"Maid of Athens, ere we part, I give, oh give me back my heart" - Lord Byron

Julian had recently heard about the Trevi Fountain. She had led a sheltered life and had never heard of this tribute to Neptune and the horses that represented the sea, be it restless or calm. She marveled at the statues that stood for Abundance and Salubrity. Mary Hitler, of course, had pics taken in front of the fountain with an impatient looking Edgar, a bored looking Tuesday and a small girl looking up in awe at the magnificent marble horses. No one was particularly interested in the fact that it was the end of the Aqua Virgo, an aqueduct that was constructed in 19 BC and brought water all the way from the Salone Springs which were about 20 kms from Rome. They were off to the Coliseum next, and they thought they might skip the Duomo, with its magnificent octagonal cupola. Churches weren't their thing, no matter how old they were. Before leaving Australia they had checked out hotels in Italy and found a reasonable hotel that was close to the airport and the train station. It was within walking distance of the major sights, such as the Duomo, the Trevi Fountain and the Coliseum and had comfortable, spacious, elegant stylish rooms. It had gardens, a terrace, a bar and a restaurant the featured excellent Italian cuisine with an extensive wine list. Mary wasn't particularly fussed about well equipped gymnasiums or attractive outdoor pools. Mary wanted class.

Next stop was the Parthenon, the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel. The ceiling had been painted between 1508 and 1512 which was simply mind boggling. Particularly the hand of God giving life to Adam. Julian couldn't get past that. Magnificent. Simply magnificent. Hotels in Rome were very helpful. Their rooms were nothing other than magnificent. And with panoramic views of the city. They liked that.

The family were tiring now. They had been drinking in the sights for some time now and they had soon to return to Australia. The sunburnt country. Mary was loathe to leave this culture and style and return to her small country town with its pubs and butcher shops. Beer and steak. She sighed. At least they still had Venice to look forward to. They were going to meet up with Itzaac who would show them the ropes. He had promised the canals, the Fenice, the Palazzo and the Grassi as major sights to photograph.

Mary was tiring now. Feebly she tapped out Venice hotels on her laptop. She no longer cared where they ended up. A small Venician dump would do, for all she cared. She just wanted to slip off her stilettos, sip good champagne and take a bath. The Phoenix would have to wait, no matter how many times it had risen from the ashes.

Trevi Fountain, Rome

Trevi Fountain, Rome

The House of Williams.

"Antique floor mosaics were restored and polished, oak doors were released from the wood worm, the complete front of the building and the decorated roof was set by professional building restorers in conditions, partly broken mosaic glass windows were renewed and many, many details more. Villa ACACIAS offers to its clients also a beautiful garden behind the building were our guests find shady terraces under palm trees and space to relax and recreate."

Julian's UK boss was asking why everything was going so slowly. Julian had been averaging 4 hotels a day, and he informed her that it was going to take 3.96 years at this rate to finish them. Feverishly, she typed on. The job was not make any easier by driving to the outback to buy rough opal parcels from hard working miners, or driving 10 hours up the coast to Hervey Bay on purported family business.

The family business was in full swing, and the subjects were a little sensitive. Julian would have to tread carefully. Life and death were in her hands, and only Jehovah really had any say in those particular subjects.

"Located in a building that dates back to the 19^th century and that has been fully restored is the attractive and inviting Acacia Hotel. Just 12 kms from the airport and within walking distance of the park, our guests can catch a nearby bus and explore Malaga, including the famous Picasso Museum-Birth House. Admire the antique floor mosaics and the oak doors of our hotel, and relax in spacious, elegantly furnished rooms. Stroll in the tranquil garden or sit back on our shady terrace under the palm trees. Enjoy a drink from the bar before experiencing the regional cuisine from our restaurant."

Julian's hair needed washing. Their was blood on her shirt from the carving of the ice from her sister's freezer. Her thumb was covered in cheap plasters, and she had been offered further work in the Queensland mortuary. Her diet couldn't get any worse and her sister's dog was dying. Her other sister had just had a baby, and was due to arrive tomorrow lunchtime. Her ex-husband had to be driven to the train station is just one hour, and the dog needed a drink. That was enough to be going on with. She would just have to take it one step at a time. There was a family outing planned in an obscure, well respected in the region, restaurant known as 'Goodies', where a well known guitarist would be playing. Julian hoped that the dog would behave itself if tied to a tree in the vicinity.

