Milan dispatch

A close friend informed me just the other day that Milan was a "dump", but he couldn't be more wrong. Arriving here 2 days ago, just as the mists of evening lay a film of grey over the land, we have enjoyed ourselves greatly, drinking deep of its artistic and cultural treasures. So much so, indeed, that at times I almost forgot about the deep, boring pain emanating from my right sacro-iliac joint. This afternoon we climbed the 250 steps to the top of the legendary Duomo to watch the sunset, and on returning to ground level I found my back in a better state than it has been since it first went into spasm 4 days ago.

This is my kind of city: churches dating back to the 4th centrury, museums featuring some of the greatest triumphs of the Renaissance (a couple of Leonardos are missing; currently gracing the walls of the Nat Gal in London), to say nothing of the hordes of very attractive young women thronging the streets at all times of the day and night. I ask you, what more could a priapic old git like me wish for?

To answer my own question, perhaps I might add that we could have done without the threat of an air traffic controllers strike hanging over us from the moment we got here. But not all threats are carried out, and it seems this one has evaporated with the morning mists: all signs now point to our flight being on time tomorrow with no danger of it being cancelled- yet. Please God. I like Milan, sure, and I will probably come back, but tomorrow night I want to be sleeping in my own bed, as planned.