Little Italy

On my last blog, which took place in France and was really awesome, I made sure to run the dialogue through Google Translate, because I know I have French followers on Instagram who might be reading with a translator, and I know that online translators do sometimes struggle a bit on more weirdly-phrased sentences, and I know that if there's one thing I'm terrible for doing, it's weirdly-phrased sentences.

So, just to make sure it was all readable, I translated it all to French and then back again to English, and then simplified some of the sentences that got lost in translation until they made sense

. But at the end of the blog, when I said that my next blog would be a Welsh folly, the translator barfed it back at me as "Some Welsh Madness."

Well, doesn't that just describe Little Italy perfectly? Thank you, Google Translate. 

 

As long time readers will know, I love follies. Well, Little Italy is the ultimate folly. At first glance, you could say it's just a miniature city, but it's much more than that. It's a museum of a mans passions and interests, and all the things that made him happy, unleashed onto the Welsh countryside in a decades-spanning outburst of creativity.

 

Let's take a look.

The creator of Little Italy was a chap called Mark. He was a chicken farmer who owned a caravan park. Apparently he was a very private man. He and his wife, Muriel, would occasionally vanish to Italy for a few weeks, and return to the UK with dozens of sketchbooks filled with doodles of Italian buildings. 

Around 1980 he started to build replicas of them on his land, using the sketches as his guide. The garden was huge, and on a slope, meaning that the landscape could be tiered with a labyrinth of paths and stairways. In addition to that it was surrounded by woodland, making this the ultimate secret garden.

 

Here's a replica of Rialto Bridge in Venice. I'm not sure if it originally crossed a small stream. It kinda looks like it might have been intended to at some point.

 

Quite unlike the real Rialto Bridge, this one leads to the Tempietto de Bramante, which is allegedly made out of an old wash boiler. Most of these buildings are apparently made out of junk. Somewhere around here is a washing basket that has basically been wrapped in chicken wire and encased in concrete. One building is made out of a car wheel hub.

 

As you can see, Mark's love for Italy and his desire to recreate it in Wales doesn't necessarily mean the layout will be geographically accurate or to scale. But nonetheless, it's pretty awesome.

 

Further up the hill we have Villa Capra, better known as Villa Rotonda, in Vicenza. And much like the kind of movie casting decisions that annoy Boomers on Facebook, the original one is white. 

 

And then just up from that, perched precariously on a rock, sits this building based on San Giorgio Maggiore, an island in Venice.

Little Italy was all built gradually over 25 years, each holiday heralding another creative burst. Planning officers allegedly did come to visit, and apparently concluded that Mark wasn't building anything illegal, and then they left him alone. Mark and Muriel continued to build their city, carting buckets of ballast from the local river to mix with concrete and make mortar. It really must have taken some considerable effort too. Their home, an old mining cottage, isn't actually accessible via vehicle. One must park at the bottom of the hill, and walk up a pretty steep lane to get here. Apparently Muriel was still lugging buckets of cement up here when she was in her eighties. It's all very impressive.

It's all a little overgrown, but apparently that was Marks vision. He wanted to depict an ancient civilisation being taken back by nature. He sounds like a pretty awesome bloke. 

Marks Magnum Opus seems to be the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. It's right at the front of the garden, and visible from the lane.

 

Each structure has a little plaque giving its name and location, and other information.

 

Here's an old weather vane propped up on a small pillar.

The garden, being a bit of a maze of uneven steps and pathways, is a bit of a Health and Safety nightmare. It's part of its charm, but it's also the main feature that shits on any aspirations anyone may have to open this place up to the public. Still, it doesn't seem that public attention was Mark intent. He made it for himself, and that is something I can really appreciate. 

 

I think hobbies are pretty damn important. If you look at 2020 and the Covid lockdowns, all of the people who were losing their minds, curtain twitching, photographing their neighbours to post outdoor-shaming posts on Facebook, were the people who didn't have any hobbies. Everyone else was fine. Especially during Lockdown One, with the heatwave. 

The truth is, life is difficult, and people don't make it any easier when they're just being cunts to each other for no reason. Find a hobby, something to take the edge off. For Mark it was building an entire city in his garden. For me, it's this blog. If you can find a way to enjoy life, without hurting others, then it doesn't really matter what it is. What matters is your enjoyment of it.

Mark and Muriel apparently didn't seek publicity for their work. Their friends just called it "Marks Folly," and it was their little private project for a good two decades. It was only in 2001 that the mainstream media found out about it, and gave it the name "Little Italy." But despite the obvious Italian presence here, it's also a bit inaccurate, as we'll see.

