Moon and sun

I have been to Venice a couple of times. Once you make your way through the swarms of tourists (of course - I wasn't a tourist when I visited - of course not!) the sense of unreality that pervades the place hits you between the eyes. The meandering alleyways, the serenely decaying bridges, the faded, flaking buildings: it's like a film set, heavy on the mildewed Gothic splendour, low on the credibility.
When tourists think of Venice the image that invariably comes to mind is one of gondolas and canals. Certainly these are all present and correct when you get there but as far as the Venetians themselves are concerned, the big unmissable event seems to the Carnevale . Every third shop bristles with rack after rack of ornate masks and carnival-related ornaments, from key rings to wall hangings. I bought the moon and sun you see from a stall in the Most Serene of cities during a visit about six or seven years ago. I still use a keyring I bought on the same visit.
I hung the moon directly above the headboard of my bed - to symbolise sleep - and the sun next to my bedroom window, to symbolise the morning light streaming through the panes. On the wall beyond my feet I have a print of this particular painting hanging. I wish I could report that this triptych of somniferous charms means I invariably get a good night's sleep: but heck, that wouldn't be true now, would it?