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insufficient sleep and I will be too tired to play properly.
    I stir. I realise something is happening. The train has stopped and I must have finally fallen asleep. A deep loudspeaker voice announces ‘Verona
Porta Nuova
’. I have arrived in Italy. I look at my watch. It is a quarter to seven. I snuggle under my blanket, feeling its warmth and comfort. Now I don’t want to leave the place of my repose. It seems that all night I struggled to be in a place as relaxing as this and now that I have found it, I must abruptly abandon it. Sluggishly and somewhat resentfully, I make an effort to prepare myself for the day. I put on my boots and my jacket. I tidy the bed. When I have retrieved the ladder – there is only one per compartment – and descended by it, I run my fingers through my hair. I glance in the window at my tangled hairstyle and strategically place a hair band on my head. I feel fractionally more civilised. I join other people in the corridor to watch fields and farms flash by in the ever increasing daylight as we speed towards Padua.
    My first priority at Padua station is to make for the station buffet in order to have breakfast. Lots of commuters are taking their coffee at the bar but I need to be a little more leisurely, so I sit at one of the small round tables. To my left, there are huge glass doors which look out onto platform one and afford me a generous view of the station’s comings and goings. I order a cappuccino, a
brioche
and a glass of water. The
brioche
is warm and contains apricot jam. It is delicious. I am so happy to have arrived and to be sitting in Italy eating my breakfast.
    Next, I find the ladies’ toilets. The lady attendant indicates a particular door. I pass the first open door and see the continental ‘hole in the tiled floor’ model of toilet. I am pleased that my cubical contains a proper toilet. I am feeling a little soiled by this stage. I knew that this trip would be like a camping expedition, so I have come prepared with individually wrapped baby wipes for intimate and difficult cleaning. Outside, I go to the large sinks to wash my hands. I also need to clean my teeth and wash my face, but I feel self-conscious. I look at the attendant and engage her eyes. I ask her if it is okay for me to wash my face and teeth quickly. I explain that I have just arrived on the overnight train from Paris and that I have, in fact, been travelling for twenty-four hours from my original point of departure in London.
    The attendant becomes animated and is most accommodating. She asks me about the purpose of my visit and as I smooth some moisture cream on my face I tell her that I am going to study mandolin at the
Conservatorio
. She seems very impressed and wishes me good luck. I happily leave some money in her little bowl. I feel I have had very good service.
    I leave the station and make my way towards the historical centre. There are many other people walking purposefully with me in the same direction. Some are dressed smartly in suits and look as if they might be going to an office. Others wear trousers or jeans, casual jackets and fashionably coloured rucksacks, and are probably heading for the university. Founded in 1222, the university is one of the most distinguished seats of learning in Europe. The list of alumni includes such famous names as Petrarch, Dante and Galileo.
    The crowd of people I am walking with find it difficult at times to make its way along the pavement. There are all types of obstacles: ladders leaning against windows being washed, people unloading boxes from cars into shops and cordoned off excavations of the pavement’s surface. To the right is a main road full of chaotic traffic. Buses, cars and
Vespa
motorcycles all compete with each other to be first. People have to take care not to enter into this competition with the traffic by stepping inadvertently off the pavement. The crowd also has to stop occasionally at intersections to