Pizzas and pilates

Was it Ralph Waldo Emerson who said 'There is truth, then there is journalism'?
Probably not, although it was the sort of thing he would say.
But, whoever said it, obviously had pizzas in mind.
Don't know what I'm talking about?...Read this
http://sette-bello.blogspot.com/

Now, if ever there were a travesty of the truth, it's this little tale above; a demonic manipulation of the true story, the actual chain of events on that sunny afternoon in Bernie's backyard.

I know what you're gonna say 'Sour grapes'....But I never use 'em, only stone ground olives (are there such things?), and a speck of spek, but I can understand the confusion.
But as my old dad used to say 'A pizza speaks a thousand words'

So, it's enough to look, indeed gaze (ten minutes minimum) in wonder at my masterpiece.











Here you see true art; not only culinary art, but contemporary visual art.
OK I'm too late to enter the Tate competition this year I know, but, come on, you've gotta wonder at its splendour.
Oh, not that I could've entered it anyway, I ate it! So very very delicious it was.
Edible art!
Yes!

...and the Pilates?
After six months of stretching, bending, twisting and contorting my poor body, it's screaming 'enough, no more!'
And me, being the only man in a class of twenty women, I suffered the most. Because the teacher, Roberto, couldn't touch twist and bend the bodies of the ladies as he could mine (being male and all). So I'm more flexible but ache in the places that I used to play and have given myself a summer break. Gardening's gonna be my main exercise until Autumn and swimming and walking and Qi Kong and table tennis (for which, sadly, you don't need twenty women), oh and proper tennis if I can find an opponent, which is doubtful because I'm crap at it.
Massimo might give me a game though, if his toenail is better.

The cuckoos are back

And not only the winged variety.
You think I'm writing about the latest Italian election, don't you? Now look! I don't ever write about politics, do I? Well, I do sometimes when things political nauseate me, so get this, dear reader, just get this.......
What's Berlusconi's first act as Prime Minister, on his first day in office? He invites his mate Putin down to his weekend millionaire's playground in Sardinia to watch a troup of young dancing girls. And what's more, he's trying to flog Alitalia to him. You've gotta laugh at the man, especially when you think of poor old Prodi who used to spend his evenings swotting over Italy's accounts, trying to find ways of getting the country out of debt.
Bring on the dancing girls, that's Berlusconi's solution.
Let's just dance all those silly problems away!

So this is a photo of my new orchard by way of diversion, just so's you don't get bored.
(And you can guess from the long shadow that I'm either a giant or it's 5 mins before sunset).
Trivial?
You bet! but it's because of this fear I have of Italy drifting into mindless triviality.
You see, I have to be it to understand it, because from the outside looking in, it makes no sense to me. Or maybe you can make it easier for me by explaining to me (someone?).... why Italians have put Berlusconi back in power with a solid majority. I just don't get it.
Depressing.
And here's a footnote, just in case you wonder in which direction we might expect our Govt to take.........http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/apr/30/italy

Blackout/Whiteout

Get ready to faint!
Can you imagine a world where you switch your computer on to write another nonsense blog and nothing happens, just a blank screen? (Oh but I bet you can though, eh?, hmmm)
Alright then, a world where you switch on the TV to watch the Texas Primaries and nothing happens (Yes you can imagine that too! Oh!).
Well then...coupled that with no central heating, no chess games with your vista chess programme (it's a genius)..And, to make matters worse, the bread machine hasn't finished its cycle and produced a sort of concrete bun.

You make bread?

Yes I do, look....They say it's the best bread you can find in Sant Ippolito

If I may allow myself a wee boast.



Sadder still, missing your morning tea and only two biscuits Michael you're on a diet.
Yes of course we have a blackout but still I went through all the actions all the same., switching things on and off unconsciously.
So, The electricity lines were down and the snow fell for one whole day up to 40cm.
Trees where down everywhere too and the shrubs in our garden crushed.
It was the Bora, that freezing blast from the dreaded Balkans which picks up moisture from the warmer Adriatic and dumps it on us in the form of snow.

Poor Marche.

ski day

Beautiful Springlike day, clear open skies without the slightest wind. Nipped up to the mountain above Sarnano and treated myself to a morning's skiing. Just me on the slope, just me! What a privilege. Ok I know it was just the kid's slope and I know I must have looked like a drunken caterpillar skewering my way down but hey! who was there to watch? Just the ski instructor who had only me as a customer. He let me eat my cheese and prosciuto panino and drink my coke on his terrace.
And I read my book 'Winter in Madrid' and soaked up the sun.


Here are some pictures..











By the way, did I ever tell you how I learned to ski? No? It was in the Rockies with a Zen ski master.
I learned a lot about Zen. Not too much about skiing though (still have the head scars)

Super Tuesday

This morning. Bessie barking like mad and confronting a sheep dog as a local shepherd artfully guides his sheep past our early flowering marigolds. A medieval scene.
It's Super Tuesday in the US and Carnival time here. I'm checking the primaries results on the internet and all I can here is sheep bells. And the news comes up that Italy is to go to the polls again. What? This is a disastrous decision meaning another weak government blackmailed by minority parties.
Who bribed who?. I'm asking myself.
Get the picture?
Understand why I feel confused and perplexed?





