Life in italy and other musings.....

www.wilfanddigby.blogspot.com

2009-11-21T16:46:00.003+01:00

We are now in France. The blog has moved to :

www.wilfanddigby.blogspot.com

Waiting to be connected

2009-11-12T20:12:00.003+01:00

We made it safely to France and Wilf and Digby are in fine form. Our lack of news reflects France Telecoms inability to connect us to the internet - we are having to use a steam powered connection that links at 2kb's which takes forever and makes blogging impossible. I'm in London today - hence the post on the hotel computer - and 'the font' has been to Toulouse to remonstrate with France Telecoms local office. Thanks for all your comments. Talk (hopefully ) soon.

Here comes www.wilfanddigby.blogspot.com

2009-10-14T06:32:00.009+02:00

As you'll see from the top photo the packing is now entering its final stage.By tonight all that will be left is our bed and the bags we'll be taking with us. We are enjoying ourselves although with one cereal bowl,one spoon, one plate and one knife, breakfast has to be taken in shifts. I guess you'd call it hot bowling. After 34 years of collecting things it's as if overnight we've gone back to the simplicity of being students again.

Today will be spent packing the car. Two things are apparent. 1) The huge SUV despite its impressive external dimensions has less usable storage space than the dog car and 2) three quarters of what will be packed is bedding, kibbles ,toys and treats for the boyz.We are restricted to two tote bags on the back seat- just like travelling with toddlers. The lack of space in the car is the perfect excuse for me to be gallant and claim that I've sent on my own carefully stored wardrobe to make extra space for the 'fonts' clothes - in one fell swoop I can turn my sartorial problem into a chivalric gesture!

The computer gets packed later this morning so this may be the last post for a few days. We'll take the laptop with us and try to post en route to the new home. Our first stop on Thursday and Friday night is at a remote hotel deep in a Tuscan valley and a mobile phone signal , let alone a WiFi link, are not to be expected, but we'll try. By Saturday night we should be across the frontier and into France so posting should be possible again. After Saturday,new posts will be on the replacement blog www.wilfanddigby.blogspot.com as Life in Italy will be well and truly behind us. Thank you all for your comments over the last few days - it's truly heartening to get support from people you've never met but who you read about on their blogs every day. Strange how regular blogging has that effect.

The two boyz are sitting in the drawing room barking at all the boxes - even they are now aware that something is up. Tickles and treats are being handed out in abundance. Yesterday afternoon they had the time of their lives. Every time a carpet was taken outside to be rolled up and wrapped, Wilf and Digby would arrive and settle down in the middle of it,luxuriating in the late autumn sunshine.Digby still dislikes one of the workmen.

For now 'au revoir' - we'll post pictures of the boyz adventures when we can.

Digby takes an arch dislike to a packer.

2009-10-13T08:12:00.010+02:00

Winter has arrived. Yesterday afternoon a sudden squall blew in bringing with it a downpour of rattling hail and a bracing wave of frigid air from Siberia - the temperature fell from 28 to 14 degrees in half an hour. While we are complaining, the two boyz are in seventh heaven. This morning it is barely eight degrees and their Polish cold weather DNA has reasserted itself - they have rediscovered that boundless energy of puppyhood and are flying across the fields enjoying the arctic conditions. The removal men are doing a great job. A quarter of the house is now echoingly bare, a half in a state of chaos, and the final quarter still bearing some resemblance to a home.

We have a bit of a problem with the packers. For some reason Digby has taken a violent dislike to one of them. We simply can't work it out. He ignores all the others, but with this one guy he becomes a fifteen inch tall growling, snarling ,horrible aggressive beast. Naturally,Wilf is happy to play with them all. We wonder if the packer doesn't remind him of one of the robbers.

I was able to save the 'fonts' clothing yesterday but the bulk of mine had disappeared into those strange hanging wardrobes that packers use. This morning I am therefore combating the cold by wearing the top from a pair of British Airways pyjamas under my shirt. In addition I have come across a marvellous pair of 'combat pants' that belong to a younger Angus. In future I shall only ever wear combat pants - I can carry a monkey wrench, a can of WD40, the car keys, twine, a pair of pliers ,and still have pockets left over. The 'font' has so far not commented on my attire - the imminent arrival of the packers being a helpful distraction. Let's just hope that I'm not expected to go to any fancy restaurants on the journey to France - I fear that I shall have to rely on liberated 'younger Angus' clothing which may raise eyebrows when adorning the older Angus figure.

Four days to go.

2009-10-12T06:34:00.007+02:00

Chaos and panic are the watchwords for today and I fear it can only get worse.The 'font',who has suddenly gone into hyper mode, has just asked me where I've hung the clothes we are going to wear for our journey to France. Put simply I haven't thought about clothes for the journey and have left everything in the wardrobes and dressers for the movers to pack. Diplomacy being my middle name I have not alluded to this fact . Rather than make an already fraught situation worse I shall instead demonstrate a cool, calm demeanour and try to extricate whatever clothing can be rescued from the super efficient packers. I just hope I've not left it too late !

For the rest of the day I think that Messrs.Wilf and Digby together with yours truly will need to find some quiet corner where we are well away from the organized chaos that has settled on our little piece of paradise.

Thank you for all your kind comments over the weekend. The traumas of moving have clearly struck a chord. The new blog address when we move to France will be http://www.wilfanddigby.blogspot.com/ . I tried 'Life and other musings' and all sorts of philosophical twists thereon but the names were all taken.

The two boyz don't seem to have understood that the gang of men wandering around the house and grounds are packers. Wilf has been greeting everyone in sight with a ball in his mouth - he has the firm belief that he has found a group of new ball throwing playmates.Long may it last!

Now comes the hard part.

2009-10-11T06:47:00.008+02:00

We have finally run out of packing cases.Today is therefore a day for relaxing and taking stock before the storm breaks tomorrow morning when the removal team arrive from Rome. I thought we had downsized to a simpler lifestyle after leaving Scotland but the slimmed down version will still take four guys, four days to box up. The boyz are still unaware of the change that is rapidly approaching - they will be getting a lot of attention and reassurance in the coming week. In the meantime they are chilling in the courtyard.

Tonight we have a farewell dinner at the slow food restaurant in the village with our lovely American/South African neighbours. It's one of the joys of life that you can unexpectedly meet and make new friends .These people were so caring and kind after the 'late unpleasantness' that we want to work at keeping them in the close family circle. It is all too easy to let friends become acquaintances.Parting will be a little sad but France is only twelve hours down the autostrada.

Our other duty today is harder, the funeral of a young Carabinieri sergeant. He was gunned down and killed and two of his colleagues wounded in a shoot out with a car thief. They had all been to the house three our four times after the burglary and had been most concerned and solicitous about our welfare. We never came across violence until recently and now it seems to have become a background to life in Italy. The 'font' has written a letter of condolence to the wife and family which we will deliver to the cathedral. Funerals generally take place within 24 hours here and I am steeling myself for an event of great emotion. Isn't it strange how Europeans view America as a land of violence yet our American friends don't need state of the art security systems.

Rain, heavy rain.

2009-10-10T06:54:00.007+02:00

Dawn arrived bright and clear but it soon clouded over and dense,heavy,Mull type rain has arrived - much needed by the olives after a month of scorching weather. Digby can sense the thunder rolling on the hills in the distance and has become clinically attached to my right ankle, all the while doing his best impression of a Dickensian waif dog. Wherever I go - he goes. Wilf by contrast is quite happy dozing in the kitchen dreaming that the cookie jar has fallen off the shelf and deposited its contents right in front of him. In terms of character these two are just so different - Wilf the strong silent type and Digby the exact opposite.

Even though I say so myself the depleted packing team did a wonderful job yesterday throwing out old paint cans and disposing of a collection of garden chemicals. Whatever looked as though it might be useful in the garden or fields has been redistributed down to the pool house for the benefit of the new owner. The cupboards are now 100% empty! Digby sat in the hallway watching me clear out - in the process reassuring himself that nothing edible was jettisoned . Faced with a decision on whether an item should stay or go I would ask Digby his opinion - one bark yes, silence no. It worked a treat. I'd like to think that talking to a dog is different from talking to yourself

All being well the 'font' returns today to the delight of all concerned - not least to have someone with a vocabulary to talk to. The boyz will be particularly happy that their diet of plain kibbles will now be augmented by all sorts of healthy goodies.

Canine helpers.

2009-10-09T06:51:00.016+02:00

With the packing team reduced to just me (aided by the inefficient but extremely enthusiastic input of the two boyz) progress on crating up has fallen a little behind schedule. Nothing daunted we are up bright and early this morning armed with wrapping tape, rubbish sacks and a Stanley knife. It is now the turn of the paint and tool cupboard to face the weeding out process and after that if time allows the broom cupboard.

Yesterday evening I stripped the sheets and duvets off all the guest beds, a tedious process that Digby being Digby thoroughly enjoyed . Every time a crumpled sheet or duvet hit the floor he was there, gleefully leaping onto the pile, his little face beaming with delight,rump wagging away, mind and body fully engaged in some mysterious canine nest building routine. Finally, as the laundry pile turned into a laundry mountain he could be found perched, serenely, on top of it. Pure,unadulterated,mischevious dog and such marvellous company!.

I didn't notice it last night but this morning the whole place has quite a different feeling.Not only do the guest rooms look strangely barren without bed linens but somehow the sight of uncovered matresses brings home the fact that bit by bit the family home is turning into just another house. Looking back at the blog I see that it was on April 9th, six months ago exactly that our love affair with Italy came to a grinding,random halt - a natural time in the greater scheme of things to move onto new adventures. But goodness me with hindsight what a hectic six months, deciding to move, advertising the house, selling to the first person who came to see it, chosing a new home, and now the fun of packing.Still to come the fun of unpacking!

We shall have to decide on a new blog name as 'Life in Italy' will be redundant within a week. Wilf has spent much of the morning so far contentedly finding and depositing balls at the front door so maybe it should be entitled ' The ball games continue?'.

"Toutes larmes de leurs yeux".

2009-10-08T08:20:00.017+02:00

Tired after the stress of the early start and irritated by the endless stream of trucks heading out of Rome along the autostrada I drove across the back roads into Umbria - the landscape by now sun drenched and pleasant - the blue sky cloudless. Past Bolsena with its lake and cathedral the road climbs steeply upwards merging into the high ridge that carries on to Orvieto. At the brow of the hill a pair of limestone gate piers, well kept and unweathered, somehow familiar but out of place here. A parking spot offering an excuse to briefly breathe fresh, unfreoned air. From the gate a gravel path pointing through thick stands of dark green holm oaks,tall leafy acacias,faded wild irises and bee swarmed gentians towards another set of piers and a small bronze gate, three feet high, the upper edge burnished with use.

Beyond, the view widens - the lake in front, fields of golden autumn wheat on either side, ahead and above a glimpse of the purple mountains of Tuscany - a tranquil scene of sweet,gentle,timeless grace. And then the shock. On the slopes below, invisible at first,five hundred,maybe more, identical purbeck tombstones in parade formation. The hidden,almost forgotten,resting place of Dominion boys fallen along the isobars of their advance.

Whoever chose this untroubled spot must have grieved like a father for each of these young South Africans,New Zealanders,Australians,Canadians and Scots. No human hand alone could have set these stones here with an intimacy as real as wandering into a gathering of close friends. A place so secret that the sheltering forest seems to wrap its arms around its ever sleeping charges denying access to winter storms and summer squalls. Ranks of eighteen and nineteen year olds, the brief carved outlines of their lives: - birthdate,nationality,regiment,date of death, age - sometimes a couplet from a non-conformist hymn or a line that honors the name with thin substance 'loving father,dutiful son'. Flesh condensed to stone, unquantifiable mothers grief expressed in no more than sixteen words.

Few now find their way to this scented place, their generation gone and the road beckoning to brighter,happier destinations. A Quebecois, clearly moved,had written in the visitors book the simple comforting line " et Dieu essuiera toutes larmes de leurs yeux". I'd like to think so, and the rest too - "neither sorrow,nor crying,neither shall there be any more pain". Italy should be a destination of happiness and joy so I won't go back to this place; but I'll remember it as hallowed ground, an achingly majestic spot where the veil between the worlds is worn yieldingly thin. As I left to climb the hill the acacias rustled lightly in an absent breeze as if berating me for my lack of manners. I closed the gate,turned and said out loud, where no one but these resting sons could possibly have heard my voice, 'thank you'.

Wilf and Digby played half heartedly when I got home and then sat by the gate looking up the hill waiting patiently for the 'font'.

Hectic. Will post later.

2009-10-08T07:53:00.005+02:00

The ringing phone at two am. Sleepy irritation evaporating at the 'yes,yes,I understand'. Thirty minutes with the boyz in the floodlit garden, Wilf running through the lavender, Digby skirting around it. A quick rush to the airport in Rome ( thank you British Airways for finding a seat for the 'font' on a full plane and doing it with calm, warm efficiency- the recurring kindness of strangers ), then a hurried farewell at the departure gate. " Have you got your passport? I'll arrange a rental car. Don't worry about a thing ". A quick peck on the cheek, a squeeze on the shoulder lasting perhaps a moment too long, a silently mouthed goodbye at the security line, no looking back. All the buttoned up Presbyterian routines and formulas to keep emotions in check.

