although perhaps that is part of his charm. He shows me the new tattoos across his back and, despite myself, they excite me.

Dilemma.

I miss Bianchi and his Italian charm.

Then Bailey tells me he’s disabled on his own prick, which raises a few questions.

And yet I’m tempted by the sheer stupidity of his beauty.

A Euro Child

There are two lives.

Italy versus the UK.

I’ve had the best summer. Montescaglioso, Taormina and Verona.

Not to mention too much about Paris.

Coming home feels like a sentence.

An apartment that is dead, yet full of good memories.

Charlie is gone, but his presence is everywhere. Clothes, books, paintings. A scent that still lingers.

But Charlie has disappeared.

I fear it is for good.

Who would have thought that a magazine could have brought it all to an end?

Estate agents pander to everything.

I think of Severin. I think of Cola. I think of Bianchi.

And I realise that I am, really, a Euro child.

Then I had a dream.

I dreamt of Sandro, the carabiniere, and his warnings. Of all the people who might have appeared, I dreamt of Sandro more than anyone else.

Why Sandro?

He has somehow crept, uninvited, into my consciousness. 

Fellini, Fascism, and a Fling: How to Spice Up Your 1970s Italian Art Crisis

Olivia Laing

Naughty.

Retro.

Short chapters.

Fellini.

A life I might have killed for.

And then I remembered—

that is exactly what happened to Pasolini.

I read a review:

“The Silver Book is a novel distorted by the medium it has shaped itself to flatter: it is an Instagram feed bound between book covers. There can be no ugly, unseeable truth here; only the artful pose is of value.”

Ouch.

A Stumble-Find and a Good Looker

I’m always on the lookout for a good looker. Even better if they came to a tragic end.

Gerry Sundquist turned out to be a slow burner. A stumble-find on a sun-soaked terrace in Taormina.

The actor who was once called ‘the best-looking man on television’ and who dated Nastassja Kinski deserved some attention. This was back in the 1970s and, unsurprisingly, I’d never heard of him.

I know a lot about him now. Just about everything except the size of his penis. Had I been around back then, I would have made damned sure I knew that too.

I know about his rise to stardom. His cataclysmic downfall. His gruesome death.

Always a winner with readers.

So thank you, Gerry Sundquist, for providing me with the most-read post on this site. It started slowly. Then exploded.

Who would have thought it?

The Ultimate Guide to Ruining a French Vacation

La Piscine (1969) – a summer moodboard. Alain Delon and Romy Schneider serve peak 60s quiet luxury by a Saint-Tropez pool, but it’s all high-key toxicity. Stunning on the surface; underneath it’s just pure, unhinged resentment. The most beautiful surfaces hide the deepest dangers. My new favourite word is feral. This is completely feral.

Unsent & Unfiltered

The secret lover can’t hold his shit. 

And so I wrote a message that was never sent.

“Breath of fresh air. So naive that it’s beautiful. But I will be pissed off if you show this to anyone. Please don’t piss me off. 😊 Stay gold.”

On the Cute and the Willing