It's Autumn

A short animal quiz

OK what's this?









'A dog.'

Well done!

What about this?










'Another dog.'

Errr..... yes.











'And this is a photo of a man with the same dog (and Eric the Black peeping into frame)'

Well yes.













'And his friend with the other dog.'

Righteeho!


Not really getting anywhere are we?

'No.'

What I was trying to steer you towards was some sort of exclamation of recognition.

'Oh!'

Yes, like 'Hey, that's a hunting dog'. Or, 'That's a bird dog, duck dog, hare dog, any anything dog, apart from being just a dog!'

'Oh!'

So what sort of dogs do you think these might be?

'Duck dogs'

Oh. good grief! How on earth could they be duck dogs in the middle of a truffle wood in Le Marche?
There, now I've said it.

'Oh, they're truffle dogs'

Why yes, you've got it, well done.

The story, however.....

Bernie has been invited to write an article about truffle hunting for a very famous magazine which could even possibly be the New York Times (gosh, if only this were true). Although one can never be sure about such things with American journalists (which is what he is) because they all say they are writing for the New York Times and I never know why except maybe it's magic mantra which claims truth by it's very utterance. (Shakespeare, hmm)
So in town we meet Alberto Mandozzi, the President of the local Truffle Society along with his assistant
Marcello. We've already been briefed at some considerable length by Antonio's son about the holy nature of our task and I'm getting to feel that we are going on a secret mission into some ultra-sensitive war zone. We're certainly dressed for the part, wearing what can only be described as combat gear. Truffles after all, can be dangerous critturs warns Bernie.. shouldering his shotgun. The truffle President eyes him suspiciously, dark imaginings flitting across his knitted brow, visions of skies full of helicopters and marines parachuting into his scared groves.








Bernie entering sacred grove













The war zone happens to be in the woods below our house. What? Beneath our house? So that explains the cars we see scattered around our drive all these past Autumns...truffle hunters. Already this eiry feeling that we are entering some magic secret, some other divine dimension.
The dogs, Lampo and Dora spill out of their respective Fiat Pandas and go racing down the hill, our hill, noses already vacuuming the ground beneath them as they zoom down towards the woods.
And so it began, our initiation into the sublime art of truffle hunting.






(Alberto has written a wondrous book on the subject...'i Tartuffi del Piceno' but here's a brief synopsis).
There are, he explains, two types of truffle, white and black.
There are four types of black but only one of white. The white you only find in Italy, it can only exist in the wild where it lives a symbiotic existence with the oak tree, attaching itself to the roots of same. The black, which can be grown domestically also depends initially on this symbiotic existence with the oak and a couple of other trees but it then spreads across the woodland floor. The white is four times more valuable than the black (this year fetching E10,000 a kilo) has a richer aroma but a more subtle taste.
And then, most important of all (and this had both Antonio and Marcello roaring with laughter),
there are no white truffles in France, only black. The poor French...... but nothing less, of course, than they deserve.



Bernie, Eric the Black, Marcello and Alberto, Lampo and Dora









And this was the most amazing part for me.
That the truffles want to be found and eaten.
This is why they give off such a heady seductive aroma which attracts dogs, deer, cinghiale and snails (yes, snails!) If they could talk they be saying, shouting, 'Find me, here I am, dig me up and eat me', although in Italian and not of course in French.
Because this is how they are spread: the spores pass through the alimentary canal of animals and are deposited across wide areas (in the case of the cinghiale) and considerably shorter distances (probably two metres) in the case of the snail. But it's the snails' excrement that contains the best nutriments for the germination of the truffle spore. Now what do you make of that?
And our hunt? Zero! Didn't find a thing. Worst season for years with no rain in the summer they tell us, but I wonder. I wonder if this is all part of the ritual of initiation. That there is a level two, and we've only passed part one. That, metaphorically, Bernie has to change his shotgun for a truffle spear. You know what I mean, don't you. You do.
Truffles next time. They promised.

The language lesson.
Two weekends back I got stuck in London because of a strike at Falconara airport. Anyone who has ever suffered the trials and arrows of outrageous Ryan Air will know that they don't have an office anywhere, a number to call, nor an email address which replies to you desperate pleas for help or even information. Instead they have countless blue clad colleens who are trained to say to each and every demand 'We can only ask you to go on line and refer to information on the Ryan Air web site sir'
I won't go into the dreadful events of that morning only to say that there were other's in a more desperate situation than myself, those with small kids and old parents who were literally left high and dry. I'm sure these people just gave up and went home.
I'll mention one thing though. When we eventually got to the ticket desk to rebook, this one young colleen suggested to us that we fly to Marseilles. 'Marseilles my dear' I said , 'Is in France.' Well I never she said. Then there this nothing going out for days.
What about from Forli. I asked?
pWhere's that' she said.
Well, turn around and look at the Ryan air map behind you and I'll point you to it.
Oooh, she says, l can try that, can't I?
'Oh why not'
We got a flight to Forli next day. I shall spare you the grizzly details.
Oh, but this is the funny bit.
Having missed the flight, I missed out on a meeting with clients that day and when they turned up at the office that afternoon, Lili told them that she was sorry that I couldn't be there because I'd had a stroke in London, but that I should be back the next day.
She said afterwards that she couldn't understand why they sat down so suddenly and kept saying I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry.

OK, where's this?

Go on guess.





St. James's Park?

Are you crazy? Ok I know there is, or used to be, one flamingo there which I think was actually a pelican....so scrub that one.

The Nile?

Oh dear me no! Can you see any crocodiles? Come on!

Lake Victoria?

Oh well, could be, but look, you're never gonna guess, so I'll tell you, but only if you keep it a secret.
Alright yes we promise!
Ok then... It's Sicily.
Oh you're kidding!
No no, honest it is. It's a national park, a wild life reserve in the far SE corner of Sicily. It's called Vendicari Oasis.
Of all the years I've lived in Italy, this is the first time I've ever got around to going down there. You know there are some many new airlines now in Italy doing the Ryan Air thing that you can get cheap flights most anywhere. I always had in my mind a criminal, savage and messy sort of image of Sicily, but in fact it's gorgeous, peaceful and clean and exquisitely beautiful, especially in the SE part that we went to.
Here's a picture of a beach on the bird sanctuary.
















And one of the tombs at the iron age Necropolis further inland. Incredible place. What on earth were their religious beliefs? Of some sort of afterlife no doubt. Must look this up,















Fruit

And what do you see here?
Two red apples.... hmmm!
Yes, true, that's what they are but they are more than that.
They are two fresh apples sent two days ago from Jack's garden in San Rafael, CA.
He'd sent Lili a present from his tour of Ladakh, a cushion cover with two cats on to replace (he said) the ones she'd adopted out and he slipped three apples into the courier box just for good measure. Jack, I said, you can't do that, it's a contravention of all known international import/export laws and the apples will be arrested by a sniffer dog immediately on arrival. Oh well, he said, I only did it as a mark of affection.
But, as you can see, they arrived, as fresh as fresh. In fact, I could smell them ten yards away as the courier driver unloaded the box from his van.
But delicious! We've eaten one already, and here is a photo of the one that's left, just by way of deliciousness.








You'd like to take a bite of it wouldn't you?
Yes you would.







Oh, a footnote!
Jack tells me he'd put 3 apples, into the package, not two.
My imagination is racing on this one.

Eva forever.

