And this is yesterday evening in Sarnano. the whole town gets blocked while the carnival passes through. I suppose the western theme had something to do with Super Tuesday. Do you think so? Or the state of the Italian Govt? Or the speed of Italian trains?








On Sunday I went up to Padova where Lorenzo and I had an opening for one of our Red&Blue Art Factory shows..back on Monday after staying overnight. Couldn't face the drive so took a train. Have you ever traveled by train in Italy? Hmmm! Wanna talk medieval again? (See how the themes are overlapping in my mind?)
It's the same day that Spain announces its spectacular new rail system. Two hours from Barcelona to Madrid. And if the train is more than two minutes late you get a full refund!! Can you imagine Trenitalia ever offering that.... the economy would collapse overnight (if it hasn't already)
There's me trying to get to Padova from Porto San Giorgio on the coast. It's Sunday morning and I arrive 15 mins beforehand having wasted half an hour trying to get some cash from a hole in the wall.... Tried three, none working.
There's a herd of customers by the ticket office which is closed with a hand written message on window which says we open at 11 o'clock with an arrow pointing left and the words 'use the machine'
But nobody knows how to. One after the other we try, dialing up destination, class of ticket etc to be instructed to then dial 'OK'. But there isn't an OK button and the train is about to arrive---- Look I say, let's all just get on and explain the situation to the inspector and pay at the other end. They all turn to me as one and say 'What are you crazy and be fined 50 euros?' Oh he'll understand I say. 'No he won't..we've been fined before in the same situation'
Then suddenly pops up a young lady from the town who says 'Hey that's the OK button bottom left, the one with nothing on it...the letters have worn away' So hurriedly we get out tickets, me last of all as the train pulls in and I get one only to Ancona because one of the ladies in the queue advised me not to try and get a ticket all the way as she lost E50 on one of these machines a week before. Oh my!
So on the train I am and it's ten minutes late already and I'm doubting if I'll have time to get a ticket for Padova at Ancona.
Then (of course) arrives a ticket inspector who sneers at my ticket and says I have to pay a E50 fine because it isn't stamped.
I explode!
I say, you should be ashamed!
'Trenitalia is a disaster. It symbolises everything that's wrong with this country and you should be ashamed working for such a crank organisation. there were twenty people
trying to get a ticket this morning, the ticket office was closed, the machine didn't work, the train is late and I probably won't have time to get a ticket to Padova and now you're saying I have to pay a E50 fine?
'It says so on the rules he says'
And service , I say, do you know what service is? All these people paying money and treated like this?
I'm only doing my job he says, and you're foreign aren't you (as if this is an explanation for the difficulty he is experiencing)
What's that got to do with it I shout?
OK, OK, he says and signs my ticket and lets me off the fine.
On the station at Ancona (I just managed to get my ticket in time) I see an poster saying 'Travel by train and make a smaller carbon footprint' and feel an urge to scribble something apt and rude over it...but have no time.
A great time in Padova..nice opening with lots of people.
And when I get back (to cut a longer story short), I stop at the ticket office at Porto San Giorgio on the way out and say to the guy behind the triple strength attack- proof glass 'Look the ticket office was close yesterday morning and there were lots of people trying to get a ticket from this machine here and the OK button is obliterated and it caused a lot of difficulty for people'
'It wasn't closed' he says.'This ticket office wasn't closed'
I lose it again until he finally confesses that true it was closed and what's more the OK button is obliterated, did you know that?
I'll fix it he says.
I wonder, I'll check next time I pass.
Obama's ahead in the first counts and Italy is without a government.
The sheep are settled happily in a nearby field and Graciella and Quinto are up a tree cutting there vines.
I say I think it'll snow next week.
(it's wish talk because my daughter and grandson are here and I want to take him skiing)

Post script



And guess what happened when the sheep came back later in the afternoon?
Socksie (that's him on right) nearly got murdered by three sheep dogs. He was cornered and made a break for it but ran into the herd of sheep: made a swift turn about but straight into the dogs who were so suprised they hesitated and he luckily made a leap for Bernie's tree and just escaped a snapping mouth. So Lili gave him Reichi and he's calmed down but we have had to lecture him on the evils of the outside world (Marimmana dogs in particular)

Christmas Carols

Just look at this stuff!
Dreaming of a white Christmas were you?


