Being ill on holiday sucks a big dog's cock. Especially with limited time. Because you can't waste a day recovering in bed, but if you go out then it's going to be hard to enjoy stuff as much as you would have done.
Luckily I am not so ill as to be totally debilitated, but I was feeling lousy and hadn't been able to sleep last night, which was a shame as this was our last chance to see the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel today. I couldn't bail out, but also hoped that if I got to St Peter's and I prayed hard enough that Jesus might cure me.
I first visited Vatican City on 20th March 1986 - I know this because I was writing a diary then and I read that entry out on the 6Music show a few weeks back. I had been very impressed that time, writing, "In the morning we made our way to Papal Rome and the Vatican City. The minute I entered St Peter's Church I fell under its spell. It was superb. Paintings, statues, domes and the sheer size of it was breathtaking. One window had a dove in the middle through which light shone and gave one very religious feelings. I went weak at the knees as if prayer was all I could offer. I felt so small against this huge pillar of man's achievements. The statue by Michelangelo" (La Pieta) of Mary holding the crucified Jesus captivated me totally and I stared at it for minutes on end, going round several times."
By the time I had been round the Vatican Museum and seen the Sistine chapel, which I claimed to have loved I then struck a more negative note, "All the shitting gold kneeling steps and ornamental crosses etc etc made me feel sick and wonder if the man Jesus saw all this lot he'd fell bad, because after all he was against wealth and power and all these luxurious gifts to the Popes from the rich seem totally against all he preached."
Mmmm profound.
This time things were a bit different. Firstly there was a 40 minute queue to get into the Cathedral (which I am sure wasn't the case last time - I talk about sitting on the steps writing post cards and going round again a second time) and once in the place was so crammed full of other people that it was hard to see much or enjoy what was there. It seemed rather gaudy to me this time round and La Pieta, which I had circled back in 1986 was now behind thick glass (as I believe some nutter had taken a pot shot at it at some point in the intervening quarter of a century) and I couldn't really see what had impressed me so much the first time. But as my girlfriend pointed out, maybe the glass absorbed the religious magic rays.
I was however still petulantly and unimaginatively thinking about what the real Jesus would make of all of this, though I imagine he would think he was in Heaven if he was suddenly confronted with these unbelievable wonders (like the Mumbai attackers who were so gob smacked by the luxury of the hotels that they were invading that they almost forgot to carry on with their mission).
Jesus perhaps bedazzled by the wonders of his own church, failed to cure my lethargy or my cold.
I was again overwhelmed by the ludicrous amount of priceless art on display in the Vatican Museum. There were so many statues from Roman times that it felt like every single person who lived in those times must have had a bust made of their face and maybe a big statue of some God to go in their garden. There was one woman's bust that I liked particularly. She had quite a cheeky look on her face. I felt if I'd known her I could probably have married her, but time had once again conspired against love. My girlfriend didn't seem to mind that I loved this bodyless piece of marble so much on first sight. She clearly doesn't feel threatened by the dead. She doesn't know me very well. Being dead doesn't stop me forming a physical relationship with you. And if I can find the cheeky faced Roman's body I am going to be all over it.
It cost as about 14 euros for two tiny beers and two slices of pizza. If Jesus could see this kind of thing going on in a religious building then he'd definitely start kicking over some chairs and try to dismantle the pizza oven. If you can't trust Catholics to charge a fair price for pizza then what can you trust them to do? No wonder they keep getting themselves into so much trouble. It's like they have to do the wrong thing when presented with an opportunity.
Try reading the Bible you cunts.
I am not sure it expressly says anything about pizza prices (or bumming kids for that matter) but some things are just so clearly wrong that even the Bible assumes you're going to work those out for yourself.
But there are countless billions of pounds worth of art in these buildings. Enough surely to wipe out a fair amount of poverty and hunger if you were to sell them on the open market and give the money away. I don't know which Testament the Pope is reading. Maybe there's a New New one that only he knows about.
I couldn't help thinking that one day the buildings I was looking at would be smashed into smithereens and chunks of their masonry and bits of their broken statues and art works would be turning up in future museums or found buried in the rubble. Everywhere you walk in Rome there are 2000 year old bits of pillars or coffins or sculptures lying in courtyards. In the end everything will fall and nothing is forever. Especially if you let nutcases in to shoot at inanimate objects.
Except the Pantheon.
Which is why I am going to get buried in there.
Only me and Raphael will be left to represent the last five millennia.
By the end of the day I did feel a bit better. Maybe Jesus had worked his magic after all.
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