Pale gums.

2009-10-07T07:00:00.006+02:00

The 'font' was worried about Wilfs behaviour. He was uncharacteristically lethargic,looked at, rather than chased the ball and to top it all skipped lunch. As Wilf ranks food as his greatest single pleasure in life this was a particularly worrying sign. A quick examination showed that he had unusually pale gums. Rather than face a sick dog during our exodus to France,he was in the back of the car and off to our marvellous vet within record time. These were the exact same early symptoms of the poisoning that nearly finished him off in early 2008. The local hunters put down poisoned chicken pellets to kill the foxes ( on our land ) and naturally Wilf being Wilf managed to sniff out some of these tasty but lethal morsels. Hence the 'fonts' alarm .

Of course, the very second we got him in the car he perked up and by the time we got to the vets the colour was back in his gums and he was raring to meet the vets attractive young female Briard . After twenty minutes of tests the diagnosis? Tiredness. Usually the boyz sleep for a couple of hours in the morning and again for three hours in the afternoon. Recently, with so many visitors coming to the house Wilf has been sleeping less and playing ball more ... much more. Last night he retired with as much dignity as he could muster at seven and slumbered for eleven hours solid. This morning he is back to his usual form and ferreting around in the courtyard while his little brother dozes under a pine tree in the sun.

The hard drive and the hammer.

2009-10-05T15:30:00.006+02:00

Yesterday spent with the local bureaucrats who dream up ever more obtuse requirements and demands for the permits needed to sell the house. We still seem to be inhabiting a Faustian parallel universe when it comes to providing the planning approvals for a house that has been part of the landscape for the last two thousand years.

Returned home after a challenging day with the lovely men and women of the planning department to find the 'font' whacking away at various computer components with a large hammer . Seemingly a google search had shown that this was the only way to dispose of old computer hard drives and prevent some bright spark accessing all our stored bank account and pension details. The boyz watched the whole process from a careful distance as the 'font' worked away pieces of plastic and brass flying in every direction. At the end of the process the hard drive looked remarkably intact - maybe that's the real reason they are called hard drives.

Wilf and Digby remain in fine fettle. I don't think they have woken up to the fact that all the activity is related to another move. A constant stream of visitors to the front door has kept them happily engaged while surreptitious packing goes on all around. What they will make of it when a team of packers complete with large pantechnicon arrives on Monday remains to be seen. Let's hope the team are keen on ball games!

10 days to go.

2009-10-05T06:30:00.008+02:00

Awake early - the backlog of things to be done ahead of the move seems to be growing rather than shrinking so my mind was in gear and racing by four thirty. We've been carting 'stuff' out of the front door for over two weeks now and the house seems to be as full of things as ever . On top of it all Italian bureaucracy is having a field day - the list of bills to be paid and tax documents to sign keeps getting longer and longer. Anyway, there are still ten full days to go before we hand over the keys.

An interesting/worrying column by Thomas Friedman in the NY Times in which he raises a subject that is exercising many of our American friends. " I have no problem with any of the substantive criticism of President Obama from right or left - but something very dangerous is happening. Criticism from the far right has begun tipping over into delegitimation and creating the same kind of climate here as existed in Israel on the eve of the Rabin assassination". One of the satellite channels we can get here in the Italian mountains is Fox News and there does seem to be a tendency towards rage in their analyses. Was it there before or is it a new phenomenon ?

Digby is outside on the grass keeping a watchful eye on the central heating boiler repair man (he doesn't throw the ball and is therefore held to be suspicious) while Wilf is as usual, unconcernedly asleep at the front door. Digby may be the smaller of the two boyz but he has the heart of a lion.

Reunited with old friends.

2009-10-04T06:40:00.008+02:00

We are being blessed with the most perfect weather. 30 degrees during the day, low teens at night, not a cloud in the sky and clear, unpolluted air that enables us to see forever. Italy wants us to leave remembering her at her very best.

Now that we're in the final two weeks before the move the local tradesmen have started to come to the house to bid a formal goodbye. Yesterday morning the builder brought his son and 6 month old grandson along to thank us for always being so grateful for the work he'd done. In the afternoon it was the joiner and his son who arrived on the doorstep to thank us in exactly the same terms. How heart warming. There is something charming about Italy and ( most of ) the Italians that sets them apart - old style courtesy and pride in their craftsmanship remains the norm. I fear an emotional departure is on the cards by the time the neighbouring farmers come to say farewell.

Wilf and Digby have of course thrived on the stream of people coming through the door. For them it is an excuse to find innocents who are willing to throw the ball, and throw the ball, and .... . In the process of clearing out the house, old toys that had been carefully hidden have come to light. For Wilf there is nothing like being reunited with an old heavily chewed friend.

It was shoe clearing out time this morning. Left unsupervised the 'font' would have retained a world class collection of footware but the two year rule was applied and four large garbage sacks of boots, sandals,babouches and espadrilles have gone to the skip.

A squirrel up an olive tree

2009-10-02T21:53:00.007+02:00

This morning while I was checking on the irrigation system a squirrel wandered through the open gate into the courtyard, climbed an olive tree, clambered back down and then sauntered out - disdainfully ignoring the presence of the two boyz . Wilf and Digby pride themselves on their squirrel chasing skills but exhausted after their morning walk they managed to sleep soundly through the squirrels arrival and departure. It is only now, half an hour after the critter left that the re-energized brothers have woken up to the fact that we have had a visitor. The two of them are sitting under the tree, noses in the air, sniffing the wind and staring at the spot where the long tailed interloper sat. Occasionally,Wilf lets out one of his ridiculous high pitched chihuahua whines denoting extreme frustration. So far they have shuffled through a 90 degree arc around the base of the tree and within an hour they should have completed a full 360 degree turn. Why watch Letterman when you have home grown comedians? They'll eventually come in for lunch.

Play mode engaged.

2009-10-02T06:29:00.010+02:00

The two boyz were at their most boisterous this morning , not so much walking beside me as dancing along the farm track. Their obvious happiness may well be something to do with the cooler weather - a huge relief if you go around in a double layer fur coat every day. You'll see from this mornings pictures that play mode has been firmly engaged. After a week of glorious sunshine this morning brings with it the first hard hint of winter with dew on the ground and the metal farm gate cold to the touch . Yes, it is also the first day since mid-April that I've had to put on a sweater.

Why is throwing out clothes so difficult? The 'font' has issued an edict that anything I haven't worn in the last two years is not going to the new house The original edict was to throw out anything I'd not worn in the last twelve months but it was graciously agreed that this was too draconian. Yesterday evening was therefore spent with me defending the retention of a variety of clothes that I'm quite sure I'll fit into again one day. The font rather cruelly pointed out that I'd either have to contract a rare wasting disease or give up chocolate and wine (together!) if waist band and waist were ever to exist in harmony. Faced with that choice out went a rather dashing Prince of Wales check from Edinburgh ( fine when bought but really more suitable for a younger figure I was told ), a dinner jacket, and a variety of comfortable ( in 'font' terms shabby ) office suits together with a surprisingly large pile of jumpers and sweaters ( what's the difference?) that have skulked at the back of the wardrobe since we arrived here four years ago.

My task for today is to clear out the pool house and cellar. To that end I've been issued with a roll of twenty large heavy duty rubbish sacks.The boyz and I have a fun filled morning ahead of us. Who knows what might lurk in the cellar after lying undisturbed for four years? The more malodorous it is the more Wilf and Digby will enjoy it.

Two grumpy old colonels.

2009-10-01T07:24:00.006+02:00

Goodness only knows what had been wandering through the fields last night but whatever it was fired up the boyz pretty quickly. They were off at high speed, noses down, rumps high, zigzaging across the olive groves at high speed. I reckon for every yard I covered they covered at least eight. Even Digby with his sore hip was springing and leaping like a puppy. After half an hour of intense activity they are now stretched out at the front door in a deep,deep sleep. A concentrated grooming session to get the assorted seeds and mud out of their hair will be needed later today.

It was decidedly chilly this morning - the thermometer was registering 14 degrees - the coldest it's been in six months. Sometime next week the sweaters are going to have to come out.

The 'font' returned from London last night. We were so busy talking and laughing that the boyz decided to take themselves off to bed. As they went up the steps Digby ,who was decidedly miffed at the lack of attention, turned and gave us his best 'see if I care' look. Sometimes it's like living with two grumpy old colonels.

Two weeks today and we'll be on our way. The 'font' has drawn up a schedule of what needs to be done. I feel the cold hand of panic wrenching at my stomach. Surely there must be at least another six weeks in which to get everything packed, labelled and moved?

Digbys private moment.

2009-09-30T06:22:00.009+02:00

The 'font' is away in London so it was left to Digby to make sure that I didn't sleep in. True to form there he was at 5.28 am sitting at the side of the bed, eyes focused on me, willing me to get up.The first few minutes of the day are when Digby and I share a secret ritual. Every morning he comes to sit by me, claws delicately tiptoeing across the stone floor, so that the second I stir he's ready to flip on his back , sprawled out, ready for a private tickle . He wraps his two front paws around my arm, throws his head back, closes his eyes and exhales a protracted rush of pure undiluted canine happiness - you can literally see all his cares evaporate away. No matter how much of a hurry I'm in this routine is set in stone - the mornings first commandment . Wilf of course sleeps contentedly through, prefering to catch as many zzz's as possible and quite unconcerned that his little brother is the centre of attention.

Looking at the two of them I'm more and more of the opinion that Digby knows that Wilf is a dog but hasn't made that connection to himself. Wilf would play ball and chase lizards all day whereas Digby would prefer to sit down and have a wee chat.

It's political party convention time in the UK. Why is it that politicians treat the electorate in such a cavalier manner? The governments tax take has fallen by 30%, the country's GDP has contracted by 5%, unemployment is soaring, and yet the Prime Minister made his keynote speech without so much as alluding to the enormity of the problems the nation faces. We got more of the 'promise paradise and hope for the best' view of politics rather than down to earth realism.Tax hikes, spending cuts - best to talk about them after the election ( let's see if the opposition Conservatives do any better at their conference) . The word venal springs to mind. Of course it's entirely possible that the public finances are so bad that he doesn't want to alarm us unduly.

Headline in the Financial Times this morning saying that British intelligence believe that Iran started working on a nuclear warhead in 2005 and is now getting close to deploying it . After the fiasco of the non-existent Iraqi weapons of mass destruction who is going to believe them now?

Tractor tyres - Wilfs first task of the day.

2009-09-29T06:17:00.007+02:00

Wilf is sound asleep on the doorstep contentedly warming himself in the early morning sun. He followed me through the olive groves bright and early,sniffing the porcupine scents and generally making sure that everything on the farm was to his satisfaction. His first duty in the morning is to christen all the tractor tyres - job accomplished he then runs to catch up with me, ears trailing behind him. He gets completely lost in the wonders of the morning walk and every so often looks up from his olfactory explorations to find that I've walked fifty yards further on.There's then a huge rush to catch up with me before he gets lost in his thoughts again and the process is repeated over and over . He is a gentle, amiable character whose greatest sorrow is being separated from his family. We shall need to take extra time to reassure him that all is well and that his place in the family hierachy is secure when the packers move in. Digby decided it was far too early to be out and about and settled at the farm gate awaiting our return.
The Italian Prime Minister has done it again. Returning from the G-20 meeting in Pittsburgh he told a rally of his supporters that he was bringing greetings from someone in the United States. "What's his name? Some tanned guy. Ah, Barack Obama. You won't believe it but he and his wife sunbathe together because the wife is also tanned". Is there no one in his entourage who can explain the term bad taste?

Summer returns.

2009-09-28T06:09:00.007+02:00

We're still being rationed to one picture a day by the blogger gremlin - so here's a view of Digby demonstrating the aerodynamic properties of his ears while Wilf looks on. It was a wonderful late summer day yesterday with the temperatures reaching 30 and with a stiff, warm wind blowing away the post rain humidity.The two boyz were as happy as two dogs could be.

The British Polish Lowland Sheepdog magazine , the Nizziny, arrived in the Saturday evening post. From the latest edition I discovered that :

PON's (Polski Owczarek Nizziny) are now called PLS's ( Polish Lowland Sheepdogs). That makes life much simpler.

Wilf and Digby's father has died at the age of 13. He is described as having passed onto 'his progeny a superb gentle nature and love of games'. That would be Wilf 100%. As for Digby he must take after his mother. The 'font' wondered over a late evening glass of wine whether the boyz would know their brothers and sisters if they were to meet them again after 8 years or whether they would just think they were just any other dog? Scent would be a big factor.

The magazines health officer has written an article with the follwing line " We fear the breed will become short coated and owners will start to cut the hair over the eyes therefore risking injury to the eyes". We trim the boyz coats to help them cope with the summer heat and to make it easier for them to work with me in the fields without constantly getting caught up in seeds and branches- the coat grows long again with any apparent problems or deterioration . As for trimming the hair over their eyes we've always done this as it seems to make them more relaxed if they can easily see what is going on around them. When we left it long Digby, in particular, would sometimes be startled and would be overly defensive. Is the danger of eye damage real?

Digby on guard.