We get back from a weekend in UK and whammo! Straight into half a metre of the white stuff (Oh, it's snow I'm talking about here)
Yes, Christmas shopping in London where we saw marvellous things. We saw The Queens' collection of Italian art at Buckingham Palace (well, not actually IN the Palace but in The Queen's Gallery on the side), an exhibition of Futurist Art in Islington, then to Camden market, where we got a Chinese meal for two quid, and finally the new St Pancras station where we had champagne in their new bar there in sub zero temperatures (only the English, I said to Lili.... only the English would conceive of ,and enjoy, anything quite as daft) we stayed with our friends Sheila and Tony who fed us quails eggs and huge breakfasts. Then we zoomed up to other friends, Franca and John, near Cambridge, and arrived in their quaint little village of Brinkley just in time for the Carol Service in the church opposite.
Lili was quite intrigued at the thought of attending an activity in an Anglican church (being of the Papal ilk herself) but I don't think any of us were prepared for what we experienced.
It was odd, very odd indeed.
And this is what happened...
There we were, the congregation, adults, families with kids of all ages, packed within ancient oak pews, all of us clutching our carol song sheets, ready to sing our hearts out, as we English love to do and suddenly, from the back of the church and obviously in a rush arrives the vicar, a lady vicar, a vicarette, carrying a tatty cardboard box which she plonks on the floor beside the alter.
'I suppose you're all wondering why I'm not dressed in my usual vicar's attire' she asks 'and dressed in this coat? Well, maybe you think I'm bonkers, or absent minded, but it's not either of these. I'm dressed to go out because tonight we are going on a journey'
The congregation exchange nervous glances (no mince pies?, out in the freezing cold?). 'We are going on a journey to Bethlehem, to be at the birth of baby Jesus'.
(phew, a metaphorical trip, ok, ok, ok.)
'Let's think first about Mary', she says, 'Now she was only twelve years old when an angel came to her alone in her room one evening and asked her if she'd mind giving birth to the Son of God. "That would be just fine" Mary said, "Oh thanks, but don't tell your mum just yet" said the angel, and then disappeared.'
'Now', says our vicarette, directing her questions at a couple of young girls in the front row, 'What would you feel if your mum and dad had gone off to Tesco's to do the shopping and an angel turned up in your room and asked if you wouldn't mind giving birth to a divine babe? And you were just twelve years old?'
Nervous giggles from the girls and a few muffled grunts.
'You'd be really scared wouldn't you?'(more giggles and shuffles)
'And would you tell your mum and dad? No, because the angel tells you to keep it a secret between you and God?'
'Let's here say a prayer to Jesus for all the young people who have to make hard decisions in their lives'
We pray,
And then sing a carol 'Away in a manger'
'And poor Mary, can you imagine going all the way to Bethlehem on a donkey in her condition? Not a lovely warm BMW! And being only twelve years old, and arriving there and finding all the hotels full?'
'And what about the shepherds?' she asks 'The angel flies up to them on the hillside and declares the imminent arrival of Jesus to them and asks them to go down to Bethlehem at his birth. What must they have thought?' (adults beginning to exchange increasingly nervous glances)
She then drags out the Tesco's cardboard box she'd hidden under the altar and asks the children to come out and put the little shepherd figures into the box along with the manger.
'And then poor Joseph, what must he have thought when the angel told him his 12 year old betrothed was pregnant not with his baby, but with God's? Would one of the children like to come out and put Joseph in the box, uhm.. manger?'
Little boy hops out and bungs Joseph in Tesco's box.
'Now I would like all the children to come up and meet Joseph' (increasingly reluctant children forced by parents to go to front of church)
'Now what sort of job did Joseph have, children?'
'Fireman', one says, 'TV producer' says another.
'Well, he worked with wood, what would that make him?' 'A lumberjack' says a little boy.
Vicarette somewhat impatiently tells them no he was a carpenter.
And so on with more carols and prayers to baby Jesus for all shepherds, carpenters and lumberjacks who have difficult decisions to make in their lives.
Finally (and by this time the congregation are in a state of suppressed mass panic),
She says 'And guess who I've got in my pocket? Yes baby Jesus, I've been keeping him safe and sound and warm all day' And she lugs him out (in the shape of a little cloth mummy) and drops him on the church floor (oh crikey!)
Then she asks a little boy to take BJ and put him gently in the manger (Tesco's cardboard box) 'But don't drop him', she says.
A finally a prayer for the animals in the manger who must have wondered what an earth was going on (what about us in the congregation, I'm thinking, we'd like to know what's going on)
And then we sing 'Oh little star of Bethlehem', a quick prayer to BJ and then outa there, most of the parents rushing home for a quick brandy and on to Google to ask how old Mary was when she had BJ.

Wanna know? try this link, (but not if you're Catholic)

http://www.able2know.org/forums/about1970-0-asc-0.html


Phew, glad to be back safe and sound in the land of a million nativity scenes (presepe where Joseph and Mary are both thirty years old at least, the animals and shepherds are all happy in their respective positions and the three wise men haven't been forgotten and are also inside the Tesco's box, ......I mean manger).


Look!

I'll leave you with a picture of a snowman I made yesterday in the garden.
I've made him look about twenty one years of age, although he's probably only eleven.

snow on 16th Nov

Yep! Lots of it















And here's one next morning! OK, you've got it... this is the other side of the two halves of Italy. Green lizards versus fine wines (and chocolates).