Florence, summer 1982

‘Took the train to Florence, changing at Milan – a journey I last made six years ago when I was visiting Florence with Mary for the first time.  Uncanny the manner in which I re-experience the dullness of the north Italian plain and then the sudden rush of hills and hopes beyond Bologna:  I remember precisely what I felt on that first journey, how hot and crowded the compartment was, how frightened Mary and I were.  Florence meant everything to us then:  a city as pure potentiality has never meant quite the same since (Paris and Berlin were different:  they were challenges for me alone, but Florence was a promise we both knew would be fulfilled.  How could it not be?).’

Journal, 27th December 1983

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