Giovanni Lindo Ferretti
A cuor Contento tour

May 9, 2014, we're off to Ciampino to see yet another concert of my great love Lindo Ferretti at the Orion Club... (the situation is already promising, a concert in a nightclub in Ciampino)...

The ex-husband would join us in the evening, so we leave in the morning, me, the talkative friend, and the silent girlfriend.

For over five hours of travel, I don't stop talking for a minute, beating the talkative one. I'm already in good shape, feeling the uplifting effects of spring and the pro-serious exhaustion medications...

In Rome, it's already summer, one o'clock, we're in the center for lunch, and we start with some wine since the husband isn't there to scold me! It's the second time I've seen Lindo. The first time brought me to tears with Intimisto at the rotonda of Senigallia with Ginevra di Marco.

The afternoon is filled with goofing around and shopping. Carefreeness and joy are in the air. Rome is a dream, especially after about a liter of wine.

At 8:30 PM, we reach the miserable hotel booked in Ciampino. Meanwhile, the husband arrives, and we settle in; the bedspread is so hard it feels like opening a sarcophagus, but for Lindo, this and more.

I think each of us might imagine Ciampino as a small, charming Ciociaro center with an airport. However, on the evening of our arrival, there was a village festival. Imagine a mob of Roman provincial people, bumper cars, merry-go-rounds, the brightly lit avenue, it feels like being at the Sambodromo. We, the snobs ready for the alternative concert, indulge in a nice porchetta sandwich and 2 Moretti beers of 66cl each.

The venue is nice, the audience is varied but very composed, diverse humanity in terms of age.

I won't recount the playlist, which I obviously can't remember. I'll speak of an intimate journey where each piece was a drop carving into me until tears with Annarella, comforted by a young woman also crying next to me.

Lindo is in shape and indulges (something he won't do in Bologna a few months later), I dance, sit, stand, cry, laugh, my ex-husband and friends are there. Enthusiastic glances are exchanged, swaying with Radio Kabul, going wild with Forma e Sostanza, and crying again with Annarella.

“CITTADINO DEL SECOLO VENTUNO ROZZO COME TE NON C’E’ NESSUNO”