Those in the UK can, for the next seven days, see me wearing half a kilo of make-up, staring lovingly at the former Bishop of Edinburgh here.

Spool forward to the 01:21:30 mark and enjoy the "em"-ing.

PS- According to Wikipedia, host Glenn Campbell is the youngest man on the studio floor. It's a weird feeling; being older than T4 presenters is fine, but older than BBC news types? Christ.

Let the ghoulish cavalcade begin. Big, slushy pull-outs in all the Sundays first, I think. Plenty of vague references to his "troubled" private life, but mostly pictures of him as a boy and from his most memorable videos. An earnest Paul Gambaccini special on Radio 2, the Martin Bashir farce gets repeated on ITV. Jarvis Cocker clip races back up YouTube chart.

From next week, conspiracy theories about the death become prevalent. In the post-internet era, Jacko outdoes Elvis even in death, believers in his clever escape to a secret life numbering in their hundreds of thousands. The funeral rivals that of a Pope in austentation. Barack Obama attends. Meanwhile the executors of his estate reveal the details of one of the most bizarre wills ever written. Jackson family in-fighting begins, most likely with tabloid tattle from Latoya. Paternity tests are carried out on the three children.

Finally the Christmas shopping shelves heave with retrospective albums and Blu-Rays and, most of all, revelatory confessionals/remembrances of "my life with Michael" from all the major players (the siblings, both wives, Quincy Jones, Evan Chandler) as well as every hanger-on (Brooke Shields, Liz Taylor, Uri Geller). The publishing industry, all but bereft of ideas and twisting in the wind, secures their recession-busting bonuses for one more year thanks to the maudlin public and their enduring love of t-shirt friendly grief.

One of the few instantly and universally recognisable figures on earth is suddenly, but not surprisingly, dead and a gap is felt. The hoary "his music will live forever" sentiment might not be wholly true, but there's certainly no call for over-reaction. Frankly, he's at peace; something he was denied in life.

Decent write-up on the Studio in today's Sunday Post, but as they put merely a fraction of their paper online I can't link to it.

Chris and I look a bit like The Proclaimers in our photo, a resemblance emphasised by a shot of the genuine Reid brothers on a page further in. And the sub-titles read a bit like the voiceover for a weird perfume ad:
Obsession... Cartoonists... Mickey Mouse...

This is the first mention of the forth-coming exhibition in print, but with any luck not the last. Official publicity material should be available in the next week or so.

Hotel des Artistes, Rome

Not sure it's the best spot in the world to relax (linger for a few moments on any street corner and you'll become convinced you're about to witness a road accident), but Rome is stimulating and at times astonishingly beautiful. While not rude, the Romans certainly don't fall over themselves to be accommodating. I find most European cities can be boiled down to an archetype. Paris, for example, is a well-dressed young woman, no make-up, weeping quietly and defiantly as she walks down the street. Rome is a big guy in sunglasses, gesticulating wildly as he yammers into his mobile. You can't tell if he's pissed-off or over the moon, but he's having his say. The approach to conversation is the same as the roads; you have right of way at all times, let everyone else worry about themselves. Having been the capital of a world-wide empire twice over, I think the residents of the city are left with a justifiable ambivalence: "We're Rome. Who the hell are you?". But as with most places we've visited, at least attempting the language is a good idea, even if you barely get through your second phrase before receiving a reply in Englese.

Ancient City

Colosseo
Constant huckstering in this part of town from souvenir sellers, costumed soldiers and gladiators looking for photo ops and tour guides (some legit, most not). Didn't spoil things, but the city authorities would do well to keep an eye on it before the patch immediately outside Colosseo metro station turns into an annex of Parc Asterix.


Arco di Tito, Marceti Traienei and surroundings
Sunburn guaranteed for the pasty Scot as he wanders around the lowest levels of the Roman forum.


Palatino
Amazing. Roman villas right back to almost troglodyte ruins.

Vatican City


Basilica San Pietro
Pope Town. Hard not be a little humbled. Photos don't evoke the sounds of the place, of course, on this occasion supplemented by the quiet but persistent blaspheming of my wife as she struggled with her camera. Some kind of ecclesiastical Tourettes kicked in. If we ever go to Mecca, perhaps I'll start making pig noises.


Musei Vaticani
Understandably the authorities have rejigged the museum's pedestrian traffic so that the Sistine Chapel forms the climax of your walk through the various galleries and chambers of the larger Vatican complex. However this runs counter to the way some of them were designed and unfortunately, having attempted to take in the likes of the ceilings above on your way in, it's a bit like trying to enjoy a fine tiramisu after eating five litres of gelato. Even what I take to be the intended sorbet in this tortuous desert metaphor, the several rooms of modern art that immediately precede entry into the chapel, don't do the trick. How to fully appreciate much less comprehend Michaelangelo after seeing work from Dali, Van Gogh, Munch, Moore et al in quick succession? And the droning guard in the chapel itself ("No photo. No photo! NO PHOTO!") don't help either. Wouldn't have missed it, just wish I could have seen it at the beginning.

Other Monuments


Monumento a Vitorio Emmanuelle II
Smack of jingoism if not full-blown facismo it may do, but even half swathed in scaffolding my favourite building in the city, especially the two quadrigas; masterful works of monumental, cantilevered sculpture.


Piazza Campidoglio
To the rear of the monument, seat of local government. Lots of silver foxes in sharp suits. And thirsty schlubs in shorts.


Trinita dei Monti (Spanish Steps)
Y and I were surrounded here by swine flu phobic, gloved and masked Japanese ladies, who positively shoved us out of their way.


Fontana di Trevi
An essential pilgrimage, even if you risk getting hit by an errant coin as Y did. Nicely lit at night but unfortunately the crowds reach ludicrous, football match proportions and, on a Friday anyway, a stag & hen atmosphere prevails.


Pantheon
Impressive in rain or shine. We caught it on a dry day for the "god's gaze" effect.


Santa Maria degli Angeli
Lovely modern sculpture on the entrance way. Reminded me of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.


Castel Sant Angelo
Word to the wise. Don't assume there's anything to recommend a river-side walk in Rome. The green waters of the Tevere flow at a much lower level than the city, so no cafes abound along its walled banks. See the bridges from a boat if you like. Otherwise avoid.

Bits and Bobs

If you can find it (many parts of the city aren't well-served by public transport) the Orto Botanico offers welcome respite from the traffic. Y went a bit nuts here, I won't spoil things by posting photos I assume she'd rather post herself.


Back over the Alps!


Our first trip to Italy and I'm sure we'd both like to return, perhaps to a smaller city or a more rural area. But it's another essential destination ticked off the list.