Capri

Hope you have your sea legs because today we are heading to Capri; for more than two thousand years an island of sybaritic pleasure, ever since Emperor Tiberius went in the huff with his fellow Romans and headed south where his holiday interests included vigorous sex and turfing those who got on his bad side off high cliffs. I have this on the very best authority, from Suetonius. Has anyone read his book, The Twelve Caesars? It's  the National Enquirer for the Classical Era. 

First stop was the JK Place whose pictures have been in every design blog and magazine for the last few years. We didn't stay here as we were Plebeian day trippers but went for drinks and mooched around. When we asked to see a room the manager, Simone Giorgi,  who was utterly, utterly charming, immaculately dressed  and sporting  a pair of the most striking blue suede shoes,  immediately whisked us to the most expensive room in the hotel. He was so lovely, I want to make him my new best friend. 

You'll see it below. What a room. What a terrace. What a price.

 This guest could not have been more picture perfect.

This portrait  of Lady Ashley is now burning a hole in my  locker of dark wants, does anyone know where I can find something similar?

Peekaboo!

I travelled in a red jumper, white jeans ( much like the woman above but much less chic)  and  packed two dresses, one white, one black, a raincoat, a white t shirt  and a swimsuit and a cover up - perfect.

Look at that bed spread,  it looks as if it has been botoxed. In fact they iron the linen once it is upon the bed; once again dedication to the cause,  even Tiberius couldn't find fault here.

I had never been to Capri and I utterly, utterly, utterly loved it and have to go back. We gasped at the Villa Jovis...

my pics didn't do it justice

 and tried to pick our hotel for a future visit which leads me to the next few photographs of the Hotel Minerva. "I'm torn between  two lovers, treated like a fool."

There was something about the Minerva that just made me wish it was my home. 

Look, more sea views for Selkie Tabs!

                                              The spirit  of Jackie lingers all over the island.

Mr Schettino, 93 years old and still going to work every day in his bijou magpie's nest of sandals where he has served everyone from Jackie to  Valentino to me.

Jackie buying even more sandals at Canfora.

I know, who writes postcards  anymore? Well I do, better that than face matriarchal  ire, mum loves a postcard. I wish I could say it's great to be home but it was so cold yesterday I wore gloves.

A Mermaid's Tale

As a certain glittery debauched malcontent would have crooned

"Did you miss me? Yeah! When I was away, did you hang my picture on your wall?" 

Probably not. 

This tessellated cupola and the Tyrrhenian Sea were the  view from my bed and balcony last week; believe it or not I found it quite oppressive to look out onto the tiered village, my eyes went seaward every morning. My husband thinks I'm a Selkie, (seal woman)  in Scottish mythology -  a man can steal her away from the ocean if he takes her skin and hides it. Traditionally they make excellent wives but spend an inordinate amount of time staring out to sea and if they ever find their scaled skin, they  will disappear into the white crash of the next wave. 

Forget the Old Man of the Sea, in this part of the world the females are more deadlier than the males. The Sirens, you'll remember them from Homer, lived on the islands which Positano over looks and they bequeathed their name to one of the most amazing hotels where I've ever had the fortune to lay my head. I honestly didn't think that Le Sirenuse  would live up to its reputation but it surpassed it. Among the best parts for me were the bed pillows (I'm worse than the princess and the pea) and the utter joy I experienced when finally realising that the mat in the lift reflected the day of the week - that's dedication. 

This was our room, staying here was as if a charming affluent friend with wealth and taste had given us the keys to their summer home. 

This was the 15th century summer home of the Marquis de Sersale  and the family still own it today. The 90-year-old patriarch still picks out every single antique for every room. 

I really hope you packed an appetite - here's breakfast.

And the view from the breakfast table is almost good enough to eat. 

Mick and Keith wrote 'Midnight Rambler' here, what a hard hard life it was on the road. 

The Sirenuse's secret views to Positano.

The bar,  a quiet riot of Majolica tiles and  mandarin orange upholstery, this was my favourite room - funny that.

Le Sirenuse, Positano

Splish!

This cut out swimsuit looks like Borat's thong in pics - thought I'd spare you that.

The first Aperol Spritz of the season, snip snip: I declare the season when Mad Dog and Englishman get drunk in the midday sun officially open.  

Look at what I'm reading, Greene on Capri, I am so predictable.

The restaurant - illuminated by the glow of 400 candles every evening.

I do love a good vegetable, it's the only shopping I do when on holiday. I bought that wriggly pepper on the left in case you were wondering, he had too much personality to be left behind.

Even the wrapping paper's frisky here.

Night night!

(my comments might  be sporadic, my internet is on the blink for a week)

Where's Wally?

Am I on Planet Starbucks? Trapped  in a sailor's reverie? Or dusting the cobwebs out of Davy Jones' Locker? The winner will receive a wet kipper wrapped in brown paper and a pinch on the cheek. 

Back on Monday; hope that life is good for everyone and that no catastrophes have occurred, I'm fretting about that myself right now, I always do when I'm on holiday.

What Do Your Sunglasses Say About You?

Aviators:

You have a death wish. You genuinely want the captain to have a cardiac arrest just so you can slip behind the joy stick and 'save the day'. See you on the other side, Maverick.

Cat's Eye: Meow, aren't you the saucy one. We don't have to wonder what you get up to beneath the sheets. We know you like to 'present', then take the leash then lash your partner with it. Ouchie!

'That Seventies thang' These are the love child of Iris Apfel and Lew Wasserman. You are either an Octogenarian, ageing Porn star or still young but concealing a considerable coke habit. 

Round: They call you 'Mellow Yellow' but you should hear what they call you behind your back.

White rimmed: the sweet bird of youth has flown and don't you know it. You can't go menopausal blonde like a brunette of your age so you show your age angst in Lolitaesque frames.

Mirrored:

You watched too much CHiPs growing up, didn't you? And when you weren't on that channel you flicked over to watch Fantasy Island with pint-sized Tattoo: "de plane, de plane, boss". You've had a thing for small men with Napoleon complexes every since. 

Wayfarers: I've probably fancied every single man who has worn this style of sunglasses ever since they were designed. JFK wore a version of  this, loved him. Tom Cruise, Risky Business, loved him. Jack Nicholson,  loved him, come on up you bad boy.

RP? You're a bit young for me, stroll on pal.

Whatever's trending:

You are a fashion whack job.

Off on holiday for a fortnight, see you when I get back!

I'm wearing big black  horses' blinkers.