Mark also collected bricks, which might seem a bit random. I'm not that into bricks and masonry, so I don't know about all the different types of bricks that are out there. But Mark sure did, and he wanted to share it all with whoever happened to venture around his garden. Little Italy became something of a museum for Marks brick collection. Here is one embedded in the wall under an inscription that claims it's from the bell tower at Portmeirion.

 

Portmeirion, for those that don't know, is a tourist village in North Wales. It's the film set of an old TV show called "The Prisoner," where it's basically the place where people get taken to if they know too much but the government can't off them. The series follows "Number Six," because all prisoners are basically stripped of their identity. He's taken to the village because he resigned from a secret service position for unknown reasons that the powers-that-be find suspicious. They want to grill him to find out why he resigned, and he doesn't know if he's been pinched by his own side to stop him talking, or if he's been pinched by the other side to make him talk. It was during the Cold War, after all. So he just undermines his captors and makes escape plans nearly every episode. It's a great premise. Pretty bonkers at times, and a bit of a mindfuck, but it definitely feels like it's making a statement of some kind, about personal identity, freedom, conformity, and all that. Quite what that statement is, I guess depends largely on interpretation.

This monument here is based on one outside of the Roman amphitheater in Verona.

But quite bizarrely, taking a break from the Italian architecture, there's this huge engraving around a face sculpture, which lists Census data, including the names, ages and occupations of the population of "Garreg Llwyd" in 1851 and 1861. I decided to search it on Google maps and found out, to the surprise of nobody, that there's a whole bunch of places with the same name, or at least with names derived from it. The fact that many of the names occupations listed are quarry men didn't come as a surprise either. "Garreg Llwyd" literally translates to "Grey Stone." These were mining communities. 

 

But why has Mark gone through the effort of researching and inscribing census data and then putting it on display? 

 

I thought at first that Mark had possibly gone from eccentric to absolutely bonkers, having spent this much time and effort regurgitating census data on some random mining community in Wales. Then I found out that Marks house, next to the garden, was called "Garreg Llwyd," and that it was a collection of old miners cottages that had been merged into one dwelling. Mark wasn't mindlessly regurgitating census data at all! He was paying respect to the past occupants of his home. 

That's really nice.

This slab makes mention of pilot whales around the Faroe islands, but I have no idea what the pattern means.

 

Below it is this advert for S. Pellegrino, a brand of Italian mineral water. It's almost as if Mark wanted to include every little piece of Italy that he found even remotely appealing, right down to the stuff he drank.

 

Mark passed away in 2009. It's fair to say, as with all creative projects of this sort, construction of Little Italy only ended when Mark did. He wouldn't have stopped, because things like this are never finished.

But in his absence, Muriel found the trek up to the house a little too much work, and sold it to a close friend, who in turn passed away. Little Italy was ownerless, and some of the buildings began to decay.

But there is another friend of Mark and Muriel who is trying to fund the recovery of Little Italy with the help of volunteers. It's not abandoned just yet. It's more of a slow work in progress. Their goal is to preserve Marks work, and his vision, and potentially open it all to the public eventually. But in the meantime they warn that certain parts of the garden are unsafe, so curious people, like me, should stay away.

Evidently such a statement aimed at curious people, like me, had the exact opposite effect.

Look at these steps though! And the wall with lots of pointy corners, waiting to impact the skulls of anyone who happens to trip. If it was opened to the public, it would need some modifications.

Also dotted around Little Italy are various benches, and set into the back of them are extracts from various poems.

This is an extract from "Rain in the Pine Forest," a poem from 1902 written by Gabriele D'Anunzio.

Here we have Palazzo Farnese, from Rome. Next to it is apparently the Capitoline Museum.

I'm absolutely loving the way nature is taking back these columns. In time, this statue should look rather spectacular.

Allegedly this is a keystone of the Glasgow School of Art, once again including something very non-Italian in the miniature city. 

The engraving on this building says it's the All Saints Pavement Church in York, but it sure doesn't look like it! I guess it could be argued that it resembles the tower, but then this raises an interesting point. There are quite a few replicas of certain parts of buildings around, but not the whole thing. Would Mark have eventually built the rest of the church and then somehow tried to get the tower onto it?

On the side of this building is a sculpted map of Lake Maggiore.

And here, standing out somewhat, is a water pump.

There's a little sign that claims that the pump was used in Pen-y-graig back in 1879. As with many Welsh names, there are a few Pen-y-Graigs out there. It literally translates to "Head of the rock," so that's not at all surprising. 

