My system of doing journal entries this week, if you can call it a system, is to take snaps of things on my phone and then use them as memory jolts as to what I've been up to. If something looks OK for public consumption, I send it to my laptop via a wireless Bluetooth connection. I just tried to do so, and instead of just my laptop appearing as a potential receiving device, I get 3 different Nokia 6310 phones, all presumably outside on the terrace below our room, and all of which seem to be happy to receive my holiday snaps. As Jenny is out having a guided tour of the hotel, I'm toying with setting up some highly pornographic poses of me wearing various items of her underwear, and sending them out. Just to gauge the reaction. If it's favourable, you know, I could make it a regular thing. If there's one thing the nouveau-riche of the Campagna region of Italy are missing, it's blurry shots of overweight half-Welsh men in skimpy knickers.

Last night, in Jenny's capacity as food writer, we were invited to eat in a restaurant in Capri town itself, for free. The waiter seemed flustered & nervous, stammering his way through the day's specials as if one false move could consign the restaurant to oblivion after a critical panning in the UK food press. We kept smiling a lot and agreeing with everything, as we were as uncomfortable with the notion of eating for free as he was about telling us what we could eat for free. So, we opted for octopus, neatly translated into English on the menu as Drowned Polyp. I held back from the obvious questions, e.g. “Excuse me, could you tell me how the polyp is drowned? Could I have mine lightly drowned, but my partner would prefer her polyp well-drowned” etc etc.

We caught the midnight bus back to Anacapri along with a load of backpacking American teens. After they were good enough to compliment me on my shirt (yes, I'm perfectly aware that they may have been taking the piss) I engaged one of them in conversation. Where had she come from, I asked politely. “Well, y'know, I'm from Calafornia – the Napa Valley? – but I've just flown in from Rome, yeah, y'know I don't really dig Rome, you can't escape the whole tourist thing? – I kinda prefer, y'know Florence, Geneva.” I told her that I hadn't been to Florence or Geneva, at which point she stopped talking to me. Stupid cow.

Jenny's just come back from her hotel tour. “God… one room was a total f*cking shag palace for a toxic bachelor,” she said. I hope she includes this sentence in the review.

This morning we wandered down the same road in Anacapri that we have wandered down for the last 2 days – there are approximately 2 roads in Anacapri – in the vain hope that we'd find something new. And we did! Oh yes. Firstly we happened upon an attraction which is a scale model of Capri. The model is scaled down, rather than up; the council presumably deciding that a 5,000:1 scale model would require most of the Pacific Ocean to store it, and so opting for the more sensible 1:5,000 option instead. Here you can see it in all its glory:

We then found a small exhibition of art, towards which we were lured by this painting:

which, as you can see, is of a watermelon being winched somewhere or other. This winching thing turned out to be a recurring motif in the artist's work, with aubergines and tomatoes also getting the “lifted by sturdy rope” treatment. I imagined that if I were to commission a portrait from the chap, I would end up owning a glorious picture of me being winched ashore onto an Italian island. Who know, perhaps in the aforementioned skimpy knickers? You have to admit, it's a sobering thought.