Eva wasn't at home when we'd got back from Sicilia. Pino, our friend who animal sits
for us said that she'd been around but had eaten little and had become moody (you know how she is sometimes). After four days Lili had given up on ever seeing her again but I had a feeling she was still alive. I had to go up for a Qi Gong weekend in Reggia Emelia and on that Saturday morning she suddenly turned up, depressed (Lili said) and a bit the worse for wear.
Anyway, now, after four days at home, she is back to her normal principessa self.
i.e. fed the best gourmet food and given 90% of our attention, prodigal returned status A1.

That bright tight forever drum

This week I lost a friend. Gabriele died and I shall miss his honesty, his kindliness and his infectious smile and twinkling eyes. Gabriele was a builder in the daytime and a restauranteur in the evening. He was always working and I see now he worked too damn hard. I wish I'd told him this. I wish he'd taken a holiday sometimes. I wish he was still here. I shall miss him very very much.
Ciao Gabriele!

With a Scirocco searing up from Africa and temperatures hitting 40C, the sun a bleak
and creamy burning eye in the sky, gardens burned dry and houses and swimming poolscracking, fires in the hills around Ascoli and conflicting weather forecasts. (some say it will, some say it won't ...uhm...rain? ...yes that delicious word)....
Well, we are all nervous, the skies are full of smoke and the trees are shedding their leaves to survive. Nobody can remember a year like this one.
Vulcan Gas Company


Bernie calls (and here's an example of the way we are all , like the earth, cracking up) to say he is emotionally overwhelmed by the fact that The Vulcana Gas Company have finally agreed after three and a half years, to take away the gas tank from his garden. Close to tears he says and I say save them until the job is done.
Luckily I am home when the truck arrives and able just in time to stop it backing into his apple tree. The driver hooks the tank onto his crane and shouts to me to come look at something he has found inside the top rim of the tank. It's a nest full of tiny eggs, I think wren's eggs.





This is terrible he says, what shall I do, come back in a few weeks after they have hatched? This, I know, will cause Bernie a major breakdown as it would be another three and a half years for sure.
A dilemma for me too, it's either the wrens or Bernie. I choose, of course, the wrens. But he says, look let's take the whole nest out and construct a platform about the same height and maybe the mother won't notice. This we do and the driver zooms away with the maladetto bombola.
I place heavy rocks on the construction to hold it down for the scirocco which is building up apace and wish wren family good luck. What else could I do?
The Boyscout
On Sunday evening I get back home after a swim in lake Fiastra and find Renzo and a Boyscout at the front door. The scout says he is with a troop camping nearby and they have all been given a task to go out and find a family to stay overnight with. Of course we take him in and he begins to tell us that this is the centenary of the Scout movement and about Baden Powell and Brownsea Island. My favourite island I say. 'You've been there?' Used to live right by it I say. 'So you know about how the Scout Movement started there?' I was a scout too, I say. So you know about the Jamboree that's going on now?' Yes, I was at the last one in '57, I say.
By this time, the poor boy (he's sixteen), is overwhelmed with awe and he almost faints when I dig out my Jamboree catalogue and show him pictures of me in it.
'Did you see the Queen?' Yes, I was chosen to be her bodyguard and march next to her Land rover.
By this time I feel like a visitor from another universe.
And it warms me to talk with this young man who is so caring and respectful of nature, to animals and, well, he reminds me of me when I was his age.
I dropped him off at his camp the next morning and when I got back home the house was still full of his gentle presence.
50 years! How can I measure these 50 years?
With stories? Yes with stories.
Thank you Giovani, Boy Scout Giovani.

Footnote 1.
We are at last connected to the wireless antenna at Gualdo and we can disconnect Telecom. Haha! Italia

Footnote 2.
Now you won't believe this!
Last Friday 40C, then five days later it crashes to 10C!
A drop of 30C!
With snow on the mountains!...unheard of.

the day of nature

I've just been attacked by a wild carrot (or maybe it was the other way round, or a bit of both). Let me explain. Last week I was on a friend's garden and as I stooped down to pull up a weed (don't ask me why), the friend shouted 'Don't touch that' I froze in horror expecting... what? ..a baby viper maybe? (very dangerous this time of year).. but no, it's wild carrot friend said, can do untold damage to your entire nervous system.

'Come on', I say (in Italian) 'Pull the other one'. 'there isn't another one' friend says 'At least I hope not'
I sigh deeply at this linguistic chasm and listen to his boring explanation.

Wild carrots indeed. Next it'll be wild crisps, or wild hosepipes (talking of which, see below).
Anyway...I decide to cut what's left of the lawn during this torrid Saharan
drought; not really to cut the grass but a cunning way of dessicating the leaves which have been shed by our trees in their frantic attempt to survive. Then out with the strimmer to cut my ruined lettuce patch and then I attack the area around the organic bin and by this time I'm not seeing too well on account of sweat in eyes and clogged up face masked. Clogged up? with what? You guessed it... wild carrot! dessicated wild carrot, dessicated all over me, i.e. I'm green all over and my legs and arms are beginning to sting like hell.
So what do I do? Do I panic? Yes! You bet!
I rush to the house, shedding shorts and T shirt en route and dive into shower and start washing down as I await the closing down of my complete nervous system 'If I should die, think only this of me, that, slain by a wild carrot in this distant land...etc', I'm thinking poetry for God's sake when my body's closing down forever!
OK to cut a short drama even shorter...I didn't die (at least I don't think so), so let's move on to finer things.
Like Liliana's Hydrangeas. Just look at them , drought victims too they are











Or maybe let's talk about a bee!
Seriously..a bee.
In fact a bumble bee. Now I've never heard of any of these sweet chaps ever stinging anyone but maybe because this is the day of nature, maybe this one had to make a point...and he did..at the top of Christina's thigh and what's more she ended up in hospital. I had my hand out of the window of the car, she says, to keep cool, and this bumble bee whams into it and then bounces into my lap and, yipes, stings me right through my jeans. Good job I wasn't driving. Phew!
So, if you following the drift here; heat, stroppy bees, wild carrots, baby vipers, gasping hydrangeas. What does this all mean? It means, dear reader, that the world of nature is upset. And it's withholding rain from us as a punshment. Instead we have torrid heat, no rain for weeks and guess what? The water in our reservoirs isn't for drinking. Oh no! What it is for is to drive our hydro electric system. Our drinking water comes from underground caverns which are fed by melting snows in Springtime, and this year we had hardly any snow at all.
On Tuesday we all received a letter from the Comune. It says there is an energy pack available to every family in Amandola; wondrous goodies like energy efficient bulbs and water saving gidgets, a pack of delights. Bernie is down there like a shot of course and he calls and says ya gotta get down here dude, this pack is worth a ton of bucks. Actually he didn't say that, it just sounded that way. So down I go, queue up, sign up and get presented with my pack by our tasty Vigilezza urbane with that certain smile she has.











Just sign here and take your pack, she says and I act as droolingly overwhelmed as a child picking up his present from Santa Claus.

This is what's in it.