2009-09-27T07:25:00.007+02:00

One photo at a time seems to be the only way to get anything uploaded onto blogger -so here's a photo of Digby looking stern or at least trying to. I tried to post five pictures of the boyz when I got up this morning but an hour later the screen was still showing the sign 'publishing in progress'. Let's hope normal service will be resumed as soon as possible ie when the Italian satellite company conducts routine maintenance.

The last of the swallows left yesterday morning - a small flock. We watched them slowly circling the house,almost as if saying goodbye,before heading off on their long flight down the peninsula to Sicily and then the crossing of the Straits of Messina. I'll miss their cheeky chirruping and their graceful,carefree,morning aerobatics as they come swooping over the swimming pool to snatch a beak full of water. It seems to me that swallows, alone amongst the bird kingdom (with the possible exception of robins),somehow recognize the people they share their home with. The cicadas restless summer long song has also suddenly stopped - another sure sign that the heating system will soon need to be serviced and the gas tank topped up.

The closer we get to moving day the more frenetic life becomes. Italy is the land of pointless bureaucracy and the 'font' has been rushing around trying to obtain all the documentation needed for the sale - certificates that the drainage system has been approved, that the walls are earthquake hardened, that the water doesn't contain lead or mercury etc etc. A more thankless task it would be difficult to imagine . As a result the 'fonts' vocabulary is growing by the minute and now encompasses the Italian for gutter, downpipe, flange and monkey wrench.This will be useful if ever we wish to return and open up a hardware store.

With the move getting ever closer, the boyz and I have been throwing out 'stuff'. It's a wonder how much useless junk one manages to collect on the journey through life .I though we'd massively downsized after leaving Scotland, but no, the 'stuff' just keeps on coming back and growing.Wilf and Digby's part in the clearing out has been snuggling down next to me while I fill up rubbish bags and then leaping up with carefree abandon everytime I go to put them in the back of the car. A journey to the waste dump with the rubbish is the perfect canine day out.

A partial victory.

2009-09-26T08:28:00.004+02:00

A partial victory over technology. After much effort the satellite link has been momentarily restored and we've managed to connect with Blogger . As if by magic (and some less than gentlemanly expletives while waiting for something to happen) one photograph of Wilf's smiling face has appeared . The other photos of Paris and of Digby that were posted at the same time have evaporated into the ether. The problem seems to be with the Italian satellite provider whose service alternates between the merely mediocre to downright awful - the uplink speed needed for posting has slowed to a sub-snail pace.
Paris was at its most beautiful. Sunny, warm, and the gentlest of breezes which made walking an absolute delight. This time I stayed,as I do when I'm not on business, at the Pavillon de la Reine on place des Vosges - without a doubt one of the most beautiful townscapes in Europe. When I got back home on Friday night the 'font' and I had a long discussion about which city we prefer - Paris or Rome. Paris is beautiful, stylish, chic and in the Haussmann planned arrondissements very,very formal. By contrast Rome is chaotic, unplanned, and its cultural jewels are scattered around with a casual disregard. The 'font' opted for Paris (could the shopping be something to do with it?) while I opted for Rome. The discussion as to whether French or Italian cuisine is the better is ongoing and unlikely to be resolved anytime soon.
Wilf and Digby are in fine fettle. Their welcome on Friday evening when I walked through the door was nothing short of ecstatic. A combined 45 kilo mass of fur, cold noses and pink tongues hurtled through the air at me as soon as they registered my presence.When the boyz get really excited their entire rear ends start to move independently of their front ends . The front legs move forwards but the back legs follow a strange trajectory that sweeps from side to side and up and down at one and the same time.After eight and a half years the 'font' and I still end up laughing out loud at their antics.
The move is now less than three weeks away. At breakfast this morning the 'font' handed me a sheet of paper and informed me that household effects can't be lumped together but need to be listed item by item for the removal company. What in heavens name are household effects? Who came up with that name? Anyway, there goes my Saturday morning.

Blogger doesn't like me today.

2009-09-25T09:41:00.002+02:00

Blogger doesn't like me today. I've tried seven times to upload some pictures of Paris and of the two boyz but nothing happens. I checked to see if the capacity on Picasa had been exceeded but no I'm only 33% full. I'll keep trying but for some reason these problems seem to be happening more frequently. Does anyone have any magical tips on what to do when this happens? .

Wilf's pancreatitis.

2009-09-23T06:26:00.004+02:00

Off to Paris later today so a lot to do before seven thirty. The two boyz were out with me early checking on the progress of the olives. The world is at its most peaceful in those salving moments when the sun is just dusting the hilltops. It looks as thought it will be a bumper harvest although the way our moving schedule is shaping up it will be up to the new owners to harvest them.

Wilf's old pancreatitis flared up again yesterday - it seems to return , regular as clockwork, every ten days . We have to be very strict on what he eats so the recurrence seems to be mechanical rather than dietary or stress related. Experience has taught us that the best thing to do is take him for a long walk to tire him out and then let him sleep the pain off. After four hours he's back to his usual self.

The 'font' has helpfully noted that we are supposed to provide the removal firm with an itemised list of every item in the house (together with valuations) which they will then wrap and pack for us. Not as easy as I'd thought it was going to be. Hopefully, by the time I get back the list will have been compiled!

Accountants and lawyers.

2009-09-22T07:51:00.006+02:00

All yesterday a growling autumnal storm doused us with torrential rain. Digby opted to hide under the bed with his favourite soft toy for much of the day while Wilf contentedly dozed through it all quite oblivious to the tumult outside. Who would have believed that two brothers could have such totally different temperaments? This morning the ground is soft underfoot and covered with a layer of golden leaves - autumn is well and truly here.

Activity in the household remains firmly focused on the move. The packing company has been booked and I've dutifully had palpitations at the price they want to charge. "Surely", I said to the 'font', "they've sent on an estimate for moving the furniture at Buckingham Palace". How droll. It only goes to show how much one acquires over the years even though we thought we'd downsized dramatically when leaving Scotland. This time rather than drive ourselves into paroxysms of hyper-activity we shall leave it to the removal men to pack . This isn't laziness but rather the result of reading the small print on the shipping contract. In clause thirteen thousand eight hundred and something there is a line which says anything we pack ourselves is excluded from the insurance cover. This had me muttering under my breath at the sheer venality of it all - particularly as the insurance premium seems to be roughly the same size as the GDP of many developing countries.
Tomorrow I'm off to Paris to see lawyers and accountants about a move back to France. All horribly grown up and tedious but at the same time necessary.The new house, which is in a part of France we've never been to before, has a small farm attached and this means registering as a farmer and paying all sorts of social security taxes. The new house is the oddest piece of architecture I've ever seen - the 'font' says it's a bit like a cajun house, whatever that might be.

The countdown begins .

2009-09-21T06:34:00.006+02:00

Two very happy boyz greeted me at six this morning. To say that they are delighted to be back from the kennels would be an understatement of monumental proportions. They have been running around on the grass like six month old puppies enjoying their newly earned freedom - all this activity after all of 30 hours of incarceration I dread to think what they would have been like if we'd been gone for two weeks.Something must have gone wrong at the kennels this time, they usually seem to enjoy going, or at least take it in their stride. Last night,Wilf, who is very aware of his exalted top dog position in the pack, threw propriety to the wind and lay sound asleep curled up at my feet until it was time to turn in for the night - this was his way of letting us know that he wanted tlc - now ! If you're a PON there is nothing like the reassuring touch of the family to remind you that all is well with the world.

Having seen the new house, and loved it, ( much to the 'font's' delight) the countdown is now on for the move. We're aiming to have the legal work done, the furniture packed, and the boyz pet passports in order by mid-next month. It's becoming clear why moving house is so stressful.

We thought long and hard about where to move to. Having once worked at Stanford,San Francisco with its great restaurants and wonderful location would have ranked high on the list but getting a visa to retire to the US is a task that even Sisyphus would have baulked at.Canada would have been up there, lovely people, stunning landscapes but ruled out by winters that match those in Scotland and in the case of Vancouver are probably wetter and for Halifax even foggier. South Africa is arguably the most beautiful country we've ever seen but like Australia and New Zealand difficult to get to with the boyz - we don't really feel like having them in an aircraft hold for hours and hours.

That really meant that the choice was limited to Europe.More about the new house and its fenced garden tomorrow.

Back from the kennels.

2009-09-20T07:37:00.006+02:00

The boyz are back from the kennels. From the unbridled enthusiasm with which we were greeted I can assume that they did not enjoy their time away. Even Digby,with his sore hip,managed to fly into the car, covering the 30 metres or so between the kennel door and the car door in one bound. The journey back was done to the accompaniment of happy PON howling - the two of them slept soundly for twelve hours without stirring once in the night.

We saw the new house - of which more tomorrow. The 'font' has seen it four times before but this tiny advantage didn't seem to help with the en route navigation. We were on the motorway from the airport heading south when I helpfully ventured to point out that we wanted to be going north. This fact did not deter the 'font' who lives by the mantra that it's getting there, not how you get there that matters.

On the return journey our flight was scheduled to depart at the crack of dawn so we opted to stay at the airport hotel. It had a good restaurant, and even better wine list. These factors compensated for the interior decor which looked as though it was designed by the same firm that does the stage sets for episodes of Star Trek. Why is it whenever I stay in an airport hotel there is always a group of Taiwanese tourists on the same corridor who depart,slamming their doors in the process at 3.51 am? Is sleep really possible in these places?

The hunters are back this morning blasting away 20 metres from our front door ( even though the law says a minimum of 150 meters) .Wilf has never recovered from hearing the gun shots in April and is lying curled up into a ball under the kitchen table. If ever I had doubts about moving they have been dispelled!

Off to the kennels.

2009-09-18T06:15:00.005+02:00

This morning we're heading off together to see the new house. In addition to packing for ourselves, travel brings with it the logistical nightmare of getting the boyz ready to go into the kennels for a night . So far the day has been a whirl of activity with the 'font' packing and washing their bowls, measuring out food and trying to find their harnesses.Why we didn't do it all last night I'll never know.

We'll be back tomorrow with pictures of our new home.

The prospective buyer.

2009-09-17T06:38:00.004+02:00

A prospective buyer came to see the house yesterday so a mad rush tidying up and hiding things away in cupboards and drawers. Lots of flowers suddenly appeared courtesy of the 'font'. The boyz were told to be on their best behaviour and for once sat in the garden looking angelic - I couldn't believe how well behaved they were but it was probably helped by giving each of them a hide chew. As a result the showing seemed to pass of well. A call came from the agent last night with a very cheeky bid - which we refused. I know markets are weak but they're not that weak. We've told him to carry on showing the house and arranging viewings.

A huge thunderstorm at midnight with lots and lots of driving rain - exactly what's needed after the long dry summer. The trees are already looking fresh and invigorated this morning .Nothing can replicate the benefits and efficiency of a good rainstorm.
Off to the comune for a day of talking to the local bureaucrats and trying to make sure we're progressing with getting all the documents and permits in order. We still seem to be stuck in a parallel universe when discussing the original builders receipts for a two thousand year old piece of real estate. I'm allowing for a month from getting an offer to moving - the Italians all think this is a ridiculously truncated timeframe and suggest allowing three to four months. No way.

Doing the impossible - finding dog friendly hotels.

2009-09-16T07:14:00.003+02:00

It took a full day working the phone and googling like crazy but finally I found hotels across Europe that would take the two boyz . Even more amazingly late last night, just as I'd started to despair, we spoke to someone who was willing to rent their house to us while the legal work is finalized - they love animals and the property has a fenced 2 acre field for the boyz to run wild in. Eureka! Even more amazingly it's only 20 minutes away from where we want to be. The number of people who wouldn't accept dogs in case they scratched the furniture or peed on the carpet,or worse,was quite dispiriting. I did my best to explain that the boyz were house trained and that we'd gladly pay for an damage but 90% of hotels and rental homes would have none of it.

There is a huge business opportunity for someone to write a guide to dog friendly hotels- the most popular European website for travellers with dogs simply lists every city centre Holiday Inn. No offence to the wonderful folks at Holiday Inn but the last thing I want to do with the two boyz is drive for six hours, navigate through lunatic driving to the centre of some unknown continental metropolis, park four blocs away,face a set of revolving doors leading onto a crowded lobby and then navigate to a 42nd floor room in a crowded elevator with Wilf and Digby in tow.After that scratched furniture or peeing on the lobby carpet would be the least of my worries.

The boyz, oblivious to all this activity on their behalf, are sprawled contentedly outside. For once Digby has managed to get the ball and is holding onto it determinedly between his front paws. Every five minutes or so Wilf lets out a half bark, half whine to let Digby know that it's time to let it go.

Apologies again for those of you who don't see their comments on the blog. For some reason I pressed the publish button and promptly everyhting disappeared into the ether.

Mary Queen of Scots and the mystery writing.

2009-09-15T06:47:00.009+02:00

The execution of Mary Queen of Scots at Fotheringhay Castle on the morning of February 8th 1587 was a bungled affair. The first strike of the executioners axe missed the neck and bit deep into the back of her head,smashing the skull, but leaving her conscious. She was heard to whisper 'Sweet Jesus' in agony. The second blow was more succesful and a third finally sent her into the next world. Eyewitnesses say that when her severed head was picked up and shown to the crowd the lips continued to move for a further fifteen minutes . This was not the end of the gruesome spectacle as her auburn tresses came away in the executioners hands and the head , lips still moving, fell to the floor. The auburn hair was in fact a wig, and Mary's real hair was seen to be grey and close shaved. This sequence of events had quite an unnerving effect on the spectators who fell silent. Worse was to come for as they started to carry the body away from the execution block a small Skye terrier, Marys favourite, crawled out from under her petticoat where the Queen had been holding onto it throughout the ordeal - her last remaining comfort. The wee animal crouched beside the severed head of its mistress and howled piteously.