But this is just more of Marks bizarre collection. It seems that any old relic that he took a liking to ended up in his garden.

And next to the water pump is some more Italian poetry. This is by Giuseppe Ungaretti. 

The bench next to the pump has an extract from a poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, which he apparently wrote about a piece of artwork that he saw in the Louvre in Paris. The interesting thing is that the extract reads "Water for anguish of the solstice, but dip the vessel slowly," which seems to be referring to the water pump next to it, as well as the likeness of water containers around the bench.

Check out the railings on these steps. It's definitely not going to pass any health and safety checks, but at the same time it feels like making it compliant with the rules would subtract from the overall experience. The sculptures would still be here, but the overall mishmash of uneven steps and whatever was handy to be a handrail, all contribute to the art.

This slab marks the accession of Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, in 2002.

And looming over it is a replica of York Minster. 

Complete with little metal Celtic cross at the front.

This plinth has "La Torre Pendente" written on it. That's the official name of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Given that it's one of Italy's most famous structures, I figured I'd see it here sooner or later... except it's gone! It seems to have vanished! But I have seen pictures of it here from an article in 2012, so I know it was here. It had a cute little Italian flag on it and everything. 

 

Has someone really stolen the leaning tower of Pisa? Perhaps it's been taken down to safeguard or repair it. Or maybe some people are just cunts.

These bricks were donated to Marks brick collection by his friend, Yvonne. 

This is supposed to be Villa Fedora in Baveno, a building that dates back to 1857. It's not a great likeness, if I'm honest. But then the word "Tettoia" would indicate that this is just a replica of the top of the building.

Villa Fedora was occupied by the musician Umberto Giordano, who composed the opera Fedora in 1899, and it seems that Mark appreciated this aspect of its history, because he's added a clef and the start of some sheet music among the engravings. 

This is the Saint Andrew church in Rome, which dates back to 1554. It was the first church to have an elliptical dome.

And here's a peculiar example of just how much Mark loved his bricks. Here we can see examples of different types of brickwork, including Flemish, Stretcher, and Header. Little plaques are there to tell us which is which, and I gotta be honest, in spite of having absolutely no interest in brickwork, I find this incredibly obscure interest to be quite fascinating. I didn't even know that there was this many different types of brickwork. Were it not for the plaques I wouldn't have even noticed the difference.

 

It's the fact that Mark was passionate about brickwork to the point that he wanted to share it with others that really paints the picture of a quirky but wholesome eccentric character. I just love that he's so unapologetically himself.

This stone commemorates some brick that was apparently salvaged by a chap called Norman Allen from the wreck of a ship called Primrose Hill, that set off from Liverpool in 1900 only to meet a messy end off the coast of Anglesey. The shipwreck killed 33 people, but only 27 bodies were found, and only twelve of those were identified.

Here's an old Mile Stone.

These plaques list different types of rocks. Presumably those rocks are embedded in the wall, now covered by nature.

The more museum-like aspects of Little Italy do raise an interesting question though. If Mark was a private man with no interest in publicity, who was the intended demographic of his little brick museum? Did he do little tours for his friends? 

This seems to be commemorating some Italian wine.

This one is particularly interesting to me, as a Shrewsbury resident. It's a lodge at Attingham Park in Shropshire. It's not a perfect likeness but as soon as I saw the plaque I knew exactly which building it was. I've been past this building hundreds of times.

On the other side of this bench is a small enclosed area of Little Italy. It's almost like a tiny courtyard within the garden.

The only thing growing in this enclosed area is this tree.

I am liking all these little pillars and the statue at the end there.

A plaque mentions that this is Madonna dell'orto. That's the name of a church in Venice but I'm fairly certain in this context the plaque is referring to the Madonna itself. Allegedly the Madonna on display in that church has been known to glow and heal people, and was retrieved from an orchard where it was languishing after falling from Heaven. In actual fact it was carved by a Giovanni de Santis for another church, but they rejected it so he dumped it in an orchard, but I guess falling from Heaven could be a metaphor. This church then obtained it so that they could use its offerings to fund Dell'Orto's construction.

The church itself doesn't seem to be on display, but these pillars and archways are reminiscent of the churches interior and its courtyards.

 

This thing is a homage to Marks love of bricks as well as his hobby of creating buildings. It's a recreation of one of the ruined brick kilns up at Anglesey. I always wanted to feature them on this blog. I just thought I'd have to actually go there before I could. My friends, Joe and Casi, did a video of that area, with some cool drone footage. You can see that here. 