Energy saving bulbs which consume 20W but give out 100W of brightness (use less electricity and save the water in the reservoir,neat!) and six fittings to go onto taps to aerate your water (and thus consume half amount of drinking water, cool!)
But don't you think this is just great? Actually giving you the wherewithal to save instead of telling you to shower with a friend or to clean your teeth with washing up water? I feel quite proud of our little town for this and you know they have calculated that they will save 13 million euros worth of energy if we all fit these devices. We will, we will!
In the meantime on this day of nature, Bernie's sewage removal truck turns up to clean out his septic tank. It's a very special truck because it has a video eye which travels done tubes to spy out blockages. What a wonder! And off it zooms to deposit Bernie'e sewage into a methane gas producing factory.











And to cap it all on this respect for Gaia day, two Oz friends tell me of a way of saving even more water. You take a bucket into the shower with you and save all the cold water that comes out before it gets hot.
(It's best to keep the bucket inside the shower and leave friend outside, they say)

So, that's my 'Give to Gaia' day!
The day of nature.
Oh, and it ended with a 'thank you' sunset.

The Janissaries

Two of the Janissaries in their tree


Janissaries....This is their collective name now; Socksie, Lila, Lilo and Pix.
(Suddenly I have the TeleTubbies tune playing in my head and their adventures match those of those colourful inarticulate creatures).
I'm talking of course about our kittens and the adventure of the other evening; an adventure which almost turned out to be a tragic disaster, and one with unthinkable circumstances in its wake.
Read on....
Lili had gone into town for a few hours and for the first time ever had left the kittens outside in the garden to play. I'd returned home to find them gone and nowhere to be seen. I'd scoured the dense little wood beneath the house, scratching myself on bramble and getting completely filthy, but with no sign of them anywhere. Even went down to the hunter's lodge in the lower field and then a complete circle across to Vittorio's field to look back at the house, hoping to see them from there. But nothing.
By the time Lili got back, our worry was fast moving to panic as friends turned up to join in the search.
At this time of year, especially because it's been dry and perhaps because of their need for food, wolves are seen outside of the National Park, in fact just last week in a little village just below us.
Also it is a time when young foxes are kicked out of home to fend for themselves and being inexperienced they takes risks and come too close to human habitation. Vixen mothers are hungry too and they are known to take kittens, something which they wouldn't usually do.
All this we knew and it was on all our minds, only nobody wanted to voice these fears.
I walked twice along to Vittorio's house with Marina (the Janessaries' mother as you know), and twice she veered off into V's field of corn but I took no notice of this, thinking she was just searching too.
I was beginning to feel sick with worry after what was now almost ten hours since their disappearance and Lili was sitting crying at the top of the Pastore's field.
We had a gloomy dinner outside on the patio and and at about 9.15 I said I thought we should try one more time. I'd thought about Marina's sidestep into the corn field (it's American corn, maize) and I said I thought we should search there. I looped around the back of the field and Lili, Richard, Nick and Cider plunged into its dark green jungle.
And there they found them!
Playing amongst the plants they were with not a care in the world.
I took us a while to catch them all but we were all so triumphantly happy that we opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate.
Nick told us later that he'd said a special prayer given to him by his Tai Chi master, one that he'd only used twice in his life, it is so powerful. Lili said she'd recited a Tantric prayer and I confessed I'd logged in to my star cluster for a bit of help. Richard said he'd known all along that they were safe and well, said he'd read the signs reflected in his bottle of Hieneken. Cider just said 'Cool' (he's fifteen).
What an adventure eh?
It has a nice ending too in that Lili was so overjoyed to see Socksie and Lila alive that she has decided we should keep them ( do you know how much cat food costs here?)
But I'm glad too.
Bessie the dog?
Hmm...she's giving out these long sighs and those ' what next?' looks in which she specialises.

Are you scared of ghosts?

I suppose everyone is really, although a lot depends on the time of day, or night and whether you are alone or with a friend or a pet, but not a rabbit (the old man keeps rabbits)
On Sunday evening our door bell rang and it was our neighbours (no, not the enemy) but Graciella, Simona, Renzo and Angela from down the road.
We've come to take you for a walk they say.
OK, sounds good, the evening is warm and almost balmy with a slight breeze as we wend our way on the four kilometre walk towards the upper bins i.e. the junction of the Sant'Ippolito and Monte San Martino roads. It's the night of the new moon (auspicious!) and there is just enough light left in the sky ( it's after 10pm) to see the road. And on either side of us the fireflies are weaving their symphony of light and Renzo does his usual trick of catching one and using it as a torch. Completely ineffective of course.
It's pleasant to stroll and chat at night and the conversation rolls around between us and life is easy at such times and this sauntering gradually smooths away the cares of life.
Bessie is puffing away at my side because she still hasn't shed her winter coat and is over heating (and over eating I might add) but she is managing to keep up. She's ten years old now and not quite as agile as she used to be of course and at such times I wonder what life would be without her. And I feel sad.
By the time we get to the junction it's completely dark and we are passing by the house of the old couple and Renzo mentions the son who comes to the house a lot nowadays to work in the garden. I say I've never ever stopped to talk to the old father but I always wave as I drive past although he never waves back just sort of stands there with his bent back and ancient hat, always the hat.
But he never acknowledges me I say.
Who? Renzo says.
The old man I say.
But when he asks.
When I wave to him I say, why, just this week when I saw him over there bent over the vegetable patch...
Michael, he says, what are you talking about? he's been dead for three years.