Why you may ask all this sudden talk of history? We brought with us from Scotland to Italy a portrait of Mary. This was painted from memory shortly after her execution. After centuries of hanging in rooms with open wood fires it was lustreless, covered in grime and in need of some careful restoration. In Todi there is the most marvellous picture restorer whose grandfather used to work for King Edward VII in London in the early part of the last century.Over the last three months he has been working slowly away on the old canvas revealing under the black patina the crucifix she carried on her way to the execution, the red petticoat she wore under her black dress,and the black veil that she wore on the block. Last night there was a telephone call - " Could we come immediately?".When we got there we found him in a state of high excitement. Beneath the funeral inscription at the top of the picture he had found an older inscription which had subsequently been painted over. Did we want him to reveal it or should he leave the more recent overpainting? The 'font' has asked him to see if he can get it x-rayed to see what it says before making a final decision - it could be the earlier inscription was a botched job and the more recent inscription nothing more than overpainting some spelling errors.

The two boyz are happily dozing in the morning sunshine in the courtyard sound asleep after a hearty walk in the country. Their hair is beginning to grow again and they are slowly but surely regaining their PON shagginess with each passing day,

An ever growing list

2009-09-14T06:21:00.006+02:00

The logistical nightmare of selling a house in Italy and buying in another country,with another legal system,and another language had me wide awake at two in the morning - terror gripping at my heart. In the darkness of the small hours I mentally ran through a list of things that need to be done urgently. Thankfully sleep returned around about item three thousand four hundred and eleven. Why is moving so stressful and so time consuming?

This morning the 'font' is off for the weekly session of back torture in Orvieto leaving the two boyz and myself to fend for ourselves. On the to do list for this morning are:

1) Plan the quickest route by road to the new house

2) Choose and book comfortable 'dog friendly' hotels to stay at on the way

3) Rent a house for two weeks while the legal work on the purchase is completed

4) Find an English speaking lawyer

5) Push the agents in London to start showing the Italian house to potential buyers asap.

The boyz are blisfully unaware that their environment is about to change - a situation that will, with care, be maintained until the day of the move. This morning they were off up the hill sniffing the scent of wild boar and generally progressing with a purposeful air about them. Every so often Wilf would interrupt his ferreting to turn around to make sure I hadn't got lost or check to see I wasn't doing anything dangerous.

The rain that I've been expecting still hasn't arrived and the view from the pomegranate orchard towards Todi and the hills beyond was simply joyful. Although I'm brimming over with excitement (and trepidation) at the thought of finding new regions to explore,one thing is certain, we shall never find another house with views to match these here in Italy.

Trying it on.

2009-09-13T06:46:00.004+02:00

Wilf has recovered from the trauma of his wasp sting. This morning he was charging around the garden playing with his little brother and showing no sign of distress. When he came indoors for breakfast it was a different story. He held out his paw and put on his best orphan dog look. Wilf clearly remembered that he got a mass of attention and two of his favourite wheat free treats when he'd done this routine the night before. PON's are inherently clever when it comes to soliciting for food and Wilf is undoubtedly one of the canine worlds great actors.

Both boyz are still in their summer skinhead haircuts and Digby is finding the mornings chilly. It gets up to the low 30's in the early afternoon but at daybreak the mercury is down in the low teens. After his morning exercise he retreats to his bed and plonks himself down, refusing to move until the sun comes round and warms up his limbs.

The removal firm came to quote for the packing and shipping yesterday. Although our adventure is still some time in the future I begin to feel that first sense of panic that comes when you realise how much still has to be done, how little time there is and how unprepared you are. This week I'm off travelling with the 'font' to see the new house for the first time. As we've already put down the deposit I would have been quite happy see it on the day we move in but the 'font' has made it quite clear that this is a joint choice and my input is mandatory - no discussion. The boyz will be going into the kennel for a night.

The wasp sting

2009-09-12T07:15:00.007+02:00

Back from Rome last night to be faced with a Friday night traffic snarl up of gargantuan proportions. The orbital motorway had tailbacks of 7 kilometers and the main north-south autroute was closed for forty five minutes due to an accident. What usually takes under two hours took four and a half. It was daft of me to book a return flight on a Friday - the pre-weekend en masse exodus from Rome being one of those immutable laws of nature.

Thankfully, rather than drive myself I had arranged to be met at the airport by young Simone with his Mercedes saloon of indeterminate age. He's a good driver, knows cars come equiped with indicators ( which in a most un-Italian way he sometimes uses ) and displays a relatively strict attitude to lane discipline. Most importantly his vehicle lacks the 3 inch high Padre Pio statue that sits proudly in the middle of the dashboard of the taxi firms other car.I don't wish to appear irreligious but this plastic representation deeply unnerves me. With its glowing, battery illuminated eyes it seems to look at me reproachfully whenever I travel under its stern and unwavering gaze. Its as if it can look deep into my innermost thoughts and see that I think that its not a real, Italian sourced, Padre Pio but a recycled, Guangzhu produced model of the hooded figure played by Sir Alec Guinness in the early Star War movies. Quite, quite alarming.

Late at night I found Wilf sitting at the front door looking very sorry for himself. He had trodden on a wasp. Much love was called for and a protracted washing of his foot with bicarbonate of soda in solution - ( a handy household tip of the 'fonts'). It seemed to do the trick. This morning he is fine although again quite nervous over the presence of the hunters who are wandering around the front of the house.

2000 year old builders receipts!

2009-09-10T07:14:00.005+02:00

The blogger gremlin has returned. Could it be anything to do with the number of posts and the amount of memory allocated?

Had a wonderful day with the two boyz yesterday after our adventure with the swallows. As I worked on the lavender they lay in the long grass 'guarding' me.The end result was that Wilf and Digby missed out on their usual two hours doze in the morning and three hour doze in the afternoon. To our surprise the two of them took themselves off upstairs to bed promptly at nine last night . One minute they were sitting beside us, the next they were on their respective beds oblivious to everything. They didn't even stir when we came up at midnight - sleeping solidly for nine hours without moving an inch. Oh the joys of middle age dogs - so much easier to live with than puppies!

The 'font' spent yesterday at the comune trying to obtain a permit showing that the house had been constructed before 1967 - this is needed for some arcane zoning ordnance. The fact that the tower has been here for two thousand years doesn't seem to impress the bureaucrats who are demanding builders receipts. The 'font' decided the best thing to do in face of this idiocy was to adopt a cheerful demeanour and etch a permanent rictus grin on the face. Better to look simple with the permanent happy face than angry . Like Prince Charles we usually wait until seven for an evening tincture but last night the bottle was open immediately after the 'fonts' return from dealing with the wonderful people at the permits office.

I'm off to London today to see lawyers and accountants ahead of the next stage of our journey. I'm hoping that it won't be too cold. Back tomorrow late so there may or may not be a post dependign on whether I can get the little Sony to combine Italian and British systems.

The 500th post on a perfect day.

2009-09-09T06:47:00.009+02:00

One of those mornings when you're grateful to be alive. Blue skies, scattered clouds, no humidity and the refreshing hint of a breeze. The boyz led on ahead up the hill, not even bothering to register their irritation at my laggardly pace. Four paws fast, two paws slow.

And then one of those country experiences that halts you in your tracks. Barely three hundred meters from the farm gate there came hundreds; not scores, not a hundred, but hundreds of darting swallows cavorting barely inches above the ground. The boyz and I stood, clustered together as this weaving, pirouetting,chirping wheen flew backwards and forwards inches from our ears. A private display of pure aerial mastery. Young ones flocking together,pumped up ahead of their long flight south,keen to show off their flying skills to their spellbound audience. Swallows are masters of play - natures uncontained and uncontainable jesters. As suddenly as they arrive, they went, determined to be cracking on.

When we lived in Scotland the swallows used to swoop around the two boyz enticing the young pups ( as they were then) to chase them, allowing them to get tantalazingly close before suddenly pulling up and barrel rolling into the sky. Both dogs and swallows would play this game for five,sometimes ten minutes without pause - a hilarious comedy routine that came,literally,out of the blue.

A perfect day became more than perfect.

Today is the 500th post - I thought it was a few days ago but had failed to allow for drafts that had never been published. The coming few weeks herald the next stage on our journey through Europe. Life is like riding a horse - sometimes you need to get back into the saddle and decide the direction of travel rather than ambling along . At least that way you have some chance of knowing your destination.

The Happy Squad

2009-09-08T07:26:00.006+02:00

15 degrees this morning - we're wearing sweaters and socks and generally feeling stunned that autumn has decided to attack head on rather than creep in gently. By contrast the boyz are loving it. On the morning walk they stormed on ahead , heads held high , sniffing the clear air with a sense of canine purpose, pausing occasionally and rather irritatedly for me to catch up. They don't just like this weather they were made for it .Late into the night they were to be found sitting in the middle of the lawn, head on into the wind, long ears streaming out behind them. Bliss.

If we think it'getting cold then the villagers can be counted on to think we've descended into a new ice age. In the bar this morning the usual faces sat glumly swathed in scarves and thick padded jackets clutching their warm coffee cups between 'frozen' fingers. A decidedly unhappy and morose crowd . When we lived up by the castle in Edinburgh it was easy to spot visiting Italians.They would wander around the city at the height of summer like Michelin men, layered in every piece of clothing they could lay their hands on. Having left the heat of Milan or Rome in August in search of cooler weather they would quickly discover that what is 'cool' for a Scot is positively glacial for someone hailing from more temperate climes. You would catch school parties at the airport desperately opening their bags at the luggage carrousel and adding more and more clothing in a fruitless attempt to keep warm.

We face a hectic day now that the lethargy of summer has gone. The last of the lavender needs to be trimmed and bundled, the vine that covers the old tower needs to brought back under some semblance of control,and the equipment for next months olive harvest checked, repaired and where necessary replaced. The wood for the fires needs to be sorted and stored and a new 1.8 metre high security fence erected around the 'bombola' - the latest regulation dreamt up by the bureaucracy and only implemented by law abiding foreigners .The 'font' is off for a visit to the back specialist combining the trip with a side journey to the MINI garage to see if the dog car will be accepted in part exchange for something that functions. Oh, and the pool people will need to come and close everyhting up until next April.

Over breakfast the 'font' rather saucily points out a report in the Corriere. The Italian Prime Minister is suing a Spanish newspaper for printing claims by some of his former 'lady' friends that he has 'gentlemans problems' (how delicately put) that can only be treated by injection. The newspaper informs us that he is willing to stand up in court 'to prove once and for all and without a shadow of doubt' that he is not impotent and not in need of any medical assistance. Oh the joys of Italian politics. Why worry about the recession or Afghanistan!

A pre-Labor Day bath. Technical problems posting.

2009-09-07T09:10:00.003+02:00

For some reason Blogger is reluctant to take both pictures and text this morning.

Hopefully, the pictures of the two boyz reluctantly having a pre-Labor Day bath will appear. We try not to wash them too often,as it dries out their skin,but the older they get the more necessary regular immersion and rigorous scrubbing become. The look on Digby's faces sums up the grim stoicism with which he endured this torment. On the upside, both Wilf and Digby have learnt that they get a chew after the trial by water is over. They were soon sprawled out on the grass munching contentedly away being fluff dried by the warm afternoon wind. Two greyish smelly creatures have been replaced by two miniature, shining white,scented polar bear lookalikes.

Will try to write more fully tomorrow if this technical glitch disappears.

The last of the 'splosh' games?

2009-09-06T06:53:00.006+02:00

The two boyz are in fine fettle this morning. Quite unexpectedly a breeze, bordering on a wind, has sprung up. PON's love wind and Wilf and Digby were out at the crack of dawn zigzaging around in the courtyard aimlessly tracking the scents of all the animals that have wandered by overnight. After their high speed , nose down, endeavours they are now stretched out in the garden, head on into the wind, ears streaming behind them - canine bliss after the six weeks of unrelenting heat.

The human component of the family is less happy. The morning dip in the pool proved to be rather more enervating than planned. Overnight the water temperature has fallen, sharply,and there was an audible intake of breath followed by a less than gentlemanly exclamation when water and body met - my heart rate went skyrocketing with the shock. A full and immediate cardio-vascular workout. The boyz of course find the morning dip to be one of the highlights of the day - lap 'splosh', another lap 'splosh'. How long could they play this game without tiring?

In the village the last of the tourists have gone, the Americans and British owners of summer houses packed up and back in London and DC for the start of the new school year. The bar which receives six copies of the Herald Tribune in summer for sale to the foreign residents is back to getting our solitary copy from the distributor. The barrista , having discovered that the Trib is the NY Times in disguise, assumes perhaps reasonably that the 'font' and I are American - why else would we buy an American paper? Hence the incomprehensible questions that get thrown at us as we order the morning espresso "How the Yankees doin ?" - " You rootin for da Cubs". The 'font' enters into the spirit of it and now replies to the questions with the equally uninteligible response 'six for nothing in the final innings' . The barrista uncomprehending, nods sagely, satisfied at having practised his English, the 'font' chuckles inwardly (and sometimes outwardly) at the inanity of it, and I'm just glad no English speaking sports fan ever overhears this gibberish.

