There is a thin and annoying rain. On Silvio Berlusconi it bounces, it doesn’t even feel it. He is hypnotized. Euphoric. Carries the years on his shoulder, with difficulty. He still feels in the saddle. He dreams of the Quirinale, defying every law of physics and politics. Have lunch with Angela Merkel, it looks like 2005, or 2008, or at least many years ago. In between, gigantic powers and ruinous falls.
Fi, Berlusconi’s return-show to Brussels: the dream of climbing the Colle and that long conversation with Merkel