Arrived at Bologna airport about 1730 local time on Thursday. Taxi to Borgo Panigale, stazione deserted and telephone nonco-operative, but evidence is that next train to Vergato isn't for an hour. It's still very hot, carrying bags and wearing a tie, so I go in search of refreshment in Borgo Panigale, a wasteland of high rise buildings, mostly lacking in amenities of any kidn, tho even in these streets knots of old folks sit outside their houses round a cardtable of an evening. Eventually, behind the Esso filling station, I find a gelataria, where several families are socializing in spite og yhe whine of traffic from overhead motorway. I fill up on icescream and small change for the telephone, smatterings of the lingo returning unexpectedly, like scratching off a scab to reveal pink perfectly formed new skin. Back at the station, after two unsuccessful attempts, I get the station master to show me how to make the phone work (fill it up with money) and announce my imminent arrival to Guy. Catch last train to Vergato successfully, and spend a happy 40 minutes bouncing up at each station to check its name, half-remembered, against the inventory or litany (Borgo Nuevo, Saso Marconi, Marzabotto..), suddenly with a triumphant rattle across the bridge, it is Vergato, and don't I recognise that view? Of course. Guy and Digger are waiting to escort me to a taxi which is, it is apparent, not really taxi, but Mari-Theresa next door. Up the familiar hill, which boasts a few now road signs (Liserna now officially exists as a fraz. di Vergato), and has suffered a minor land-slip just above the church, but is otherwiose unchanged. Similarly, Guy's house, though now slightly better furnished, extensively electrified. and generally comfortable, retains the same eccentric decor, the same lack of compromise with the present day. I recognise posters, sticks, cups, plates, all manner of things. It's like going back to a childhood haunt, your mother's house perhaps. It's all right, it hasn't changed. FRIDAY In the morning there is a heat haze over the hills, and breakfast. D&G seem to get on well; D maybe seeing this house like his at the Finger lakes. Lilette phones in the morning in mild WordPerfect induced panic, which I do my best to dispel at such distance. G gets on with his book; D and I get down to our paper. This means, reviewing the material I've brought, and working out some simpler examples drawn from the Sasine. This takes up a lot of the day. Fire burns up the hill from one side and over the top, a red ring of flames visible as we go to bed. The fire fighters, in jeeps, call it a day and go home, leaving it to extinguish itself. They promise to return the next day with a helicopter, if necessary. SATURDAY The smoke seems to have abated. Now we can see where there is a new black patch on top of the hill, above the ruined house, next door to the green patch where a similar conflagration occurred last year. We walk down the hill to go shopping. At the church, the itinerant priest is welcoming and gives us a short history of its decorations. G discourses on the road itself, on the families up and down it, the dynamics of the community, etc. Purchase enormous pair of yellow shorts and a pair of white canvas shoes, much to amusement of D & G. It's pleasant to shop in Vergato. D buys bread and cake and I buy icecrean. Then we just have time to get some groceries before the taxi man knocks off duty for the day, and make a speedy getaway. In the afternoon, after lunch, I focus on updating the CDIF documentation, while Dig snoozes over Moby Dick and Guy continues to work on his bk. The peace is disrupted by news of more smoke, and the sight of Calori determinedly setting off up the hill with a shovel. Fire fighting duties! I am issued with a pair of disgusting cotton trousers, and squash into the back of a 500 along with dig and three shovels. Professional firefighters in jeeps and snazzy uniforms are already there of course. Walking across or indeed up the burned out field. Getting lost on the way down Thunderstorm. Lights flashing behind the hill for hours, build up of tension in the air. MT and her chums drinking lots of grappa and our whisky. Dig and Stefania. SUNDAY In the morning a long walk through the woods, beautiful but muddy, and at one point rather hair-raising. And very difficult for a fat bastard like me to get up the hill at the finish. We get a ride to Vergato with MT and sadly catch a train to Bologna, like voluntarily walking out of Eden. Bologna!: the relentless noise of the traffic, grinding awAY AT ONE'S NERVES. The pleasure of the arcades, the chaotic beauty of the buildings, covered in and themselves resembling torn up scraps of old decoration, a collage of half-finished stuccoi, worn out brickwork: everything in Bologna was begun a long time ago, and much of it isn't finished (cf the cathedral). We had a long walk to find dinner, and when we found it, it wasn't very good. The Hotel Cristallo was definitely not quiet, but remained bearable., MONDAY Lunch with the Archivists, snore; tortelloni followd by roast lamb. Went on for far too long. Dinner with the Mayor. Talk politics with Antonio and others. A remarks in confidence that the political organizn of AHC is stupid, because it exarcebates local/national jealousy, hence there are no Italian historians present. And that if they produce something for the TEi, good, but we should not lose much sleep over encouraging them to do so. TUESDAY Paper Lunch at Brunella Trattoria with Alan Mc?, Dig, Ulrike, ?: delicious gnocchi, rabbit; leisurely stroll; glasgow gossip. Panel session on H&C bibliography mildly interesting (suzy pasleau, peter denley); do my 5 mins plug for chapter 22 on the archives panel, receiving encouraging noises from everyone except the essex ladies, who dont seem willing to take much notice of anything they didnt invent, so I gave them credit for forming content of 22. Then depart with as much speed as the heat and weight permit to meet Margharita near the 2 towers. She is touchingly pleased to see me; talking incoherently, foolishly; I dont quite understand why or what; in such a short time how can you? in the market quarter of Bologna, still as exotic as ever, she buys me a drink, and we purchase a travelling iron for Guy (price 35k). Then a long walk to her motor. Rush hour traffic as far as sasso marconi; then a drink in Marzabotto, whence I can call Guy to join us for dinner. Maybe, in retrospect, this was not a wise thing to have done. A badger shoots across the road in front of M's headlights as we go up the hill looking for G coming down. In vergato, we dine at Felice's by the station, where everyone is delighted to see M, and where we follow recommendations and dine off delicious fegato, of great freshness and juiciness after the tagliatelle. And they give us the world's largest tomato as a souvenir, some 20 cm diameter. WEDNESDAY Up late at 10 or after, to take leisurely breakfast in the garden, reading Julian Barnes while Guy finishes his book-correcting. A short walk into the woods to pick a couiple of cyclameni for Lilette. Then lunch on melon, prosciutto and tomoato/basil salad, the latter made from half of yesterday's monster tomato, the other half traded for some bread with pier-paula next door. Uneventful pleasant transmontana train journey to Pisa, writing the above and enjoying the view. Taxi to Hotel Victroia which is indeed all its victorian splendour suggests, only to find myself redirected to boring old Hotel Kinzica. Another taxi delivers me into the arms of an awaiting Pino at around 6 pm. Then a quick stroll before being whirled off to P's tennis club, and indeed his home for a polite dinner. (undercooked riso, delicious roast pork with fennel) with wife and 2 charming daughters. Then an unexpected pleasure: the festa dell'unite. Beer and loud sardinian rock. THURSDAY Some other conference is happening in Pisa, as usual. To the Institute by 9. Work with Pino on his conversion till 1400. Noisy lunch on pasta and salad. More work. AZ and NC. Excellent dinner at the ristorante across the street from Hotel Duomo, owned by one of ILC's employees. (tagliatelle with asparagus, fried mixed tiny fish, torta della nonna, vino spirito, grappa) FRIDAY Usual nerve-wracking last-minute wait for Fontana to cough up the loot at the Istituto. Some 200K richer, I rush off to the stazione for the train to Firenze at 0920. Read MIME spec on train, draft dtd and get rather peeved,.