The dog car is to be replaced. The electrics seem to have developed a mind of their own with the rear windows showing a rather disconcerting habit of gliding down,and then up again,randomly and unexpectedly. This absence of human agency is a clear sign to me that the solution is going to be costly and recurrent. A MINI wagon gets 70+ miles to the gallon , has a carbon footprint smaller than a sparrows, and just enough room for the two boyz in the back. We'd go to the garage today to order one but Italy and the Hebrides follow similar guidelines when it comes to Sunday opening.

The diurnal clock.

2009-09-04T20:36:00.010+02:00

Up and out early. It's pitch dark now at six in the morning,summer seamlessly segueing into autumn.The two boyz follow me to the gate but quickly turn back to catch up on their sleep - both of them out like a light on the doorstep. They operate on a fixed diurnal clock. Darkness = Sleep, Daylight = Sleep with breaks for food, games and tickles .

The rain I felt was a certainty yesterday failed to arrive. Today we're back to bright blue skies and heat - by ten o'clock we're already well into the 30's.Another day of coaxing the digital controls on the irrigation system into life and balancing the water inflow into the underground cisterns.

Off to the valet with the dog car .The latest in a string of attempts to get rid of the strange,decidedly unpleasant smell that has been growing ever more noticeable over the last week. A thorough search behind and under the seats, in the glove box,around the spare tyre and in the engine compartment failed to find evidence of the malodorous source. The boyz clearly hid their 'discovery' extremely carefully this time. The car returned cleaner ( if not clean) and smelling of that strange perfume that is peculiar to freshly valeted cars. No sign of the pungent item although I fear it will return. The boyz are back asleep. Tired out after a thirty minute 'splosh' game and trying to work out the miracle of how a ball transubstantiates into a water loving fish and back again .

Digby is now lying regally on top of his freshly laundered bed , snoring like a trooper, with Wilf dozing uncomplaining on the bare tiles below him . Wilf seems to sleep with a smile on his face - transported to a dream world in which we run a restaurant and he is the kitchen dog tasked with trying all the dishes and sauces and cakes and....

No prizes for guessing which of the two brothers is the smartest.

2009-09-04T07:12:00.005+02:00

The marvellous cleaning lady is due to arrive in quarter of an hour. In readiness the boyz beds have been collected up from the floor of the hallway and piled at the front door to be taken down to the laundry room for some heavy duty steam cleaning. On my way out to the bar to pick up copies of the Corriere and Herald Tribune I happened to note that Digby has managed to make himself supremely comfortable and is sitting on top of the piled up beds directing the households coming and goings. This is the canine worlds Roman emperor approach to life. Wilf seems happy to stretch out on the terracotta floors - not that he has any option. No prizes for guessing which of these two boyz is the most intelligent. Brain over brawn.

Autumn has arrived. It's not cold (24 degrees at seven am ) but a wind has sprung up and the blue skies have given way to grey cloud. The rain which I forecast failed to arrive yesterday so I confidently predict that it will come today!

Rain, memories and unanswerable questions.

2009-09-03T06:40:00.007+02:00

Flung open the french doors onto the terrace expecting yet another day of bright blue skies, but no - there are a few real,grey,grumpy rain bearing clouds out there. If the promise of rain holds true our days can be filled with something other than running backwards and forwards making sure the new and hugely expensive (and complicated) irrigation system is working properly. Note for the future when the installation guy says " it's all automatic all you have to do is ..." beware. This is shorthand for it isn't really automatic and is actually hugely labour intensive.Roll on sweet rain!

Despite the presence of hunters Wilf was finally coaxed out into the courtyard with the promise of a ballgame and a digestive biscuit. As he's nearly nine we decided that there was no harm in giving him extra attention - at that age who cares about reinforced behaviour ? He lay with his head resting on the 'fonts' feet until the gunfire eased off but was on edge for the rest of the day. He started his repetitive ear scratching last night for the first time in months - a sure sign of stress! Thankfully the hunters aren't around today.

My eldest brother called from Scotland last night for one of our 'wee' chats. In passing he mentioned that it was today 70 years ago that our parents got engaged. What a day to choose - the day that Britain entered the war against the Nazis. Neither he,nor I,knew whether the date had been planned ahead of time or had suddenly and impetuously been decided on as the world lurched into madness. My mothers diaries talk about it being a beautiful Scottish day, of a wireless being brought into church so the congregation could listen to Prime Minister Chamberlains speech declaring war at 11.15, and of the lunch afterwards trying to be hearty and congratulatory but overshadowed by the enormity of what was happening . We both felt rather frustrated that when they were alive we never asked these questions, we had our own lives to lead and were far too busy bringing up our own families. Now they've gone we want the answers but will never get them.Would we have been as adept at changing careers,uprooting ourselves and tearing up carefully planned futures ? Memories and unanswerable questions.

Wilfs old fears return.

2009-09-02T06:32:00.008+02:00

It's the start of the hunting season today and the hills and fields around the house are echoing with the sound of gunfire. Wilf who was always such a happy carefree spirit has been hiding under the kitchen table all morning refusing to come outside to join us for breakfast. Clearly the memories of Aprils robbery and the gunfire in the house have taken more of a psychological toll on him than we'd anticipated. Any thoughts on what to do? If we pay him more attention it reinforces the fear, if we ignore him we feel horrible! I hate to see the boy so upset. Surprisingly Digby seems less frightened than his big brother although that said he is lying at my feet (or should I say joined to my feet) under the desk as I type this.

The hunters claim that they don't kill for pleasure but provide a useful and necessary service by keeping the population of wild boar under control. If left unchecked the cinghiali would charge through the vineyards munching on the young grapes and pulling down the highly valuable vines. I'd believe this story if it wasn't for the fact that the hunters feed the pregnant females with maize in the mating season,effectively taming them as easy targets. It isn't the first time, nor the last, that the basest of motives will be dressed up in the mantle of good citizenship. A bit like slaughter posing as Martha Stewart.

Criticism is impossible as a powerful pro-hunting lobby in Umbria is generously sponsored by the large local gun manufacturers in the Terni valley just to the south of here. Needless to say this makes them a very powerful voice in the land.

There are an alarming number of accidents each year as safety is unheard of and what laws there are are ignored or unenforced. Hunters are supposed to shoot away from,rather than towards,houses and be at least 100 metres away when they fire.As we looked out from the breakfast terrace across the fields this morning it was clear that neither of these rules was being obeyed.

Two years ago we nearly lost Wilf - he had eaten some poisoned meatballs put down by the hunters under the olive trees outside the house to kill foxes. We got him to the vet just in time. It makes me really angry and frustrated that they feel they can use our land in such a dangerous, cavalier fashion.

When your brother ignores you - cuddle a sheep.

2009-09-01T06:32:00.009+02:00

Cooler weather arrived yesterday with the thermometer holding steady around 35 degrees. The two boyz seemed positively energised by the return of relatively mild conditions. Wilf went racing down the drive,ears trailing in the slipstream, after a rabbit that wandered out of the lavender beds - he showed a turn of speed and agility that surprised me, the rabbit, and possibly himself. I didn't think the old fellow still had it in him.

One of the most interesting things about having two brothers from the same litter is just how completely different their characters can be. This facet of canine psychology certainly holds true with the two boyz. Wilf is fiercely independent, sometimes forgets to run around things preferring instead to run through them, and is always up for an adventure. If Wilf is an athlete Digby by contrast can perhaps better be described as an aesthete. Yes, he likes to play catch and will happily participate in the 'splosh' game but his real love, apart from eating, being the centre of attention and having endless cuddles,is to find a soft toy and retire with it into a quiet corner away from the rumbustious antics of his older sibling. He spent much of yesterday down by the pool in sweet communion with a stuffed sheep from which he would not be parted - despite Wilfs best efforts to steal it from him. Digby has learnt that the only way to cope with his brothers brawn is to outsmart him.

The British Prime Minister has announced this morning that as a result of his policies the worst of the economic crisis is behind us and that growth will return at the end of 2009. That's ok then. I wonder when the campaign for next years elections will begin? Surely, only a cynic would assume it's already started.

Last night of the carnival.

2009-08-31T06:58:00.004+02:00

Just as we were turning in for the night the whole valley shook with a series of very,very loud explosions. It was the last night of the carnival. Promptly at 11.56 pm (or midnight according to the village clock) the week of festivities came to its long anticipated culmination with a ten minute barrage of tricolore green,white and red pyrotechnics each generating at the apex of its ascent an earth shattering explosion. The laws governing firework manufacture must be quite different in Italy for these were not the half hearted exhalations of British maroons but deep basso profundo roars that carried for miles. The effect seen, and heard, from our little hill 2 kilometres away was as much martial as it was entertaining. That said, for a small village the display was really rather impressive and would put to shame many displays that I've seen in British towns with populations 100 times greater. Wilf, bless him, oblivious to everything slept happily through it all but Digby, being the shy retiring type emitted exasperated groans from under the bed. If a dog could be heard invoking divine protection then it was Digby. This morning the village had the same maudlin air as Edinburgh at the close of the festival - the deserted square seemed to be saying the fun and frippery are behind us,now back to work.
Italian politics become ever more entertaining. Sgr.Berlusconi , the Prime Minister, had hoped to go to a mass of absolution to expiate his alleged misdemenaours with underage starlets and a string of 'professional' ladies. Sadly for him the presiding Cardinal deemed that the presence of the PM in church would have been somewhat inappropriate.
And to think that Bill Clinton was nearly impeached for his activities! I sometimes wonder what a seriously clever, flawlessly ethical and fiercely independent woman like Frau Merkel, the German Chancellor, must think of her Italian counterpart.Perhaps the sign of a great politician is being able to hide your feelings.

Blogging and human kindness.

2009-08-30T07:35:00.008+02:00

It was 22 degrees when we went out on our early morning inspection walk - at long last there were clouds this morning tantalisingly holding out the promise of much needed rain. Temperatures that would have graced a really good summers day in Scotland struck me, in the new incarnation here in the olive groves of Italy, as being decidedly chilly. Time to dig out the sweaters.

Digby seems to have bad cuts on the underside of his paws ( despite much thought we can't even begin to imagine where he got them) and lay stretched out immovable on the driveway while Wilf ambled alongside me exuding simple undiluted canine contentment. As top dog Wilf clearly feels that the morning walk justifies and reinforces his position in the pack.The two of them are now asleep under the table in the breakfast room.

You wouldn't know it from reading the blog but we've brought the boyz up in quite a Calvinist way. No getting on the furniture, no begging from the table, waiting until after we've finished eating before being fed and so on. Yesterday, as the 'fonts' car came down the road after three nights away the two of them sat by me watching in absolute, well mannered silence. Wilf did his very best to control his mounting excitement and sat stock still while the car approached, the luggage was unloaded and the font (after what must have seemed like an eternity) finally chose to appear at the garden gate. At that moment any pretence of having well trained dogs disappeared - Wilf let out a high pitched howl of delight ( the really loud embarassing sort that must make non dog owning neighbours think he is being tortured with a cattle prod ) and rose, as if propelled by a huge jet of compressed air, four feet in the air in an entirely natural tongue licking frenzy of welcome. The 'font' puts the warmth of the welcome down to a simple recognition by the boyz that the kitchen is once again in competent hands.

Discovered while reading a book on the Dark Ages that that the word Easter in English comes from the spring festival of the Anglo-Saxon goddess Eostre - whose name was sequestered by early Christian missionaries to Wessex.

The blog is coming up to its 500th post. What is really interesting to me looking at the daily comments is how decent and natural the internet has made us. In responses posted by people quite unknown to me,and frequently half a world away,there is a sense of trust,gentleness and kindness that seems to contradict a cynical world weary wariness .That's an outcome and response to technology I'd never have anticipated when the first post went up last Fall.

The contentment of middle age.

2009-08-29T06:45:00.007+02:00

It is the most perfect of mornings here with the baking Saharan heat finally ebbing away - in the cool dawn air Wilf followed me down to the farm gate,stopping every so often to sniff the scented breeze and check for porcupines, while Digby looked on from the safety of the porch. After their 'exertions' the two of them are now asleep by the breakfast table, Digby resting his head on Wilfs back and each snoring softly. I've noticed in the last three months sleep has become an ever more important and enjoyable part of their schedule. Gone forever are the days of adolesence and early adulthood when everything with the boyz had to be done at double quick time .They have now settled contentedly into advanced middle age - after eight and a half years they know exactly what's expected of them and they know what to expect from me. It's rather a nice age for dogs and owners - they somehow become a natural part of the daily rythmn of the house and family, as real as the bricks and mortar that surround us or the natural routine of meal times. Perhaps most tellingly, their advancing age and acts as the gentlest of reminders that we too are maturing - can it really have been 2001 when I picked them up from the breeder in Derbyshire?

Learning diplomacy.