24hrs in the life of Micer Red

Sometimes it's important just to write about a day, the simple little things you do to get by. Technically, I suppose, such a day as this could be considered crushingly boring. But it all depends on how you feel inside, don't you think?
9.30 a.m. Monday morning. I drive into Amandola to renew my tax for the Kangoo (my strange French car).
Nice chap there; forget his name but he is always courteous to me once a year when I do all this car stuff. No problem he says as I hand him my log book. He types my data into his computer and, bingo, all my driving misdameanors pop up and before you know it, all the backdated car tax I owe too. You know, even if you don't pay road tax for a few years, nothing seems to happen, until one day you get a massive bill, ten times what you originally owed, plus a threat to possess your car..... then you move real fast. (and that's how I met this nice chap at ACI, the road tax office who is always helpful, especially at the time I owed three years worth). And then, and then, I see my MOT has run out (every two years here) and he says come back at 3pm and we'll fix it
10.15 Still in Amandola, I stop at the chemist to buy some hand cream. Now this is the chemist's home made stuff and it'll cure my rough gardener's hands he says with a wink. Why the wink? No Idea.
10.30 a.m I'm in Sarnano and I go to the comune to pay my parking fine which I picked up last Thursday at the market. But the vigilezza (the local police lady) isn't there, just her son, playing on her computer. He gives me that shruggy brain dead adolescent look to every question I ask, like where is she? when is she back, where could I find her now? ...so I give up and wander over to the office to download mail. BTW, town halls and offices generally are always full of sons and daughters just doing...what?... just hanging around, lost.
11 a.m. Lili turns up and we go for coffee and read the newspaper which is full of vitriol against the current Prime Minister, Prodi, who is generally hated to about the same measure as wicked King John in the time of Robin Hood. Of course Berlusconi is currently playing the role of the latter, accusing Prodi of robbing the Italians with his new taxes (you may laugh here, please do, I mean given his track record), Absentmindedly, I walk off with the newspaper and have to go back to return it. The barman just laughs and shrugs, I do the same.
Enzo, the chap who is our shiatsu masseur in Gualdo calls to remind Lili of her appointment but she doesn't feel too well, so she asks me if I'd like to go instead.
Ok, love to, at 6pm, fine.
12.30. We drive home for lunch. I pluck a lettuce from the orto and we have salad and pasta. Plus a handful of cherries each, those dark red ones you love.
13.30 It's sunny in the garden and we spend a while there just simple stuff like pruning and watching the grass, reading a bit too (Orhan Pamuk, 'The Black Book')
1400 Back to the office for a spell to clear up some mail and then..
1500 I whizz back inti Amandola for MOT. Now the MOT (the call it revisione) is run by the ACI chap's daughter, a slight 25 year old who darts about like a squirrel, plugging in tubes and leads to my car and winching it up in the air on rollers where the car travels 60mph at standstill and she brakes. Zack!
Finally she zips to the computer screen, prints out the reading and zooms past me to the office. Despite myself, I find my heart beating fast because this is how I always was when I had to get MOTs in UK. I ask, in a dry whisper 'Everything OK?'
'Of course' she says.
So I pay up and drive to the car wash and give my Kangoo a thank you shampoo and then to the car tyre workshop just down the road from the Car wash to get a wobbly tyre looked at. The boss takes it for a spin down the road while I wait and half way down he meets his wife and kid driving up from the other direction. They both stop their cars in the middle of the road and get out to talk to each other, of course blocking the traffic in both directions. But nobody cares. This can only happen in Italy I think, only Italy. Sure enough, one tyre is slightly out of kilter, come back Friday he says and I'll put two new ones on the front, I'm out of stock right now. Maybe Monday I say.
I drive home and my nephew calls from UK telling me of his arrival on June 18th. Here to do work on my sister's house. Work? what sort of work. Chipping off plaster and making windows he says. Now the house is currently being worked on by two Italian builders and look, I say, you can't just move in there without coordinating with these chaps first. It'll be fine he says. Hmmm.
Jack calls from San Francisco and says he's going to India via Germany and Italy and we work out a timetable so we can all meet in Venice on The 30th of June..it's his birthday and my friend Lorenzo has some work in the Biennale so we can double up and see that too.
1715 I drive back to the office and answer some mail and then to Enzo for that massage. Enzo's really good, he does bones as well as muscles, and is an expert on heads. Just as I am leaving his wife arrives and asks if she can practice her English on me. She's pretty good but a bit rusty and she says we can do a swap. Massages for English lessons. Poor Enzo (who doesn't speak a word of English) just looks baffled and has no idea of the deal we have just struck (he, after all, being the one who has to do the massage whilst she gets the free lesson)
1930 Back home in a storm and as we've decided to not watch world news anymore (a deadly drug) and there are no films worth watching, I read to the end of Pamuk's book, still struggling to understand his parallel world idea.
I write a bit, fiddle with a painting that's blocking me and at midnight take Bess for a walk and then to bed, whilst the kittens are still racing around the house.
That's it, that's a day.
What I want to know is, was that boring?
Is was a bit, wasn't it?

The trials and arrows

......................and by thus defeating end them.
Schoolboy memories.
We were in a restaurant just around the corner from our art show in Padova and Lorenzo's dad asked me to write something on my serviette. Like what? anything he said, so I did the schoolboy rote memory bit.
Hey, he says, this indicates to me that you have a great clarity inside you but you show chaos without... but that's OK because you use this in a creative way.
Ooh, I like that I say, but get uncomfortable, doubting looks from the other dinner guests.

Currently Bernie and I are continue to suffer the trials an arrows of new technology.
Yes, you guessed it, Fidoka, the wireless wizards..... More later.

You see, we have on loan from them a whole boxes full of wonders...wonders to charm the most illustrious of sheiks and international arms dealers. And with what we have in these boxes, Bernie (according to Fidoka) can wander great distances from this flashing blue beastie on my desk, the router.......


...and still pick up a signal and write an article for the Buenos Aires Herald (were there such a thing, could be, could be). It would be like throwing a paper dart into the sky, he says,.. as easy as that.




No such luck., not today, not today. Today which has the mountains covered with fresh snow just as they were at the beginning of June last year










.....and here we are wearing winter woollies, winter wellies, again. Today is a bad Fidoka day. You see how that word has already entered the main stream of ex-pat English here?...'Hey, come on, you're fidoking with me' and similar configurations of la lingua inglesi.
But, you know, I shouldn't be so hard on this little pioneering company.
Truth is, we got the wires mixed up in this wireless escapade,



I mean, just look!



Yep, all it needed was a bit of fiddling around and Bingo! we got the router to work. And yes , Bernie walks in a straight line up the road from the house, slowly disappearing into the distance cuddling his apple laptop , shouting 'I'm still on, I'm still on!'
And now there's only one problem...when he's on, I'm off!
We can't get both on line at the same time. It's like he's sucking the lifeblood from my PC with his fidoking Apple.
So off he will go to Fidoka this afternoon to sort out those techies once and for all.
If only, if only he understood Nerdish.
And he comes back and says I've got it sussed, I've got a diagram. OK let's see it I say, where is it? It's in my head he says. I groan and head for fridge. Mind you, to be fair, I must admit that things (instructions) do get lost in our heads sometimes (I'm talking about men here) Just this week I was sent to the supermarket with a shopping list for a dinner party that evening. Now, I always go into a state of panic and become word blind when I enter supermarkets and somehow just buy stuff which is immediately in front of me; shampoo, biscuits, baked beans. So instead of steak of vitello to make pancietta rolls, I come back with stewing beef! Can't tell you how it happened. I said I'm sorry but...
Hey, you know, the dog box ain't so bad a place to hang out of an evening.
With Bessie and her sasso museum.

We visited some friends up in Treviso on the weekend who live up in the sky in the middle of the historical centre. If you look up at their apartment from the piazza below, you see only what looks like a terraced garden. But up you go in a lift and low and behold they live in a wondrous rooftop palace with five children and this is what Francesco tells me about life up there.
We only watch SKY between channels 400 and 500, he says, and have our ADSL on all the time
to be in contact with the world outside, Why? To get reality, not the Italian version but info from the world outside (what does he mean, I'm thinking)...because nobody understands them in town and their need to think outside of the mainstream and they very seldom venture down, except to work (they are both dentists). Up in the sky they have everything, even a bonzi garden to care for at weekends. You must, he says, read up the Red Ocean, Blue Ocean Strategy. There are parallel possibilities in the main stream of life. So, I've ordered the book from Amazon. You know, we've gone wireless, I tell him. He gives me an empty look. Couldn't take the risk, he says. I let it go.

The kittens?

We've found a home for all of them, they are going in pairs, Socksie with Pix, and Pipo with Panda, his sister, who is somewhat strange with a long nose (picture)











Our battle with the neighbours?

They are such intimidating morons that they are not worth even the tiniest space in our minds, so I'll be brief. Suffice it to say that our lawyer says it could take 30 years for the case to be settled. Should turn out to be an interesting outcome for the 83 year old instigator of the whole mess. Climate predictions are that by that time this area of Italy would have become an extension of the Sahara desert, so their jealous eyes on my plum and apricot trees stare enviously and in vain.
And only the photographs will remain, only the photographs with submitted to our lawyer of their misdeamenours, like the photos I saw in the comune this morning as I was waiting to pay my parking fine. Pictures from the thirties: beautiful people on the Sarnano ski slopes, so elegant and cool and fashionable. And not even one of them could still be alive. Such stories there, such stories,

Mainly cats

This blog is mainly about cats.
Well, actually, not just cats but also insane neighbours, motorbikes and space and foxes.
Let's start with cats.

