One of the really nice things about being home in Ireland for Christmas is hearing stories from years ago. I thought I had heard all of them a million times over, but today my mother told me a new story of something heroic my Nana Murphy once did, which will leave a lasting impression on me.
My train journeys from Bologna to Florence and back are normally peaceful enough. I usually get the slow treno regionale from Bologna Mazzini station, a short walk from where we live, to Firenze S.M.N. station. The slow train stops all along the way and you have to change at Prato Centrale. The only occasional excitement, apart from the odd fare dodger arguing with the inspector,
While the focus of this blog to date has been largely on jewellery making in Florence, I think it's high time I dedicated an entire post to our Bologna base. There is a saying in Ireland, 'It would be a great little country if you could roof it'. The town planners at home could do worse than take a leaf out of Bologna's book in this regard. The porticoes here mean you can get about in the rain without an umbrella!