2009-08-28T06:59:00.006+02:00

The new mayor came to the house to discuss his plans for marketing the comune's olive oil. He was due at nine and arrived,prompt by Italian standards,at ten thirty.In other words just in time for a cup of coffee. Making coffee is one thing I can do well in the kitchen .Years of trial and error have instilled in me a knack for knowing which levers to pull and which dials to turn on our proud looking Gaggia machine in order to produce a to die for espresso. The 'font' is highly suspicious of our little vaporetto believing its unforecastable tremblings, strangely vulgar gastric rumblings and sudden discharges of super heated steam to be a precursor to a dreadful kitchen catastrophe.

Anyway, the mayors latest idea is for a marketing campaign to enable Americans and Brits en masse to adopt an olive tree. The idea (as far as I could understand it) is for foreigners to pay €100 to nurture a tree and then pay a premium to buy oil from it. Four years in Italy have taught me to keep my impressions to myself so I smiled non-commitedly throughout while trying desperately to drive the words hare brained from my mind.

As I sat and listened I couldn't help but remember that when I was a wee boy growing up on a Scottish island olive oil used to be sold in small glass bottles by the pharmacist as a way of removing ear wax. The good god fearing west coast folk would have sooner died rather than use it for cooking. This was a memory that I chose not to share with the mayor who I'm sure believes (as do all Italians ) that anglo-sassones operate under the thinest veneer of culture - scratch it at your peril. Thank heavens the 'font' had reminded me to dress up - if the sindaco had seen me in my Hawaiian shirt and sun hat his prejudices would have been confirmed.

The two boyz spent much of yesterday chilling. We played ball (a lot), cut more vines,added to the swelling pile of cuttings,and checked for holes in the irrigation system. When I'm on my own the two of them sit by the farm gate in quasi guard mode. From the tone of Wilf's bark I can tell whether 1) he's bored and wants company 2) his little brother has got the ball and he wants it back now! 3) a porcupine is wandering past 4) a car is coming down the hill or 5) there are people about. When I hear bark #5 it is time to go and see what's happening.

Wilf on patrol.

2009-08-27T06:28:00.008+02:00

The 'font' is away for a few days enabling both me and the boyz to rapidly regress to our feral ways. This means that I can dress as unstylishly as I like in old shorts, hawaiian shirt and floppy sun hat while the boyz can go sniffing and ferreting away in the olive groves to their hearts content. The 'font' disapproves of my natural dress style believing anyone bumping into me would dig into their pockets for 50 cents and suggest I go and get a cup of coffee and a doughnut. How many visitors are we likely to have at six in the morning I ask?

Today, we were all up bright and early, out in the glorious post-dawn morning sunshine, cutting down old vines and carting off the cuttings to an ever growing mound of dessicated vegetation. It's against the law to have a bonfire during the arid summer months so the pile of grass ,olive and vine cuttings has grown over the last twelve weeks to rather impressive (the font might say alarming ) proportions - come cooler weather I'll be out here in a flash with a box of matches to send our miniature Gibraltar skywards.Wilf and Digby lay contentedly in the field watching the activity with an air of proprietorial indifference . They like to pretend that they are brave, independent spirits but whenever my pruning took me too far away from them they would stand up and saunter over to join me as if to say 'don't worry we're here now'.

Interesting article in the Washington Post about healthcare. Every year 700,000 Americans are forced into bankruptcy over their medical bills. In the UK, France,Germany and Japan the number of medical bankruptcies is zero.

Spoke last night to a friend who works in the Treasury in London. He can't understand why everyone is acting as if the economic crisis is over. Sure, the banks have been saved but now the reckoning is at hand and the financial maitre'd is hovering over the table with the bill in his hand. A hike in UK sales tax to 20% and income tax to 25% would 'only' raise about £25 billion of the £75 billion that will be needed each year to service and paydown the recently incurred debt. This tells me that there's a huge wave of government cutbacks in services on the way - what's the betting Britain will be hit by a rerun of 1970's industrial action next year?.

The 'font' has just been on the phone to remind me that the mayor is coming this morning so must go to have a shower and upgrade my tout ensemble.

The festivities continue.

2009-08-26T06:42:00.006+02:00

We skipped the trip up to the village for last nights festvities prefering to stay at home and avoid the heat by eating out by the pool. There are just so many nights that you can go and eat pasta at trestle tables with two hundred 'close' friends while listening to highly amplified music at close quarters- put it down to advancing middle age. I stopped off in the village square to look at the adverts for the next few nights entertainment.Tonight a performance by one Emanuele Fideli is scheduled. From the scant information on the poster I think we can assume he plays the accordion. Tomorrow 'Roberto' and his energetic young friend with the trumpet take top billing while Friday night culminates with a performance by a 60's revival band with Latin influences ( what's the betting a few Abba numbers are thrown in for good measure?).

The two boyz are in fine fettle having discovered that the 'font' and I are locked inside with them during the heat of the afternoon. This has been interpreted as a not to be missed opportunity to play catch on the hard,cold stone floor in the hallway for extended periods of time ie until they both drop from happy exhaustion.

We are watching the weather forecasts closely and hoping that a big cold front that is sweeping in from the Atlantic will make its way to us across France and the mediterranean in the next 48 hours.

Finding shade wherever and whenever you can.

2009-08-25T05:50:00.005+02:00

It's still hot - very hot - but I can't help but feel that this is Summer using its last reserves of strength to go out in style. The air carries a presentiment that within a week the scorching temperatures will be nothing more than a distant memory. The morning walk with Wilf reinforced the growing view that the olive harvest that I'd high hopes for now looks as though it will be a disappointment - the continued unrelenting heat of the last few days has stunted the formation of fruit on the younger trees - while even the older ones are now looking tired.

We sat outside last night marvelling at the antics of Wilf and Digby as they attempted to chase lizards across the terrace. The boyz still can't get it into their heads that lizards can run up walls. They scurry round, noses to the ground, in an exuberant display of fruitless activity. Over a post midnight final glass of wine the 'font' wondered aloud whether we laughed nearly as much before the two boyz arrived .

It was 70's night at the village carnival last night. You knew it was 70's night because a lady with big,big gravity defying hair and a lot of makeup belted out a medley of Abba and Diana Ross songs - no one was asked to join in but everyone did. The evening ended with that really annoying modern song that contains the line ' are we human or are we dancer ?'. I thought it was dancers but the font informs me it is dancer which makes the question even more annoying in its pointlessness.
The man from the bar who always wears a string vest and black baggy shorts was there at the carnival dressed in well, string vest and black baggy shorts. I asked him what he'd come as and quick as a flash he replied 'Elvis'.Humour is still alive and kicking in Italy. I'm still chuckling this morning.

Coping with the heat

2009-08-24T05:38:00.006+02:00

The boyz , who have coped with the high temperatures pretty well, finally wilted under yesterdays oppressive heat. It was real Atlanta style weather.For the first time ever both Wilf and Digby refused to come out for lunch preferring to sprawl morosely in the air conditioned kitchen and sulk.

Desperate measures were called for. I found an old blue plastic laundry basin in the store room, carried it down to the shade of the pool, filled it with 15 inches of cold fresh water from the tap and then called the boyz down to join me. I threw one of their favourite balls into the water and then stood back to watch what happened. For the next hour they had a fun fest. At first the two of them sat staring into the basin unsure what to do - particularly as that evil element water was involved. Wilf quickly learnt that he could stand at the side of the tub and grab the ball with his teeth but Digby found that it was much messier and infinitely more fun if he actually clambered into the basin to retrieve the ball. He started off hesitantly but after five minutes he was clambering in and out like a puppy. The 'font' and I took an hour out of the day to throw the ball backwards and forwards into the water roaring with laughter at their carefree antics and increasingly dishevelled appearance. Finally,even they tired of the game and two very wet but revitalised dogs clambered back to the house looking for something to eat.

The medieval banquet

2009-08-23T05:36:00.004+02:00

The village carnival is now in full swing. On Friday night the festivities got underway with a torch light procession through the village followed by a medieval banquet. This opening night is a jolly affair with huge tables set out in the square at which the locals (and anyone else who can squeeze in) sit on tressles eating pasta and drinking copious amounts of wine. Purists may question whether penne all' arrabbiata was a staple of every day fare in fifteenth century Umbria but such details are of no consequence to the participants who sensibly place enjoyment above a pharisaic pursuit of realism. The locals, as always, enter into the spirit of the event with abandon and are to be found dressed in a variety of what pass in these parts as period costumes. Under the light cast by flickering wall torches the whole affair has something of the feel of a budget production of Camelot. Plumes,leggings,swathes of multi-coloured velvet and those strange tall conical ladies hats that are always to be found in costume dramas of the period are much in evidence.

It remains stiflingly hot with yet another day of 40 degree + temperatures. The boyz are holding up well but I get the feeling that they can hardly wait for the arrival of colder weather.

Autumn knocks at the door - Rome is given over to the tourists.

2009-08-22T05:40:00.016+02:00

Autumn is suddenly beating impatiently at the door. At five this morning it was still dark and a torch was needed to safely navigate through the rows of trees in the fields. Only last week I was out with the boyz at five and watching the sun start its leisurely climb into the sky - what a difference a few days make when the seasons are on the point of shifting.

Thankfully, the olive trees are hardy things and most of them seem to be holding up under the onslaught of 40 degree+ temperatures day after day. The older more mature trees with deep root structures are positively thriving and are heavy with olives but some of the younger ones are demonstrating signs of heat stress and needed a helping hand from the irrigation system. Wilf and Digby made it to the front door with me for the walk but took one look at the impenetrable darkness outside and decided instead to snuggle down together by the wall to continue their sleep. They looked so cosy curled up together that I didn't push the issue.

Rome was chock full to the gunnals of tourists.On the surface everything looked as though it was 'business as usual' but it was soon apparent that the locals had fled en masse to the cool hills or the sea. Rome without the Romans is a very different place - a mere shadow of its real self populated by seasonal restaurant and hotel workers who are already thinking about moving to the ski resorts. My favourite fish restaurant by the Pantheon, da Fortunato, was shuttered for the duration and Cafe Sant Eustachio,which according to the the 'font' makes the best cup of coffee in the world, was well and truly boarded up. Faced with the summer closure of all my usual hangouts I had dinner in a restaurant that was strongly recommended by the hotel but which turned out to be,in the most polite of terms,' little more than adequate' . You couldn't help but have the feeling that the heat, coupled to the teeming throngs of 'stranieri' milling around in bermuda shorts were testing the patience of the waiting staff. They demonstrated a bored efficiency bordering on surliness.

My dinner companion was a Polish politician who proved to be surprisingly entertaining with his personal, and sometimes scurrilous, vignettes of Europe and Americas leading parliamentarians. Our conversation was listened to intently by the well mannered predominantly 'BosWash' couples dining alongside us. I always find it interesting to watch married couples on tour - there are broadly two categories. Those who talk to each other and those who sit in abject silence as if dining alone. On this particular night the restaurant was full of the later category - I wonder if they repeated the stories about Mr.Bush to each other when they got back to their ( hopefully airconditioned) hotel?.

The Tiber and the Vatican City at 7.00 am today

2009-08-21T14:55:00.003+02:00

Click to enlarge

Hunting lizards in the rosemary border.

2009-08-21T13:10:00.004+02:00

Wilf did his triple barrel roll of delight on the grass when he saw me walking up to the gate.It was a swelteringly hot journey back from Rome but the roads were thankfully deserted and I made it back from the centro storico to the front door in an hour and a half. I'll blog about it all more tomorrow - suffice it to say that Rome is not an ideal August destination if you are having to wear a collar and tie. In the meantime here are some pictures of Wilf chasing lizards ( with a zero success rate ) in the rosemary border - we are all off for a long 'splosh' game down by the pool.

Digby - perfecting the art of snoozing.

2009-08-20T08:10:00.010+02:00

We had the highest temperatures in Italy yesterday and more of the same is forecast for today. The naturally relaxed tempo of village life has slowed to an almost comatose pace in the face of the searing heat and burning winds.

To get our work done while it's still cool we were up and out at four thirty - Wilf walked contentedly alongside me through the fields while I checked for heat damage on the trees and he checked determinedly for rabbits. The sun rose a little after five casting an angry heavy brown then orange glow across the sky. Digby didn't join us on the walk but settled by the grass at the front door grumpy that he hadn't been allowed to sleep on. In this heat the two boyz are kept outside in the cool until eleven and then brought inside until the mercury slumps again in the evening. They seem to have been able to shift their sleep patterns so that the major 'doze' occurs during the hottest hours of the afternoon. We have been less succesful in changing our schedule to cope with the heat and the 'font' and I wander round suffering from what seems like sleep deprivation.Getting to bed at one and getting up again at four was fine when we were 20 but 30 years on it's a bit taxing.

Thanks for your replies about the emergency services. Most of you would expect the police or ambulance to show up within 5 to 10 minutes and even those of you in the remoter reaches of the mountain states would expect help in half an hour or so. Here, things are different. The government is cutting back its budget for the police yet again. The nice young carabinieri officer showed up on Monday night to say that the number of officers was being cut by half and that they might not be able to deal with incidents so quickly in future.The 'font' was not pleased and pointed out (with what I detected as an element of froideur) that it took 49 minutes for them to get to us the last time ( for new readers see the April 8th post to understand why this is such a big issue ) so how could it possibly take any longer? There is a lesson in this. When a governments borrowings exceed the countrys GDP then an ever greater slug of taxpayers money has to go on paying interest on the debt and less and less is available for basic public services. Italy with debt to GDP of 110% is already way down the slippery slope, I hope the British government wakes up to the effect of printing money before it's too late and the same thing happens.