We now have seven. How come?
Well. you remember the story about Marina aka Diabolika?
Hmm, well we didn't think fast enough to act on our decision to have her doctored.
You guessed it...four kittens.
And here they are......



This photo was taken a couple of days after they were born..

And here's one from yesterday..His names's Rocco (the rest are girls I think)










Space

Saw these wondrous sculptures (by Antony Gormley) last week on a beach near Southport (Liverpool). A hundred bronze men scattered across 2k on beach looking towards the ocean, towards Ireland, America.



They looked so wise and expectant and hopeful. Also expansive and downright good natured. I hear they're scattered around London rooftops too.
Just couldn't help comparing them with our neighbours (of whom you always ask, don't you?) who are currently turning our once peaceful domain into a war zone. They got Vittorio (who'd bungy jump into a barrel of battery acid if asked) to move a huge cement trough/animal feeder up to the edge of our garden.



They've planted a sprig of Ginester in it, according to Graciella, which they'd illegally (it's protected) plucked from the woods nearby. This adds to the line of plants and flowers which follow the same route along this border. This is their way of saying, to themselves I can only imagine, that this little stretch of land is their's. Then I imagine they photograph it and send the pics to their lawyer as evidence to sue us with when the court case comes up (in ten years time).
Mean-minded medieval mentality. And a medieval law to boot.
A characteristic, they say, of Marchigiane Romans.

Summer
Although it's cool and raining as I write............. (ooh it's now sunny...here's a garden pic fresh from the lens).......



................we have in fact heard the first cuckoo (hooray) and the swallows have arrived and the house martins have returned to their nest on the sill above the back door.
The young foxes are venturing away from their mums and know no fear, so we have be careful to keep the kittens inside. The older foxes are hungry and they take risks too, coming close to the house to look for anything they can scrounge.
Lili was in the garden for a final look at the stars through the cigarette smoke and she yelled up to me that there was some strange animal in front of her. I rushed down but it had zoomed off.
She didn't know what it was so I quizzed her; you know, its size, how big were its ears, nose, head, its colour, length of its legs etc. Then we went upstairs to look through our animal book and the nearest creature we could match to her description was a leopard.
But I don't think so.
Think it was an old fox with hypnotic skills (they hypnotise rabbits don't they?) Squirrels too probably....and Lili.

And motorbikes?



Cats

This is a picture of a couple of bikers. Actually, they are Lili's cousin Paolo and his wife Donatella. I didn't get a pic of their massive Honda bike because I was feeling ill on account of having ridden on the back of said bike through the winding lanes of Caldarola. It was sea sickness made worse by vivid dark memories of two accidents as a youth on motorcycles. I'm strictly a car man. This part of Le Marche is a biker's heaven in the sense that it has countless empty roads with just manageable curves until, whammo! We see accidents almost weekly at this time of year.
Heaven indeed.

Wireless?

I was hoping you wouldn't ask. I can't get hold of Telecom to cancel the broadband order I made.
And Fidoka, the wireless provider still haven't climbed to the top of Gualdo tower to fix the aerial which still isn't sending me signals. Look, I'll do it I say, let me do it, I'll climb up there with a spanner and whack it one.
I still have to pay them but for what?
I'm in a dilemna.

The big day

Yes, today's the big day!
Bernie's on his way over from Rome and I've got it! It's true, I have...the aerial.
The aerial for our fantastic new 'wireless' adventure. Do you know what this means to us? No? Shall I tell you?
Well, for Bernie it means that he can come over and work in his country house away from Rome, send articles zooming out at 2000kps and Skype to his heart's content, even from the garden, (if we can manage to wireless the wireless as the lady at Fidoka tried to explain to me, unsuccessfully)
For us at Sambuco, it means Skype and being able to work from home and check our mail and then also to go out into the garden, or even snooze occasionaly. Oh, you know, all that stuff which will give us everlasting freedom and happiness. Yes, surely it will.
But, oh, if wishes were fishes!
Did it work?
Did it happen?
Hmm! sort of!
It became, in fact, an adventure.
Two days later
I came away from Fidoka with a box full of tricks and promises. This is what you have to do they said. You must plug all the wires and bits in and then wave the dish in the direction of Gualdo (4.7K away, it says on my form) and when the green light stops flashing, bring up the signal strength box and jiggle the dish until you get the lowest number between 50 and 90, (Whhhat?)
Have you ever tried adjusting a satellite dish after a scirocco? when the dish is one side of the house and the TV the other?
Easy, it's a breeze compared to wireless signal finding.... .
So there they were, my stalwart friends, standing on step ladders, hanging out windows in a howling gale, rain and sleet with me shouting no up,no down,no... where you were, hold it there, hold it there!
Until, bingo, we get green light to stop flashing and I call Fidoka and they say Nope, we can't pick you up this end.
(what?, we've been out here for two hours)
So we have to wait until Monday because they close on a weekend. They close?
But this is the only time when most folks have time to jump up and down in the garden with their wireless dish. Hey! But this is Italy, remember, they don't do service. OK Ok.




On Monday Pino arrives with a ladder and he fixes a metal pole onto the wall of our house and attaches the dish to it and points it at Gualdo and ...zilch, nothing...green LED flashing like crazy.
Winds begins to pick up again and Pino's grip on the ladder is looking decidedly
precarious then suddenly he shouts we've got it, the green light has stopped flashing! Again I call the company and no, they can't locate us.
So I look out of the window and see that Pino has the dish pointed at San Ginesio (9K away) and not Gualdo. Call Fidoka again and yes, they've found us beamed on to San Ginesio, but it's impossible, San Ginesio is too far!
So here I am, typing this via an ADSL broadband connection which can't possibly work but does.
Today I bought a compass in town to try to get at Gualdo the Boy Scout way.
I get home too late to try, It's getting dark, Gualdo has been consumed by a black cloud and it's beginning to snow.
And why was I late back?
I confess, I dropped Lili's precious Nikon wide angle lens this afternoon and took it in for dispatch and repair, swiftly and immediately to avoid death sentence ( which I'll get anyway)

The ski season, up until now) has been non existent. In fact wiped out, so no work for those poor chaps in the snow industry. For weeks it's been hovering above 20C, but guess what? Angelo shouted to me from his Kangoo yesterday afternoon that on Monday it's gonna drop by 15 degrees and we are all gonna be covered with the white stuff (snow, that is). Your dreaming I say to him (Angelo BTW is a ski instructor up in the mountains above us here) but no no he says, it's coming, it is, it is. But how can this be? All the trees are blossoming and the lizards and butterflies are out and I can't my grass yesterday evening. Hell' it just can't snow. What's worse, the geraniums are all outside and the lemon tree too. Oh dear, oh dear, I'll keep you posted.

Postscript
See above, It's March 21st and it's snowing like hell outside.



Just look at my blossoms, for goodness sake!

Do wireless waves travel through snow?
I mean, snow like this??



Bess and Rocco love it of course.

