Here are the things I like about Italy.
In my dreams, when they happen, which is rare because sleep is a coma filled few minutes of pillow drool in between swinging my legs out of the bed, again, to go and satisfy whichever whim of whichever child at whatever time, I would like to dream of Italy.
Hills. Mountains. Blue sky. Green shrubbery. My glass of red to the forefront of the pictures I would plaster all over Instagram just to annoy people and make them jealous.
In the dream there are no children. I’m sorry but there aren’t. There isn’t even a husband. It’s just me. My glass, my book and not even a laptop – I would be scrawling across cream coloured paper in a leather bound notebook with a fountain pen. It’s that type of dream.
There’s lots of sleep. In a big white bed. I’m awoken in the morning by the sunshine and there is tea and croissants and possibly fruit, which I only eat in hot countries, because, cornflakes.
After breakfast I read, then wander around the property, breathing in the citrusy air and then, I take a notion of go for a swim. In the dream I fit in bikinis you might see on Gisele, and my hair is long and wavy and dries to a tousled mane, instead of the electric fuzz that is the real hair I have. But this is a dream, so I can have nice hair in Italy and proportionate hips, but a tiny waist and boobs.
Swimming makes you hungry, so I have lunch, caprese salad, obviously and then I read a bit more and go back to bed.
In the afternoon I write, poetry maybe or a song, or a chapter of a best selling novel I’m working on, a romance maybe, set in Italy.
Then it’s wine time.
A fire perhaps.
And some company. I don’t know who, maybe the family have appeared again, miraculously, the way people pop up in dreams.
There’s music from somewhere and singing and then random dancing to La Bamba and spanish music, I shake my Gisele hips to beats born in Brazil.
The wine is endless, and more food appears and I eat it all and drink water so there’ll be no hangover in the morning. And even if there is, there’ll be swimming which we all know, cures hangovers like a giant solpadeine pool.
I’m there for a week. I spend 75% of the time sleeping. I lose weight, I get a tan, but mostly I am doing what any sane person, would choose to do if they thought about it hard enough.
I am on holiday in Italy.
And I don’t wake up. The dream is real.
Most of it anyway. Maybe not the hair part. But the place – it’s Villa Pia and it really exists. You can go there too.
And I’m back to pillow drool.
Villa Pia offer all inclusive family breaks, retreats and weddings. They have children’s facilities including a pool, trampoline and play areas. They have a spa onsite and run courses and writing events throughout the year. Visit their website to check costs and make a booking.
*This is a collaborative post