Digby is down by the side of the pool perfecting the art of snoozing and Wilf is licking out the 'fonts' breakfast yoghurt carton - always an amusing sight. It's now 8.30 am and already getting too hot to do much more although Wilf is signalling that he's game on for a spot of ball throwing before the tarmac melts.

Why,oh why did I agree to a dinner in Rome in this heat? Me thinks the restaurant for tonight will be chosen not so much for its food but for the ferocity of its airconditioning.

Can I ask you all a simple question?

2009-08-19T06:19:00.005+02:00

How long would it take the emergency services to get to you? In other words , roughly how much time do you think would pass from the time of placing a 911 call to the time the emergency services actually arrive at your door. 2 minutes, 10 minutes, 30 minutes ?. I'll give you the reason for the question tomorrow.

Wilf is eating well (again), the village preparations for the 'festa' are proceeding shambolically apace, the weather was a mere 40 degrees yesterday which enabled the 'font' to sit out with me on the terrace laughing at the boyz antics and enjoying the cool night air until the small hours,and there was only one small earth tremor during the night. After the quake had passed I got up to see the courtyard full of hares rushing around - they had been disturbed by the earth movements. I have to say it was a truly magical sight.

We are supposed to be the hottest place in Italy today so the two troubadors will spend the morning down in the shade of the pool portico. If we're lucky they will then sleep through the heat of the afternoon.

Battening down the hatches before it gets hot.

2009-08-18T06:12:00.009+02:00

The regular tolling of the Todi cathedral bell and the alternate chirps and screams from a family of eagles flying low overhead enlivened our morning walk through the olive groves. The rain bearing thunderstorms earlier in the month seem to have dosed the olive roots at just the right time and the trees are already laden down with masses of bright green fruit. There were four eagles out this morning enjoying the first thermals of the day - from the noise they were making and the playful swooping through the air by two of them it must have been parents and their youthful offspring discovering the wonders of an early summers morning. The boyz, startled by the shrill whistling, looked warily up at the sky and turned quickly back towards the safety of the house.

Wilf skipped breakfast. Any PON owner will tell you that refusing food is a very worrying sign. If he doesn't eat tonight I'll be doubly concerned but it's more than likely that he found something dreadful to devour in the fields. The owl convention were hooting and hollering away between midnight and two in the morning leaving the ground outside the courtyard littered with the remains of their nocturnal feasting - mostly voles by the look of it. The owls also managed to perch on the security sensors setting off the perimeter alarm - twice !

The stage has gone up in the village square and a sea of white plastic chairs was being set out as I drank my morning espresso at the bar. As I was leaving the group of four baseball cap wearing grandfathers who (weather willing) are always positioned at the bench by the bar entrance told me to watch out - 'it's going to get hot'. Considering it got to 40 degrees yesterday I assumed they were just making polite conversation. However, it seems that we are in for a replay of 2003 when a wall of searing heat rolled up from the Sahara bringing 45 degree temepartures in its wake.I have to go to Rome on business on Thursday - what joy 45 degrees and I'll be in a suit. The boyz are asleep by the pool having exhausted themselves , and the 'font' with a protracted 'splosh' game.

First photos from the new phone.

2009-08-17T06:18:00.006+02:00

It's a quiet month for news. Mr.Berlusconi , the Italian Prime Minister, has gone off on holiday
to his villa in Sardinia and according to the papers ' will be swimming for an hour a day, and enjoying low fat meals'. Elsewhere the only other issue that the Italian papers consider newsworthy is the increasingly strident attacks on plans for US healthcare reform. Town Hall meeting anger makes a much better story than a rational examination of options for Medicaid funding.

Here in the village preparations for the summer carnival proceed apace . The car park outside the church has been roped off and the first of the refreshment tents has gone up. While I was downing my morning coffee at the bar a large truck trailer arrived outside carrying the sections for the stage. This will be laboriously erected outside the church during the course of the day with a group of twenty of thirty octogenarian locals in attendance each one loudly offering advice (all of it conflicting). Posters for the this years 'acts' are being pasted on the noticeboard and the first of the festive banners has started to appear outside the village shops. The rising sense of excitement in the village is now palpable.

Posted are the first photos of the boyz taken with the new phone. When I started the blog I said that I would only use the camera in the cellular so that I could download updates quickly. To my surprise the quality hasn't been too bad although trying to get the boyz to sit still for any length of time is a challenge. In the top two pictures Digby looks particularly unhappy at being photgraphed while Wilf takes everything stoically (as long as it doesn't involve water).

Delivering firewood at four in the morning.

2009-08-16T06:21:00.006+02:00

Summer is going out in style - the mercury hit 39 degrees on Saturday and is likely to better that today. A cloud of mid-summer torpidity sits heavy over Italy. Thankfully,the two boyz have grown into the habit of sleeping from lunch until four in the afternoon which means they avoid the worst of the sun. Their afternoon doze didn't do them much good yesterday as the heat determinedly lingered on,searing uncomfortably out of the limestone,until late in the day . We ventured down to the pool for a couple of 'splosh' games around seven and then again at eight but faced with a wall of sweltering air the boyz enthusiasm quickly wilted and they retreated back to the cool of the house. Finally, to get comfortable we sat in the kitchen until gone ten with the aircon on full pelt while I read and the boyz crunched contentedly on ice cubes. After a day of enforced idleness the two troubadors were brimming over with energy after dinner .They entered into their late evening ball throwing session with total delight yelping and rolling on their backs on the cool grass- they may be eight years old but they can revert to playful puppyhood very quickly - we turned in at one although Wilf would have happily carried on .
This morning at four thirty Wilf was sitting bolt upright and fully alert at the side of the bed willing me silently to get up. A couple of months ago I'd ordered wood for the winter fires and then completely forgotten all about it.This morning the delivery truck turned up unannounced at the crack of dawn and dropped thirty quintales ( hundredweight) of logs at the wood shed - Wilf heard it all. By the time I'd thrown on a shirt and shorts and got out of the door to find out what was going on the driver was haring back along the track. As we were up and about the three of us walked slowly in the cool pre-dawn air up to the village at the top of the hill - even Digby with his sore hip managed the steep climb.We then sauntered gently back home again past the tired looking sunflowers and got back to the house by six for a reviving cup of coffee (for me) and a 'splosh' game for them .

I've just driven into Montefalco for the Sunday papers. I'd not noticed before the wonderful Cedar of Lebanon that stands at the old town gate.What a majestic tree and what glorious shade it provides!.

Alone with the boyz

2009-08-15T07:02:00.009+02:00

The 'font' is away for a few days so yours truly and the two boyz have been left to fend for ourselves over the weekend. Recognizing my singular incompetence when it comes to cooking the 'font' has left prepared meals in the fridge and all that (theoretically ) needs to be done is to turn on the oven and set the timer. Wilf and Digby followed me into the kitchen last night and sat looking forlornly as I attempted to follow the set of simple instructions on the kitchen counter - in the process turning the haven of quiet culinary efficiency into a disaster zone. It didn't take Wilf long to recognize the full horror and enormity of what was happening and that the chances of scrounging anything edible were non-existent. The dejected look on his face said it all.

This morning we've all been out in the fields checking on the irrigation system and making sure that the water storage cisterns are full. The episcopal records in Orvieto show that a farm has been operating on our little hillside since the 13th century and probably for far longer. Somehow,this intense cultivation over the centuries of a pattern of small sheltered fields has enabled man and nature to find a balance and coexist quite happily. As I stood at the farmgate this morning with the boyz at my feet two eagles were circling overhead calling out with their muted little whistles - a call quite out of keeping with such a large and imperious bird - while flocks of swallows and house martins were wheeling and circling in the sky. At the next door farm the sheep were strolling out into the fields, bells tinkling, while the flocks of geese were argumentatively milling in the farmyard. You have a sense here in deepest rural Italy of of a nature 'self fed, self kindled, like the light' in which we are just a small transient part.

The two boyz have spent twenty minutes of quality time playing the mind numbingly repetitive 'splosh' game with me by the pool and are now settled down, happy and tired, under the shade of a pine tree for a couple of hours of contented rest.

Routine restored.

2009-08-14T06:28:00.005+02:00

The weather in London was miserable - warm and clammy. It rained half heartedly on Wednesday night but without enough strength to clear the cloying humidity. I was going to go to the theatre but opted for a dull dinner with a lawyer in the airconditioned comfort of the hotel. On the way to the airport for the return flight I stopped off at a mobile phone shop and discovered that my phone was 18 months old and that I was due a free upgrade. Within ten minutes I was on my way with a new mobile in a rather fetching matt red aluminium case. Most importantly, the camera is promised to have a better lens than the old model and storage capacity for 300 photos rather than the 18 that the old phone boasted. The results will be posted here as soon as it is fully charged and I dutifully plough through the instruction manual on how to download. The British Airways Rome flight was again 100% full as was Heathrow airport. BAA, the airport manager, managed to have half the security checkpoints closed on one of the peak traffic days of the year. Go figure!

Wilf and Digby met me at the farm gate on my return last night - how do dogs know when you're coming home?. They are both absolute clowns and the verve and vigour of their rapturous welcome soon dispelled any tiredness after the flight and the long drive up from Rome. A good half hour was spent playing ball and rebonding.This morning I've been looking at the massed balloonists while Wilf and Digby diligently check for rabbits in the fields. Two hares ran across the path directly in front of us on the walk up the hill but both boyz were nose down contentedly following a scent and failed to notice anything.

Home from London.

2009-08-13T22:19:00.002+02:00

Just back from a hot and clammy London. The boyz are ready for an evenings ball throwing. Will post later after I've done my familial duty.

The morning after.

2009-08-11T21:20:00.004+02:00

This being Italy the arrival of towering storm clouds did nothing to dampen the enjoyment of the crowds who had congregated in the village square to watch the shooting stars. A stage was erected in front of the church and entertainment (after a fashion) was provided by a number of locals. Any shortfall in talent was more than made up for by a surfeit of enthusiasm so that by two in the morning the valley was alive with the sound of balladic hits. Alas, karaoke and sound systems have become universal.

I'm off to London this morning so Wilf and Digby have had a quick march round the fields and a rather desultory 'splosh' game by the pool. This is the third morning in a row where there has been mist in the valley floor a sure sign that the seasons are rolling over with summer gently giving way to autumn.

The boyz are both in prime comic form. Will blog tomorrow when I get back.

Preparing for tonights shooting stars.

2009-08-11T07:52:00.006+02:00

Wilf walked ahead of me on the morning tour of the olive groves and lavender fields completely immersed in the scents and sounds of the Italian countryside. His little brother sat at the farm gate waiting impatiently for our return - in addition to his sore hip he now seems to have managed to rub the skin off one of his paws leaving it raw. The walk ended with Wilf initiating a quick 'splosh' game in the pool.

Tonight is the 'night of the stars' in the local village. Not as we first imagined when we moved here anything to do with Hollywood but rather a mass gathering of star watchers. They arrive in their hundreds in the village carrying a variety of telescopes and settle down between midnight and four in the morning to watch the annual shooting star shower. In a civilised touch, the local restaurant moves its kitchen outside and serves meals until dawn. With no light pollution ( sodium lamps are unknown this deep in the country ) the heavenly display is really quite something. The sound effects from the Italian families gathered en masse in the cool of the night air is equally impressive with cries of enraptured delight echoing around as the shooting stars scurry across the sky. Silent reserve is not a concept that has much purchase in Italy.

Montefalco and a happy Wilf.

2009-08-10T06:34:00.010+02:00

Sunday saw us making good use of the beautiful weather and heading off to the local hilltop town of Montefalco. A trip there lets me buy the papers while the 'font' has a cup of coffee at the bar on the main square. As well as being on a save the planet kick (hence the chemical free home made mosquito repellant that can also double up as a marinade) 'we' are also apparently on a cut down on caffeine routine. I tasted the evil decaffeinated brew that was proffered and instantly went up to the counter and ordered a double espresso. The caffeine free route is one best travelled without me. Like all Italian towns Montefalco was completely devoid of people on the streets at 10.30 am. It felt as though it has just been decimated by some chemical or biological disaster- all the signs of habitation were there but all the people had gone.

The town boasts a new and rather chic hotel on the main square. It is perhaps over designed for our primarily agricultural region but a welcome addition nonetheless. The floors are made of that high gloss white cement that you find in hip hotels in South Beach or West Hollywood. I couldn't but help notice that every visitor left behind a trail of footprints which required the constant attention of some poor young thing with a bucket and mop. No sooner was the floor clean than another tourist would come wandering off the street with dusty size 11 feet and so the process would repeat itself.

Wilf has been down with me at the pool since seven this morning sorting out the pool chemicals. Digby is catching up on his sleep under the kitchen table. For Wilf any trip poolside is an opportunity to pick up a ball and drop it in the water with a satisfying splosh. I am then expected to pick it up and throw it. He then returns to drop it in the water and so on and so on. He never tires.

For the sensitive souls who visit this site I would recommend a blog http://www.29blackstreet.blogspot.com/. It is very beautifully written and the latest post has a rather thought provoking piece of 13th century eastern poetry that we enjoyed - maybe surviving the attack has made us both more grateful for all life brings.