It's the end of the World as we know it

Or maybe it's just a very warm winter.
So this blog/newsletter is mainly about weather
Giovanni the builder told me this morning that his Grandmother is 85 and she's never experienced a winter like it.. Today is the 20th of January and it's 22 degrees C outside and the earth is bleached dry by the Scirrocco we had for the last two days which blew away untold treasures (like the ash from our fires which I'd sprinkled lovingly on the orto and one of Lili's paintings which was covering the strawberry patch). The snow slopes haven't even opened this year and their are some pretty glum faces around town.. no snow, no work.
But still most folk are walking around in winter clothing and mumbling about the snow that must come in February. It must, mustn't it?
Not so sure myself. We were in Istanbul last week and it was absolutely freezing and sleeting and I know the type of weather I prefer.
Warm and sunny.
So.
I think I'm gonna enjoy global warming
The animals are all quite happy and not at all phased by the upside-downness of it all. And bees, wasps, butterflies love it too...even flies (depending if educated or not, see below)
And yesterday it hit 25C..and then...and then..
That Scirocco. a blast up from the Sahara which tore my Buddhist prayer wheel to shreds and tore any remaining leaves off the trees too and took Lili's painting a kilometre away to Graciella's backyard.
Pictures show Renzo drinking my beer on the Saturday (or maybe he's just reading my beer) and then the day after,the Scirocco (see shredded prayer wheel)





Then as we drive off to Reggis Emelia for the weekend it's stars to snow and the temp drops a full 25 degrees.













So that's my global warming bit.
Today, as I write this before zooming it off to the ether, the temparature is back up to 16C again and as sunny as sunny. And Pino said to me, 'my potatoes are confused' (I think he means the ones he has sown is his orto (veggie patch))
Which? the red or the whites I quipped.
The reds he said.
I let it go.

58
Now what does this mumber mean to you?
I walk into Massimo's studio yesterday and there on his door is the number 58, large it is.. a big number 58.
Hey! Happy birthday I say
He throws me a quick frown (meaning how can you think I'm that age?)
It keeps flies away he says.
It's scientifically proven that if flies come into a room and see that number they fly right out again.
But there are two flies in here I say.
They're obviously uneducated ones he says.

I think this is called the Fohn effect.
Too many ions floating about addling people's brains.
And to top it all, I find that Lili's has thrown away my Doc Martens.

These are the first effects of global warming.
Folks are going nuts.

Zip Mouse crashed through the front door.
It was dinner time at La Villatoppo and if there are certain things you just don’t do at dinner time, well, Zip did them all at once. i.e. he crashed through the door without politely knocking first, he was late, he was badly dressed (torn shirt, trousers and shoeless) and worst of all, he was not only bleeding from his left ear, nose and tail, but he was screaming too.
‘I’ve just….I’ve just seen, been…I’ve’
And then he collapsed.
And then? Well, talk about a mixed reception..
The mousechildren dropped whatever they were eating (probably corncob sandwiches) and rushed over to Zip’s huddled form shouting what happened? who did it? where have you been? All at once of course.
The young mouseladies (being more refined and delicate), got to him just as quickly (if not faster) with their ooh aahs and their what’s happened to our poor brave handsome hero? sort of stuff.
And the menmice? They just carried on eating and giving each other that what’s he gonna tell us this time look.
Well, you might guess from all this that Zip is not just an ordinary mouse, but that he also a mouse for all persons, in all weathers, a mouse for all seasons (except winter). In other words he….
Ok lets’ hear the story from him (he is coming around slowly and his eyes are flickering open)
'Don't bite me, don't bite me!'
Oh we won't bite you dear famous adventurous Zip, they all cry (in one way or another)...they being the little ones. eyes wide open, mouths agape, and the young ladies assuming pert expressions; all huddled around Zip who now has been cleaned up somewhat and is about to be fed a delicious bowl of cereal soup by one of the young ladies (who by the way fought for this honour in a dastardly fashion, biting, scratching and elbowing the others in the kitchen)
Zip makes short work of the soup and gazes at his audience.
Oh, he says, I imagine you are eagerly awaiting my story (yes,yes) Well, I feel much better after that soup, I must say, so where shall I begin? (start by telling us how brave you are).
OK, yes, well as you all know, I'm probably the bravest country mouse who ever lived and have spend my life having adventures in order that I can come back and tell stories and eat delicious cereal soup (blushes from pretty young lady mouse). And this time I ventured into the land of the two legged giants (oh my!), made friends with a C.A.T. (shrieks) and flew through the air! (Ooooh!)
It happened like this.
I was trying to set up a deal with some housemice (Yuk!), to supply us bits of bread and tasty cereal snacks in return for poppy seeds and tobacco and I waited in the garden of the giants house for ages and ages for my contact to turn up but no show. So then I made a very brave decision (oooh!) to go by myself into the house of the giants and into the dark criminal world of the housemice (we hate them, we hate them!)

Thus did our hero begin to tell his tale about descending deep into the criminal world of the housemice mafia but how he instead walked straight into the paws and jaws of Eva the giant's C.A.T. who promises not to eat him, at least for a week, if in turn he taught her how to charm goldfish up to the top of ponds (oh, you know everything Zip!)
At the end of his story, Zip gazed absentmindedly at his empty cereal soup bowl and began to whisper, as if to himself. And the children and pert young ladies had to draw closer and strain to hear his softly spoken words.
It was time to say goodbye to my new friend Eva, principally because there was only five minutes left of our seven day pact and Eva was beginning to lick her lips. But she didn't bite me. She kissed me on the nose...and this is the weirdest part. All of a sudden the world went red and I was in the grip of one of the giants who was just about to bite my head off. So I bit him I did ( Oh ZIP!) and then I was whizzing around and suddenly flying through the air up up into the sky and then landing here just in front of Villatoppo.
( What a marvellous story Zip, our astronaut Zip!)
And they cheered and hugged him and the pretty young mouse went off to fetch him another bowl of cereal soup.

In the meantime, back on Earth
We have earthquakes
We get a shudder every other week or so......here it feels as if it's some 50 metres down, a wide rumble that moves at 50K per hour.
I know within seconds that we are experiencing one.
How?
The birds stop singing? Nope!
The dogs start howling? Nope!
This is how I know.
Lili gets up smartly from the table, or chair, or bed, and heads straight for the door. Not a word said, or an animal grabbed (let alone a husband)...just straight out into the road.
When it's over, she comes back in looking sheepish and pale.
It happened last week when we had dinner guests. I told them not to panic and we just rumbled through it and when Lili came back of course they all questioned her as to why she hadn't at least grabbed Marina ( kitten, as you know) She said 'sorry but it's bigger than me'.
Yes I said and an earthquake is bigger than us too.
She said she'd try harder next time.
Not quite sure what she means.
Running for the door perhaps.

Animals
This is the season of mice. Heaven knows what they are up to. Maybe getting as much food in before winter truly arrives. Eva is getting into the habit of bringing them in for Marina. She just plonks them at her paws, meeows and goes back for more. Marina plays basketball with them for half and hour or so and them eats them.
Last week though I walked into the kitchen and found Eva face to face with a pretty little field mouse. Lili came in and said Oh he looks sweet, catch him and throw him out, Eva's about to munch him up. So I grabbed a towel from the washing on the table and threw it over the little chap as he tried to dash away. Got him I did, then extricated him from the towel and took him down to the garden. I had him cupped in my hand with his little face peeping at me. Keep away
dear little chap I said... next time you'll get eaten. Then he bit me! He did, he bit me!
I let out a yell and threw him up in the air! the little beast, and went back inside to inspect and clean my wound.
There, you see, you try to do a mouse a kindness and what do you get?
Bitten that's what.





