It turns out the Guggenheim in Venice is the perfect museum! Number one: it’s not really a museum, it’s a house. Number two: it’s got a gorgeous garden and a view over the Grand Canal. Number three: there’s just the right amount of art. Enough that you can nod and go ‘Mmmm,’ and appreciate it and everything, but not so much that your eyes start to blur over and you start wanting to die. But we agreed! Michael’s taking over while you’re away, everything’s arranged, we set it all up . . .’ The late-afternoon light is making the square all gleamy-goldy and a band is playing, and if I hadn’t just argued with my new husband, it would all be totally gorgeous. Morosely I watch a couple having a picture taken in the middle of the square. They’re both wearing straw hats and have sunburnt arms and look really happy. I expect they’re on honeymoon too, but I bet the husband isn’t trying to bail out in the middle. This is so cool! A masked ball! I have a vision of me and Luke in amazing masks and evening dress, whisking along the Grand Canal in a candle-lit gondola. We have to go. We have to. Hers is pretty expert, I have to admit. It looks exactly like the church and is all cloudy and shady. But she hasn’t got a fancy title like In Vietnam, has she? I’m about to offer to think of a cool title for her when I see Luke walking across the square.

For someone who claims to be an ‘art-lover’, Luke has a surprising way of showing it. You’d think he’d support his wife’s artistic endeavours. You’d think he’d be pleased. Not say, ‘Drawing? You? Really?’ Not say, ‘How much?’ Not say, ‘What about just getting a box of paints for five euros?’ He so doesn’t understand anything. I walk towards it, mesmerized. I’ve always wanted an art set, ever since I was a little girl. And this one is amazing. The case is velvet-lined. The brushes are polished wood. The paint colours are fabulous. It reminds me of my Urban Decay eye palette.So, will you be working every day?’ Luke lifts his eyebrows. ‘Do we have to structure our holiday round your creative impulses?’ Because! We’re travellers! I wanted to do yoga in India . . . maybe even go to the Arctic! I wanted us to change as people.’ Which is true. They were Americans, over here to study. They were standing at their easels in the square, sketching a church, and they all looked really cool and one of them had the cutest little dog called Beanie. Our hotel is in a small side street near St Mark’s Square and within a few minutes I find that I’ve automatically headed there, along with all the other tourists. I won’t argue with you, Luke,’ I say in a trembling, dignified voice. ‘There’s clearly nothing more to say. I’m going out for a drink. Goodbye.’

There’s an easel for sale, too. And some pads of smooth white paper that I’m already itching to draw on. I can feel a whole new exciting creative urge rising through me. Maybe I’ve got an artistic talent that I’ve never tapped into! There’s a mask shop to our left and I drag the easel towards the window, trying to hide the fact that I’m out of breath. Honeymoon.’ He nods. ‘Let’s go and . . .’ He gestures to a nearby seating area with two love seats. The receptionist takes the easel, and I follow Luke, feeling more agitated than ever. And look at the way they’re all dressed so smartly in matching stripy tops and boaters. Why don’t London taxi drivers wear matching costumes? You’d think the Mayor would have thought of that. In fact, I might write him a letter about it.

Retailers:

Honestly. Does he not keep his eyes open as he walks around a city? He needs to learn to be more observant. I’ve used all my charcoals, all my pastels, all my gouaches and fourteen sheets of paper. Now I’m on to the graphite pencils, but every time I draw a line I immediately rub it out. Well. It gets a bit samey. I bet this is an open secret among artists which no one ever admits. I bet Picasso sometimes used to think to himself, God, not another bloody cube. I’m about to look at my watch and sigh, which is another thing Luke always does when we’re shopping . . . when something catches my eye, perched on a display in the middle of the shop. It’s a triple-layer, all-in-one art set. It has a palette of paints in every colour, brushes, sketching pencils, pastels . . . even a little artist’s mannequin. We go and eat the most scrumptious gelati, sitting by the side of a canal with the late sun shining on the water. It’s basically your perfect honeymoon scenario – but Luke’s face stays crinkled.