Winter sport

Thursday, January 27th.,, Hotel Savoy, Cortina d'Ampezzo, Belluno, Italy.

I began to have vague ideas about work today, partly due no doubt to Aldous Huxley's remark that he always began to pine away after only a few days of complete holiday from work. The Huxleys have a place nearby, and are excellent companions. Of course I have had lengthy periods of doing no work in the past but my expenses are considerable and I must work to earn. Nearly sixty now and should be able to relax a bit but, having acquired a new 'wife' and child, and still supporting the old one, I see little prospect of respite. Can't complain. As I often remark, "the best is good enough for me", so I must earn to maintain the style of life to which I have become accustomed. Sometimes (in fact quite often) I think back though to simpler times and wonder if it is all worth the effort. In a way we become prisoners of our own narrative!

At 3 p.m. today we set off to see the finsh of the bob-sleigh match. Nothing much to see at the end of the 'Pista da Bob' except the ducal party standing and sitting on a rough platform of boards. This is the Duke of Genoa with his two sons, Dukes of Padua and Pistoia, who arrived yesterday, with certain ladies. Not sure if the latter are some species of duchess. Suspect not. They have a table in the corner of the restaurant, and are waited on by the Head Waiter. Later they came into the ballroom, the national anthem or something veing played at their entrance therein. The young dukes danced a bit, one of them with a hotel visitor. She seemed charmed. They seemed bored. The Duke of Genoa is very old, with a hatchet sharp face, and he seems to chew all his food, at great length, with his front teeth. Gives the appearance of a rat eating a piece of wood. But apparently a decent fellow. I don't quite know how all the old aristocratic forms fit into the Mussolini regime.

Anyway at intervals a 'bob' swept round the corner and drew up past the winning post, where men sat at a table in the sharp frost writing down times and numbers in a book. The skiing practice of village boys on a neighbouring slope was much more amusing. Fortunately this spot was close to the Huxley's cottage. We were bidden ther for tea, and arrived before 4, and played make-believes with the two kids and Matthew's mother.