Other animal news?
Bessie dog got bashed up by Lucy, neighbour's dog and has spent nearly a week unable to walk.
She's almost over it though and I left her two bones at lunchtime by way of an incentive to recover.




The autumn has been more like summer with endless days of sunshine. As a kid I used to love snow. Now I'm happy if it stays on the mountains. Oh well, OK, maybe a romantic snowfall between Christmas and the New Year. Yes that would be nice

November 2006

Sambuco newsblog November 2006

If she finds out I’m dead in the water. Or maybe I should say when she find out, and not if.
It was a hijacking, a highway robbery.
And I was the victim.

What would she say?
She would say, Michael, how could you?
You, who have traveled the world and been swindled and cheated from New Dehli to Mexico City…how could you be so dumb?
And I would reply (you can bet I’m getting my replies practiced and ready)…. I would say something like…
Hey, come on! The road between Amandola and Sarnano? It didn’t enter my head!
You’re gullible that’s what she’ll say, gullible gullible gullible. Un ingenu, una pecora persa

You want to hear the story, don’t you?
I’ve got to start it by explaining that I’m the most non-racial person on this planet.
Why, when I first went to South Africa in the time of apartheid, and when I went through customs at Durban, I handed out sweets to to the African workers cleaning the floor with toothbrushes. Consequence?
Two hours in luggage inspection but spared from execution.

So here we are, the story.
I was driving back from Sarnano and to the side of the main road was a car with its bonnet up and what I took for an Indian family outside around it and the father trying to flag down passing cars...and nobody was stopping. Oh, poor souls I think and turn my car around and go back.
First mistake!
As I get out of car, the man grabs my hand and thrusts it to his heart and says Oh kind kind sir, today you have truly saved out souls and found a place for yourself in paradise (Help!). I am an Arab sir (Oh no!) and I live in France and am a respectable business man (Hmm!).
I say OK calm down. Are you out of petrol and can I drive you to the garage? Oh no gentle sir, he says, its that nobody will take my credit card and I need petrol money for the big drive to France.
He takes me to his car and says look look kindest man ever, there's the baby of my daughter in the back and you are saving her too by giving me E150.
Me, giving you a hundred and fifity Euros? Yes yes he says and yes yes says his wife who comes running over and starts wailing.
Look I say there's no way I can give you E150.
Yes you can he says and starts taking off bracelets, a ring a necklace. All gold he says. (Oh yeah?) A thousand Euros worth as a securuty.
Look, I don't want your gold I say and he starts throwing it on my dashbord.

OK.. to cut a long story short, I drive off a hundred Euros lighter and just know I've been done.
I hide the gold in my camera bag.
Then a few days back I check with our jeweller friend in town.
He takes one quick look through his eyeglass and chuckles.
Michael, all that glisters is not gold, he says.
Bottle it, I say.

It's wearing off now but I've felt bad about it for a week.
Robbed I was.

The weather.
On the third of November , in the evening, we had our first snow of the winter.
A shock, because there has been no build up. We’ve had an extended summer with temps last week hitting 28C. Sore throats, coughs ands sneezes, and that’s the cats. But now, a few days later the sunshine is back and we have temps up to 20C again.
Dry it is and the grass sown by Pino shows no sign of taking.
And when the cars drive past it's as dusty as summer.














Stamps
Feeling pretty aggresive after the highway robbery, I find myself in the post Office with 250 invitaions to post for an exhibtion Lorenzo and I have in Ancona. I have a hundred things to do and am late for an appointement.
Do they have a franking machine for a bulk stamping?
No!
But Michael the Post lady says, just leave them with me and i'll put the stamps on for you!
I stare intently at her. You will? You'd do that?
Yes, sure she says, pop back later, no prob.
And I walk out feeling better about the world.
I've been given something.. simple kindness.

Skype
Everyone's getting it. It's great. I can talk with my grandchildren in South Africa via video in real time. Who's that mummy?, my grandaughter says, as my face pops up on her screen.
Time to visit them.. I can't have them not recognining their own grandad. Shameful

Tai chi
Lili and I went on a Tai Chi weekend in Reggia Emilia. Taiost it was, full immersion for twelve hours. Got the shoes but need to buy the outfit for the next session in November.
Another trip to Decathlon.

The sky at night in August
The Milky Way
La Via Lattea
La Rue St Jacques (trust the French to be different)
Here it shrieks across the sky and on dark moonless nights such as we are having right now it takes you breath away it does. Bessie and I walk out at midnight along the top road towards Vittorio’s house and there it is, this chunk of white up there.
And they’re all stars for heavens sake I tell Bessie.
Who is as black as the night herself,but I hear her pattering along beside me and imagine her nodding yes.
Bessie, I ask, do you know why The French call it La Rue St Jacques ?
She mumbles something like 'Has it got something to do with the extortionate price of dogfood?'
I let this one go. What do dogs know about stars anyway?
It almost makes up for the disappointment of the La Notte da San Lorenzo, le stelle cadente, the night(s) of the falling stars, which were mainly cloudy.
Saw one tear from East to West above the roof of the house though. Huge it was.
Well, biggish.

During Ferragosto week, Bernie and Cristina visit us to calm their pre-nuptial nerves and we drive up to Lake Fiastra where it's cooler and the water is sweet and fresh. We take the mountain route back and being up there so high is a wonder indeed, another world, of strange blue flowers and diving hawks.




















The language lesson
Andrea, the woodman calls me and says Michael I’m delivering your winter logs right now. Yes I say but you said you’d give me a call a couple of days beforehand. Hmm he says anyway I’m on my way now and can you be here to supervise the offloading so that I don’t crush Lili’s favourite rose like last year. No way. I’m busy, I can't get home, but look I say, I trust you, just put them over the wall (as in over the other side of), sopra il muro, avoiding sacred rose bush.
OK he says I’ll put them over the wall avoiding sacred rose bush.
Good idea, I say.
I get back late to find he’s dumped a trailer load over the wall, (as in completely covering).









Andrea, I say when I meet him in town the next day, I meant over the wall, not over the wall.
You should have said, he said.
Great eh? Isn’t that just great?
Your fault, Lili says later when she’s back from her hairdressing trip to Treviso, you should have used your hands, what do you think hands are for in Italy?
How can you talk if your hands are always stuck in your pockets, you English?