 

This is Villa Albertini at Lake Garda. Admittedly it's not the best likeness in the world, but that's because in addition to the square tower on top, there should be two more towers next to the entrance, and the back half should protrude a little further out to another two towers. 

It sure is curious how Mark picks only portions of buildings to replicate. Perhaps he was going to add to it later.

More bricks on display.

And there's also this tiny fake door, labeled P64. I have no idea what this is supposed to represent. Was Mark trying to imply that tiny people lived in his garden?

A plaque below this statue refers to "Doulton Lambeth," a pottery founded by John Doulton on Lambeth high street in 1826. They renamed themselves Royal Doulton in 1902, but Mark apparently prefers their original name.

There's some more Italian poetry here, credited to Torquato Tasso, who lived in the 1500s. 

 

Written above the doorway is "Yr Efail," which is Welsh for "The Forge." That would indicate that it's in this building that Mark worked on a lot of the things that are dotted around the garden. 

This building is kinda ominous.

But really, it just leads to a little museum-like thing. A pathway goes past this enclosed area, and a barrier stops us actually entering... well, at least it would if this place was open in an official museum capacity. Of course I went inside for a mooch.

Inside we can find a display of all the random things that Mark found interesting.

Like all these different types of tap!

Maybe Mark was Salad Fingers.

This does interest me somewhat. Here on display is a railway sleeper from a quarry, as well as an old shovel. He was clearly very interested in the mining history of the local area.

Here's a sign that informs us on all of the different narrow gauge railway measurements.

There's bits of old mine track too, which is pretty cool!

Also on display is Marks collection of pottery. I assume the corrugated iron once provided a little roof, to protect the pottery from the elements. It's since fallen down.

I'm not sure what this is supposed to be a replica of, but I love it, with all the moss on the tiny little steps. It's all very intricate.

Here is the church of Santa Maria del Porto, in Persaro.

There's a lot of empty space in this part of the garden. No doubt if Mark hadn't died in 2009, this is where all the new structures would have gone up.

 

There's an entire row of bricked archways here.

At first glance it just looks like a fancy way of displaying the tiered layout of the garden, and it's perhaps not helped by the shrubbery poking out through the archways. But apparently this is the Goltzsch Viaduct in Germany.

 

The plaque claims that it's the largest brick bridge in the world, consisting of some 26,000,000 bricks.

The more spacious part of the garden isn't without its structures, but they're smaller and easily overlooked. They don't even have plaques explaining what they are.

This tower looks about ready to topple, which is quite worrying.

But this building has a very half-finished feel to it, as well as a great deal more colour than some of the other structures, which are much greyer than their real-world counterparts. It makes me wonder if this was what Mark was building before he died. Could this be the last thing he made?

A little plaque marks this as the church of Madonna Dell'Orto, but it looks very different to this in real life. The slab isn't fixed to any surface like they are on the other buildings. I think this may have been dropped here.

 

Back up the slope,a replica of Vicenza's Palazzo Chericati, much shinier in real life, is perched on top of a giant rock overlooking a steep slope.

The tallest structure in Little Italy is this bell tower. It actually has a bell in it, which is pretty cool.

 

 

I guess this is a replica of some part of the villa Pariani Malcesine. 

 

This little bench has some poetry by Francesco Petrarca, who was around in the 1300s.

There's also a very scary-looking cherubim statue. 

I do wonder where Mark obtained the sculptures from.

 

Here we have the bell tower of Siena, which the mainstream media seemed to talk about in higher regard than the other structures in the garden, as if it were some centrepiece of the entire place. But here it is, hidden away at the back, slowly being covered in ivy. It still looks pretty cool, but it's hardly the most impressive structure here.

 

Next to it, apparently, is Piazzo Grande in Arezzo, but once again I think the plaque wasn't here originally.

Towards the back of Little Italy, nature is far more prevalent. A small fence is the only thing separating it from the Welsh woodland, and ivy is creeping up every structure. It all looks pretty amazing.

I have no idea what this thing is, but it's pretty cool.

Instead of an information plaque, it has this engraving instead. But it's also a castelated top hidden beneath all that bush. Given that it's somewhat larger than the other structures, I wonder if it was ever possible to get up onto it.

Beyond this wall is perhaps the most neglected part of the garden, and also the most treacherous. There isn't even a path anymore! Just random things sticking out of the ground, and lots of ivy.