Life was good.

In Which Fiction Becomes Fact and Fact Becomes Fiction.

Mary was bringing the dessert and the sushi. As usual, she excelled herself. The sushi was moist and absolutely delicious, and the dessert was to die for. Mascapone cream with a berry jus piled onto a home made shortbread base. Julian had pulled out the steam boat seeing as Mr Lovely Goodness wasn't going to be there. He had told Julian in no uncertain terms to get rid of it. He had said it nicely, but it wasn't his favourite meal.
"Stick to curry," he said, patting her lightly on the head.
So, she would wow the Hiter's and the Woe's with the steamboat. It was such a healthy way of eating was why she liked it. It was light and yet filling, and very, very tasty. Tuesday didn't mind it, and Theodora simply wanted bits of cooked chicken which kept coming out of the stock uncooked and had to be kept putting back in. Nobody minded bits of meat coming out and being put back in.
It was an evening of brutal honesty, which included readings of 'The Man From Snowy River' done in a competitive spirit. Edgar won out through sheer brute force, but parody was the theme and neither Mary or Edgar quite pulled it off.
It was a strange sort of evening. Edgar discussed quite openly about how he wasn't who he appeared to be, and therefore, had no problem with the blog at all. The subject of the blog's deletion had come up, and Julian had confessed to the whole sorry tale. Edgar never read it and never intended to read it, so he had no problems at all. It wasn't him! Mr Lovely Goodness, as we know from previous posts, had felt very strongly that Everyone knew it was him, and this was no good and this stuff had to stop.
"It's not very good, Julian," Mary had said, "but it was very witty. You have lost your audience, and so."
Mary and Julian had differing viewpoints of the genre involved and they were both sticking to their guns.
Julian told of the terrible sighting of young naked people beneath the bridge doing things to each other that no one should have pictures of in their minds after the global carnival, and the furtive, guilty look on the young man's face, glimpsed briefly before Julian was aware of what she was about to walk into. She had changed direction immediately, and been very proud of the dog who hadn't even barked. They had chosen the dog's early morning walking spot for their doings, bless their hearts.
Over all, this particular dinner party had been slightly niggly with delicious tasty foods along with grandin champagne and red wine. Theodora made leggo things, badly wanting Tuesday's really little cool guy with the trumpet, and Theodora eventually left to go and set up a My Space page, which Julian needed, because she only had one friend. Friends, apparently, was what it was all about. Was Mary Hitler still her friend, even after the dessert to end all desserts? The dessert to diet for? She knew that it was so.

Two Soft Chairs To Be Sat On Part II

Rose went on to become Fred's partner in crime. He couldn't face being revealed for all to see in the courts of Gloucester and committed suicide, leaving her to take the rap. It was a debate as to whether she knew about the torture, murder and burials of young girls, but the jury believed that she did. Brian Masters had put forward a good case for her innocence, and Julian believed him. She was astounded that others didn't.
Rose had written to Fred about not being a soft chair to be sat on, which brings us to the idea of quality living room furniture being on of the smartest investments of all homes. Women were not aware that living room furniture traditionally got the most use of any furniture in their home, but many women were quite prepared to shop to find the perfect couch or sofa set in leather, microfibre or other upholstery.
On the worldwideweb, we can find anything today. Soft chairs to sit on, perfect leather lounges to recline upon, sofas, knitting needles and patterns, good jewellery. It was all there for the taking. Julian's dog, Jess, slept on a leather sofa, protected by an old ripped horse rug. She was a lucky dog!

This is a sponsored blog.

The Missing Published Posts Have Gone Walkabout.

Julian was bemused. She had posted two new posts that hadn't appeared, one about the outback trip and one about Mary Hitler's fabulous nose and its resultant problems. They weren't there and she had no idea where abouts in the world wide web they were floating about, if indeed they were floating about anywhere, that is. This was an experiment post. Hastily composted in the midst of rewriting the Sercotel Emporda, which was situated in Figueres and looked rather nice. It was known for its cuisine, so Mary, Hermione and Julian were in for starters. Hermione had just been to her first rodeo and absolutely adored the bulls. She talked about their power and muscles, and she wanted them to win, and some of them sort of did.
A posting we will go...