Tennis and the death watch beetle
You’ve heard of tennis elbow, but do you know what I’ve got? Tennis shoulder. Yes, that’s what I’ve got, tennis shoulder.
I had a game with my geometra friend Massimo…first game for eight years and I was bit uhm…creaky. The brain stays young, they say, but the body doesn’t always quite agree.
Hell, I remember, I do, I could slam a backhander and get to the net in a wink.
OK, this physical impediment I can handle, but psychological warfare?
Now where did that French soccer captain get his bad football pitch manners from?
I’ll tell you, Italy. He played here for some eight years for Lazio.
And this is the first time I’d played tennis with an Italian, and I’m getting rattled because every time I get a good shot in (which wasn’t that often on account of rapidly deteriorating shoulder condition brought on by whiz bang serves), Massimo lets out the most indelicate and vulgar curses. Monster, idiot, elephant, you are a stupid, fat, slow and ugly elephant he shouts, (these are the cleaner selection of epithets he was hurling my way).
After a while I have to say look Massimo, I find your curses a bit upsetting and I don’t think I really deserve them.
Oh, cripes, Michael, he says, it’s not you I’m cursing, it’s myself.
Oh!
So we settle back into the game and I’m thinking maybe our Italian player was cursing his own mother and sister and La Captaine Francais didn’t quite understand the context.
Soothing thought.
Doubtful though.
I should mention here that everywhere the Italian flags are still flying even after almost two months since the world cup. It’s as if that’s all there is to hang on to. Two months of Prodi’s government where daily everybody is receiving fresh tax bills, oh not just for tax but everything we are just not used to paying, this is Italy for heaven’s sake, rates, water bills, refuse bills, etc.
Are they crazy? This is Italy for God's sake! (Here BTW you get the added delight of a sweet attachment which says if you don’t pay within ten days they will repossess your car) And what exactly would they do with the ten million cars they repossess? Where would they park them?
Napoli I imagine, or maybe Albania.
Talking about Albania, when we were in Croatia the other week on a short holiday, we were told that Albania is the new Croatia, implying that it’s half the price to go and stay there, rip off the locals and cash in before the Sunday papers start writing about it and the globalisation gets a grip.
Somehow I can’t imagine any journalist coining the term ‘The new Albania’, but journalist would and could, you bet! Last week I read in the Guardian an article entitled
‘Tuscany, the new Tuscany’
Oh, good grief!
Ah yes, the deathwatch beetle.
Tick tick tick. All night it ticks Lili says and you can’t hear it because you’re stone deaf.
Only in Italian restaurants I say and it’s selective.
What’s selective?
My hearing problem, I say. I can only not hear certain things. She says it might have something to do with my excessive use of a mouse.
I haven’t got a mouse I say.
No no, she says, my Rolfing therapist (rolfing?) tells me that using a PC mouse does damage to your back, eyesight, and gives you headaches, so maybe that’s why your losing your hearing too and why your tennis shoulder won’t heal.
And the tick is driving her mad because the beetle is obviously getting bigger and bigger and soon it will have babies which will eat all the roof beams and the house will fall down. Whoa! I say, hold on hold on, we’ll trap and destroy this beast, but do you know why it is called a deathwatch beetle?
Because it watches death, she says.
Oh dear, no wonder you can’t sleep at night, I say.
I call our friend John who used to be a pest control expert in London and he comes over with a bunch of books on wood blights.
And this is what we discover,
a) That the death watch beetle is only tiny, maybe a centimeter long
b) That the ticking sound is not her eating but tapping on the wood with her nose (please don’t ask)
c) That there is a paste which applied to said beams is a sure knock out killer.

So John has ordered magic paste from friend in London and soon we will be saved, forever. And the magic paste will fix everything, my shoulder, my hearing… and soften the deathwatch beetle’s nose.

Our war with our neighbours?
They are suing us to try and take away a piece of our garden so it can be theirs, citing a medieval law which is called ‘Usocapione’ They have witnesses to swear on their behalf that they cultivated this piece of land whilst simultaneously living and running a bar in Rome for twenty years. A difficult task. Must have exhausted them.
And you know what surprises me the most?
That I have murderous thought running through my mind.
Blood and earth.
Must be the Saxon- German blood in me.

The animals
You ask about Diabolika?
She has now accepted her new name of Marina.







She has won the hearts of us all and even snoozes cuddle up to Bessie.
Eva has returned home after her few weeks of jealousy and is beginning to play with her, and Forch is basically knackered because being her adopted father is one thing…. but playing with her all day? Come on. Some respect for my age, please, says he.

You can read my other stories in the Physik Garden, http://www.physikgarden.com/chronicles.html
And see some of my paintings on...
http://www.physikgarden.com/glasshouse/glasshouse.html

Margherita

This is a photo of our little niece Margherita.
If you live in Italy, you might have seen her face on TV and in the newspapers over the last two days.
She was born with a very rare physical deformity which has meant for her that virtually her first two years of life have been in hospitals, with feeding tubes in her nose and down her throat (because she didn’t have full control of her swallowing mechanisms) and only a small body frame to get around on. But try to achieve she did; and showed such amazing courage in the face of obvious pain and continuous discomfort.
She had her second birthday some two weeks back and she was so proud that she was beginning to walk and talk, if just a little, and even feed herself with a spoon.
On Wednesday she went in for a routine check up before she was to be taken to the US
where her parents had found a specialist who might have been able to help her to grow up in a more normal fashion.
She was to have a simple scan and the doctor there decided that she should be sedated to stop her moving during the process. He couldn’t find a vein in her arm to inject into and told her parents that he would give her gas instead. He applied the mask to her face and despite her struggling to pull it off, he held it firmly and then after too long a time he was seen to ask an attendant nurse to switch the gas on. There was then a whoosh of gas and Margi took a deep breath and her eyes rolled back. The parents at this time realized that something was wrong but the doctor told them he knew what he was doing and then tried to revive her. At no time did he call for assistance in what was obviously a deteriorating situation. Nor did he even after an hour of pumping her body for response when she had obviously died. But this he did not have the balls to tell the parents saying all the time that he had the situation under control.
Yesterday morning we went to see her at the morgue in Castel del Franco.
She looked so sweet and peaceful and was still dressed in her pretty little outfit all dolled up for her final hospital visit before her trip to the States.
The family of course is in pieces.
How can you handle this? You can’t, you can’t.
All that we can ask is that you say a little prayer for her.
And for those of you who have never met her to hear, if only from me, that such courage, albeit during a short short life, was something one comes across rarely.
Courage, that’s what she had.




And I shall never forget this that she has taught me.
That above all you need courage and to be brave in life.
Thank you Margi.

And the doctor?
I hope he gets struck off and put in jail.There will be an autopsy and investigation next week.
He is being prosecuted for culpable homicide.
But that doesn't bring back our little Margi.

Diabolika
This little mite of a creature!
What good is it to anyone?
Adoptable? No way!
But little mites can be family too you know, especially if they are insistent and say (in a meeeoowish voice),
‘Take me home with you, go on! I know you don’t know me and I know I look small and useless… but I’m brave, that’s what I am’
I’d gone down to dump the rubbish in the bins at the bottom of the road and opened the door of the car to find a little face looking up at me; one infected eye and a wasted body.
‘Please take me home’ she meeoowed.
Nope, I don’t do this…this I do not do. What if I were to pick up any stray kitten when I drive around, why, the house would be full of.......
‘I’m not any stray kitten, my name is Diabolika, and I intend to play a part in your future’
Oh no, absolutely not.
I go to close the back door of the car and she jumps in before I can slam it tight.
I pick her up and throw her on the ground and she positions herself under the wheel.
Look, I say, I’m busy and I just can’t deal with this.
‘Just give me a trial then. Feed me and fix my bad eye and if you really can’t love me, then I’ll go away’

Two weeks later.





She has won the heart of Forch, our aggressive, rude and indifferent male cat. He has fallen deeply in love with her. Eva was and is still a wee bit jealous but Diabolika is working on her now too.
Bessie our dog just noses her and laughs.

Last night as I tucked her in at bedtime with her toy tiger she looked up at me and said.
‘You see, I was right; I knew you would all come to love me. We’re all one big family now aren’t we? I’m a loveable addition to your family, aren’t I? And the more love there is, the happier we will be, won’t we?’
Yeah yeah, I guess you’re right, I mumbled softly to myself as I staggered off to bed.
Softly so she wouldn’t know she’d touched my heart too.