Re Italy’s designated romantic zones (Pass notes, 8 August), when we got married in Venice years ago, the firm doing the arrangements was adamant that we had to have pictures taken in front of the Bridge of Sighs. We tried to decline on the basis that the place from which a condemned person took their last glimpse of freedom before meeting a grisly end seemed a less than ideal metaphor for the start of married life. But this location was apparently non-negotiable.
• On a visit to discuss the filming of Ethel & Ernest, which my late husband was directing, Raymond Briggs (Obituary, 10 August) led us to another room. He abruptly stopped, and pointed to the door jamb. There, in dappled sunlight, glistened a spider’s web, a golden leaf gently captured. “I must tell the cleaner to leave that,” he said. Each of us treasured that moment.
• A remarkable thing about Ethel & Ernest, Raymond Briggs’ book about his parents, is that his dad could buy a three-bedroom house in Wimbledon, south-west London, on the wages of a milkman. What’s gone so wrong?
• What is an “egg prick” (Letters, 10 August)? I am 73 and clearly have led a sheltered life.
• My wife aways carried a radiator key when visiting UK hotels and a corkscrew when in France.
Dr Bob Aron
Ilkley, West Yorkshire
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