Diary – 17 June 2005

Just back from a weekend in Venice, where I attended the 51st Biennale, along with what seemed like tens of thousands of others. I arrived in the city tired and late at night, so it wasn’t until the following morning that I realised I had been sharing a room with a skeleton. Really. I had been billeted with an eccentric artist; the skeleton was purely for reference. At the Biennale two years ago it was so hot that people were fainting into the canals. This year the weather was perfect: bright blue skies with warm sun. In the Giardini I clambered over upside-down beer bottles in Belgium’s pavilion, kicked small silver balls around the floor (Czech and Slovak) and overcame a blast of freezing air (Russia) in the name of art. Huge fun. The last time I was in Venice I was with Bernard Levin. The weather was cold, grey and mysterious, and we stayed in the Danieli. Days were spent in the Accademia, looking at paintings by Carpaccio, Bellini and Mantegna. I wonder what Bernard would have made of the beer bottles.

I go and visit Bernard’s grave most weekends. While I was deadheading the flowers, I started talking to a man doing the same thing two graves along. We discussed tombstones. At this cemetery, no one is allowed a standing stone: ‘The placement of a FLAT MEMORIAL STONE only, of a maximum size of 0.6 metres x 1.2 metres, is allowed. No raised item will be permitted to be placed on the grave.’ My new friend thought that it was something to do with health and safety — the cemetery didn’t want to be sued if a stone toppled over on to a visitor or vandal. I thought it was because it was considered easier to cut the grass round a flat stone (which it isn’t, apparently).