This pointy thing is apparently a replica of one of the pointy things on the Guell Pavilions in Barcelona, giving Little Italy a little hint of Spain.

As someone who is quite fond of decay, this is my favourite part of the garden. All of the structures are crumbling or being taken back by nature, and it just looks awesome.

This plaque is mourning the Italian soldiers who died in the battle of Corfu in the second world war.

A tree in the woods has actually fallen into the garden, narrowly missing the statue, which is pretty lucky.

This is a specific wall of the Palazzo Del Te in Mantua, but not the entire building. 

There's a clock here, which doesn't have hands. It's made out of some pottery that's been embedded in the rock, and as it's in Roman numerals, of course. I'd be shocked if a giant homage to Italy didn't use the Roman numeric system.

What I love is that Mark got the number four right! It's actually a minor peev of mine that so many clocks put the Roman numeral for four as IIII, and not IV. I'd be so disappointed in Mark if he made that mistake too.

And then over here is the most bizarre feature in the garden. It's a mannequin in her underwear. 

The Italian above the mannequin translates to "Come, come. I'm all alone tonight."

I've never had a mannequin try to seduce me before. 

Or anyone, for that matter. Today's a good day!

 

I have absolutely no idea why this is here. Little Italy is eccentric and peculiar but it's been fairly consistent with its themes- Italy, poetry, mining, and bricks. This is so gloriously odd. I actually love it. God bless Mark, that wonderful anomaly, for being so weird.

Up in the far corner, the ivy has almost completely engulfed this structure.

It's the Boyana Church from Bulgaria!

There's even a little diagram of its layout. 

It sure would be interesting to strip away the ivy and see the structure properly. 

But as you can see, the mainstream medias given title of "Little Italy" is a tad false. We have structures from Germany, Bulgaria, Spain, and Sunny Shropshire, as well as a load of homages to the Welsh mining industry, and a load of bricks on display. Really it's just a celebration of everything Mark liked. It's a 3D representation of what his Tumblr would have looked like, had he been a teenager in 2014. I absolutely love it!

There's a bench nearby with some more poetry.

This is a poem by Giovanni Pascoli called "The Tree, The Spider, The Bee and The Stalk."

 

And while that seems to be it for all the wacky garden structures, there's still a few sheds and things that deserve a look.

 

Down at the bottom of the garden is a random shed with a cork display. 

And of course, there's a display of bricks.

And one very dusty chair sat at a wooden table.

I can kinda imagine Mark sat here with a cup of tea, chilling with his brick display, taking a break from building some ancient Italian cathedral. I hope he was happy here.

There's a little shack next to this bench that has a load of cuttings of different types of rock.

There's another shack down this really precarious path.

This one's a bit more stripped than the others.

This bier sure is interesting. Biers are used to transport corpses for funerals. Why is this one so tiny? Is this a bier for infants? That's pretty morbid.

This stuff is all here too. It's a load of vintage electricity meters. 

It's a little different from the tone of the place, with is much more a celebration of construction rather than mechanical doohickeys. But I guess Mark had an interest in these too, so they had a place in his wacky garden paradise.

The fact that this one runs on 10p coins is what really appeals to me. How many seconds of power would that get me today?

There's a cute little engraving of a boat that was apparently given to him by Ron and Molly.

So we're exiting the garden now, but the photo opportunities don't end there! The entire exterior wall of Little Italy is just more of the same.

Apparently we exited via the Spanish Steps of Rome. 

Did we??? I gotta be honest, all of the steps here look rather samey. I guess the overgrowth doesn't help.

There's a whole load of buildings that are only visible from outside the garden.

Here's the monastery of San Michelle in Isola.

This is the Palazzo Contarini. 

Here's the church of San Girogio in Velabro, and a church in Bardolino.

And then here is Paxton's Tower, a National Trust folly in Wales.

Below the structures, the garden wall is a mishmash of rocks that Mark and Muriel collected from their travels.

And at some point a friend named John Oliphant gave Mark all of his bricks.

Here they are, covered in moss, next to a geological relief map of the chunk of Wales around Cadair Idris.

 

I just can't believe someone went through the trouble of doing this.

I guess, given what we know of Mark, that he loves rocks and Wales, this isn't at all surprising. It just adds to the eccentricity. The man must have spent hours accurately depicting the contours and terrain of North Wales, and then colour coding it, and then providing us with a key down below. I just love it.

Much of the wall consists of extracts from local historic poets. Particularly noteworthy is this piece dedicated to Wilfred Owen, from Oswestry, who primarily wrote poetry about the first world war.

Quite fittingly, there's a tribute to Minerva, a Roman goddess of a bunch of nice creative stuff, including poetry and music.

Much of the wall also seems to be tributes to the friends who have contributed to Marks collection of various different types of rock, and other random things.

There are tributes to other local poets. Here is an extract from a First World War poem called "The Recruit," by Alfred Housman, which is published in a book called "A Shropshire Lad."

 

Another poetry extract from A Shropshire Lad.

"Is my team ploughing that I was used to drive," another Shropshire Lad poem, about a dead person wondering about the world they've left behind.

This one is particularly appealing because Mark has built a little miniature plough to sit on top of it.

Among Marks collection are some old mail boxes. Because why not?

Lots more poetry extracts.

This appears to be some sort of Jesus, with two of his lovers hanging out with him.

Below it seems to be a reference to Gioacchino Lauro, a ship owner and a member of parliament in the 20th Century, and apparently the mayor of Sorrento. He was the maritime rival of Aristotle Onassis, who I've actually mentioned in this blog before. JFK's widow married him, when she had a choice between him and Lord Harlech of Oswestry. If it wasn't for Aristotle Onassis, Jacqueline Kennedy would have become lady of Brogyntyn Hall in Oswestry. On her death bed she did express regrets for not marrying Lord Harlech. She just didn't want to live in Oswestry. 

Which, I guess is fair enough.

This is a particular oddity in Marks brick collection. It's a glazed brick foot warmer! I actually had to do some research on this because I'd never heard of it, unsurprisingly given that this particular household luxury has fallen out of use in the last thirteen decades. Basically back in the day, people would put a brick in the stove to heat it up, and then wrap it in a towel and put their feet on it. 

And they were all the rage! People would take them to church and everything! God can set your bush on fire, but only Nawell can keep your toes from dropping off during a Sunday service.

That seems to be it for Little Italy. As I said, there are plans to raise funds to preserve it. The mainstream media puts some emphasis on the urgency of it, saying it's less than a decade away from being Lost Forever.

That's a pretty extreme conclusion. Lost, maybe. There's a lot of ivy growing on some of the buildings. Forever, doubtful. If they can be built, they can be repaired. 

There is a team of volunteers working on it, and Marks old house is also on Airbnb, for the purpose of raising funds for Little Italy's repair. It's advertised as the perfect getaway, with no television, telephone or wifi. It's perfect for anyone who wants to get away from the world for a bit, and it does sound quite nice... but it's a niche market, let's be honest. Surely they'd get more money if they had wifi. Just a thought.

I mean I love traveling and I've stayed in some airbnb's that are little more than a bed in a cupboard with a kettle on a small bedside table, but I've been happy because it ticks my travel boxes- A bed, coffee, and wifi.

 

That's all I've got. If you want to check out Little Italy, then keep in mind that there are people out there who care about it, and there are people who may be holidaying in the house right next to it, who might not be expecting people to be sneaking around the garden. The terrain isn't the safest, and some cunt has already stolen the goddamn Leaning Tower of Pisa, so be respectful so that what's left can be enjoyed by decent people who actually want to appreciate it.

 

I actually love Little Italy. I think Mark was definitely eccentric, but all of the best people are! When people have unconventional hobbies outside of the mainstream sphere of interests, (Watching TV, getting drunk, etc) and when they're happy doing their own thing, people do get a little salty for some reason, and they will sometimes namedrop a few mental disorders. The word "hobby" often gets replaced with "hyperfixation." But generally I think this is for the benefit of the so-called normal person, rather than the person they're talking about. They're just saying "This person is different to me. Oh, but they have something wrong with them. I'm the normal one." 

Thank you for your insecurity-fueled diagnosis. 

Seriously, if a vital cog in someones quest for happiness requires someone else to "be normal" then they are the ones with the problem, and you should just enjoy being weird. People with hobbies are at least interesting. I'd sooner listen to Mark talk about all the types of brick than listen to Generic Human talk about shooting their DNA into someone.

Anyway, my next blog will be a beautiful French hospital, and then after that I'm returning to my local blog to check out something in Oswestry. How exciting! We're delving into origin-story territory with Oswestry. But the hospital, it's fucking gorgeous.

In the meantime, if you like this blog then you can make sure you don't miss it, by following me on Instagram, Vero and Reddit. I'm also on Twitter for some reason and the Boomer zoo that is Facebook, too. But it is an algorithmic hellscape so maybe you will still miss it. Try it and see.

Thanks for reading!