Zanzaras. You can take being 'native' too far.

2009-08-09T07:56:00.008+02:00

It's all very well moving abroad to learn new ideas and develop fresh perspectives but you can take going 'native' too far. We are fortunate that we live on top of a hill and are far enough away from the flood plains of the Tiber to avoid being plagued by mosquitos. Last night was however an exception. It was unusually clammy and by nine in the evening we were being bothered by harvest flies and the tell tale buzzing of mosquitos - by the way the Italian for mosquito is zanzara a wonderfully onomatopoeiac word that sounds just like the saw tooth sound the little critters make. I am happy to douse myself in any anti-bug spray to keep them away- the more chemicals the better if it gives me peace and quiet. The 'font' however is on one of those spare the planet kicks at the moment so chemicals are a no-no. Instead of an aerosol of DDT we were treated to a rubdown with an evil concotion of garlic,lavender and rosemary oils. It was provided gratis by the local farmers wife who swears by it, having been tried and tested in her family for generations,her men folk (she says) go out into the fields by the river drenched in the stuff. Suffice it to say that the smell made me feel as though I was being prepared for roasting in the oven while the texture was so thick and rubbery that no mosquito would be able to get its probiscus through to the skin. I had a good long shower to get it off me and went to bed early. This is not a concoction that is going to find its way onto pharmacy shelves any time soon and I'm going back to spraying on Boots the Chemists finest agent orange preparation in future.

The boyz have had a fresh application of Frontline and new mosquito repellant collars to keep the bugs away from them. We are in an area where leishmaniasis is endemic so we try to keep them close to us at dawn and dusk when the insects are about. There is however no danger of them being bitten this morning - it's eight o'clock and already 28 degrees. They have settled down in the shade of the pine trees outside the house with a ball and are waiting patiently for the first visitor of the day to pester.

Uncharacteristically sweet smelling.

2009-08-08T08:33:00.005+02:00

The 'font of all knowledge' returned from the airport yesterday lunchtime.The first flight of the day from Londons Heathrow airport with British Airways was again on time and 100% full . I'd like to think that it was a clear sign that the economy is recovering but it's just as likely to be the fact that this is the peak tourist season and if the flights aren't full now they never will be. Security at Terminal 5 has reverted to that recognizably British state of surly inefficiency with the lines stretching back into the main terminal and taking 35 minutes to clear. The airport operator seems to have difficulty recognizing that you need more staff,not less, at peak travel periods.

The two boyz heard the car coming down the hill and were in a rapturous state by the time the 'font' arrived. A combined 45 kilogram mass went hurtling down the hill, ears flying, to say hello. When Wilf was a puppy he was remarkably quiet - he left the barking to his little brother. More recently he seems to have developed a vast repertoire of noises . I can only presume this learnt behaviour is courtesy of his rare stays in the local kennels where he has begun to mimic the other dogs. Anyway, yesterday in addition to the welcome barks our little valley had the pleasure of listening to a full symphonic treasury of squeaks, wails, howls,whoops and snorts all delivered at maximum volume and with maximum gusto. Anyone listening to the strange canine hullaballoo must think we torture the two little darlings with cattle prods.

This morning we went on a gentle walk around the fields. I'm going to have to start thinking about harvesting the lavender. Cut it too early and the August sun will dry out the roots, cut it too late and the oils will have burnt away. The two boyz spent twenty minutes exploring the lavender fields and have emerged from their adventure smelling uncharactersitically sweet. Long may it last.

Memories of Scotland.

2009-08-07T10:25:00.010+02:00

The pictures today are of the morning walk we used to do every day when we were in Scotland. They were probably two years old at the time. Looking at these beach shots I can't believe how closely cut the boyz coats were considering that even in August the morning temperatures on the east coast would be a miserly seven or so degrees and the afternoon 'heat' would struggle against the Atlantic weather patterns to rise into the high teens or low 20's. It would seem logical to have their coats as short here in Italy where 40 degree heat is the norm but the sun is so strong that they would very quickly suffer from burns. The only alternative (short of keeping them indoors from sunrise to sunset which would not go down well ) is frequent trimming and long grooming periods to keep their double coats working properly.

Over dinner last night a long time German friend who is now horribly senior in the foreign service in Berlin told an interesting story about the former British PM Tony Blair. Describing to the then German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder the reasons for voting with the US on an Iraq war resolution at the United Nations Mr.Blair waxed lyrical about the rapport he had with Mr.Bush and the special relationship between Britain and its closest friend and ally the United States.Herr Schroeder listened and then turned to one of his colleagues and said " Special relationship ? So special only the English know it exists ". A piquant comment,perhaps, on how Bush played Blair?

The aeronauta

2009-08-06T08:00:00.005+02:00

Over breakfast we were all startled by a loud 'shhhhhh' noise that suddenly boomed out from the cloudless sky above us. The two boyz immediately went into defence mode racing round to the farm gate and barking at maximum decibels to let any intruder know that he had a fight on his hands. The noise was coming from the gas heater of a balloon that was enjoying the chance to get airborne in the still clear air after the recent storms - perfect ballooning weather. The gonfiarsi drifted slowly by at an altitude of about a hundred feet . The two boyz stood staring into the sky totally transfixed by this strange new sight. They followed it until it disappeared from view behind the tree line. There will be something for them to dream about later this morning.

A marvellous interview in this mornings FT with one of Sgr.Berlusconis scorned 'lady friends'. It contains a line saying that Italy is " a land where contacts and 'recommendations' often outweigh merit".

Apres le deluge ..

2009-08-05T07:32:00.006+02:00

Faced with periodic power outages we went to the local restaurant for lunch yesterday to escape the wailing banshee wind,driving monsoon like rain and dark scudding clouds. The storm had one great advantage - it provided the villagers with a fresh topic of conversation which they ruthlessly exploited. No sooner had we arrived and sat down than our waitress breathlessly rushed up to inform us that there had been a 'disaster' two kilometres along the road in the next village. A mud slide had coming storming down the hill and through the front doors of the local clothing store covering the ground floor in a thick layer of sludge. Village life in Italy is marked by events such as this.

The loss of the clothing store would indeed be a catstrophe in the life of the local community. Although our little market town is far ( some would say very far ) from being stylish it nonetheless harbours pretensions to be the local fashion centre. This reputation for being the Milan of the Tiber valley is built around one 'trendy' store that sells every designer label known to man - as long as the label is Italian or purports to be. From the window displays it would seem that brightly coloured jackets with fur collars and (to me) illogical slogans sewn onto their backs in Japanese and Norwegian are the must have item for fall 2009.Call me old fashioned but I for one will not be walking around in a dayglo yellow number with the admonition ' Shrank now sparkle ! - Trondheim 2025 ' emblazoned across the back and down the arms. Who designs these things? There must be a high probability that they've been churned out, deep in Yangtse territory, by a factory owner who knows nothing of the outside world other than the information he can glean from a quick reading of an old travel guide to Scandinavia.

The boyz are alone with me again for three days while the 'font' is travelling.Wilf came on the morning walk but Digby remained behind at the front gate.It's very hot and humid here after the rains ,so maybe it's causing his arthritis to play up.

Huge storms

2009-08-04T09:56:00.003+02:00

Huge storms are battering Italy. Thankfully, we haven't had too much damage apart from some furniture thrown about by the wind and a few shrubs knocked over. Higher up the valley there have been mud slides, trees felled , walls toppled, and power lines knocked down. Faced with torrential rain , pyrotechnic lightning and thunder and 100 kilometre winds Wilf and Digby slept under the bed last night and haven't been too keen on emerging from their hiding spot this morning. The satellite link has been tempremental so I shall post again later when the tempest subsides and after I've checked the olive groves for broken branches. Wilf might deign to join me but at the moment he's giving me a look that seems to say ' you must be mad if you think I'm joining you out there'.

Wilf walks, Digby sits.

2009-08-03T06:04:00.007+02:00

Wilf trotted quietly beside me on the morning walk - he really is the perfect dog and treats each excursion with enthusiasm and joy . His little brother Digby is a worry. He's alert and playful but is holding back more and more when we set off for a walk. This morning he sat by the gate and looked at us as we went on ahead. No amount of encouragement would get him to move.I hope it's the heat that's causing his lack of enthusiasm for exercise rather than ( as I expect ) his bad hip. It's clear that Wilf is losing some weight but Digby,despite his diet,seems to be keeping his middle age spread which isn't good for mobility.

Many years ago I used to work for a 'think tank' in Menlo Park - at the time the firm spent much of its time analysing developments behind what was then the 'iron curtain'. An old friend from those days reminded me last night of a true story that I'd long ago forgotten. In mid-October 1978 Stanislaw Kania the Polish Politburo member in charge of propaganda telephoned the then head of the Polish government,Edward Gierek, with the news that a former professor at the Catholic University of Lublin and Archbishop of Krakow, Karol Wojtyla, had unexpectedly been elected pope. 'Holy Mother of God!' was the response of the First Secretary of Poland's ruling Communist party.

Washed the car thought better of washing the boyz

2009-08-02T08:45:00.005+02:00

I noticed last night that Digby has developed a certain odour and fear that he is facing the early onset of what would once have been described in hushed tones as 'gentlemans problems'. We were all up bright and early so decided to use the opportunity of the cool weather to take the two troubadors down to the car wash to try out the automated dog washing machine . Over breakfast I outlined my plan for odour removal to the 'font' who didn't reply but looked at me with that half pitying half horrified look that those directly involved with lunancy develop as a defence mechanism.

The car wash when we got there just before six was empty and the temperature was a still bearable 25 degrees. Carefully parking the car in the shade , I read and then re-read the instructions on the machine, studiously noted where all the dials and equipment for washing, shampooing , rinsing and drying were located and ran through the steps that would be needed to remove one dog at a time from the back of the car. It all seemed so simple - place the dog on the conveyor belt, turn the dial to position 1 to activate the conveyor, turn dial to position 2 to halt the conveyor, turn dial to 3 to wash, repeat using shampoo with dial at position 4, turn dial to position 5 for rinsing, dial 6 for hair drying and so on. Having just bought the tokens for the machine and in the midst of congratulating myself on my prescience when,on the dot of six , half a dozen cars en route to the seaside arrived - full of children with radios blaring . The two boyz who had been sitting contentedly and placidly in the back of the car were suddenly surrounded by a hoarde of Italian children tapping on the window, screaming loudly, gesticulating wildly and generally causing mayhem while their fathers lazily sprayed the hubcaps of their FIAT's. Suffice it to say that Digby did not take this attention calmly. The automatic dog washing will be left to another day. The boyz are now down by the pool playing the 'splosh' game to their hearts content.

Saturday.

2009-08-01T09:38:00.002+02:00

We didn't manage a four thirty wake-up but we were all out by five thirty for a saunter through the fields for the sunrise. There must be a weather change coming - after two weeks of scorching aridity there were mist clouds hanging in the valley bottoms. Perhaps we might even get a shower of rain in the next few days. I trimmed Digby's coat again when we got home but decided for my own sanity to leave dealing with Wilf until tomorrow. Their coats don't seem to grow so much as sprout - leave them unattended to for a week and they end up looking like polar bears.

The 'font' phoned from Oxfordshire to say that it was raining heavily and that it was so,so wonderful.Typical. We spend all our time in Scotland dreaming of heat and now we've got it we want rain. The grass is always greener.....

An early morning start.

2009-07-31T06:55:00.006+02:00

The 'font of all knowledge' left at four thirty this morning for the two hour drive down to Rome to catch a flight back to London. Things must be looking up in the economy - all the British Airways flights were full apart from the anti-socially scheduled first slot of the day. We all got up at the same time to make use of the early morning cool and snatch a quick cup of coffee together. Not everyone rose from their slumbers gracefully - Wilf is not a morning canine and did his best 'if I keep my eyes closed they won't see me routine'. Having played dead he finally consented to shift to the front door but was unavailable for any form of communication thereafter . Not for nothing was he originally named Wilf as shorthand for wilful . It was left to Digby and myself to open the farm gate and watch the headlights of the car disappear into the distance. When I turned around to walk back to the house I found that Digby was sound asleep at my feet.Middle age catches up with all of us - two and four footed alike.

An interesting article in todays Corriere della Sera pointing out that the side effects of Tamiflu - the drug issued as a means of preventing swine flu - are worse than the flu itself. Nausea , sleep loss and high irritability are the most common symptoms. That's ok then.

Lost in scents and sounds.

2009-07-30T06:45:00.004+02:00

The boyz were in a reflective mood this morning. They were lost in a world of scents and sounds and I got back to the house ten minutes ahead of them while they ambled along the farm track oblivious to the time. It never ceases to amaze me how totally different in character two brothers can be. Wilf is full of energy, rarely given to self doubt, and happy with his role in life. Digby with his bad hip is less energetic than his big brother, is decidedly more highly strung and only truly happy when he's with his folks. Of the two Digby is by far the most intelligent having had to learn the trick of outsmarting his big,rumbustious brother. Wilf was given quite a kicking by the robbers during the burglary, and while his ear has healed, I noticed on this mornings walk that his right back leg is still stiff.

We sat outside under the stars last night until we noticed that it was well past midnight and the two boyz had despaired of us and had taken themselves off to bed. The 'font' had discovered a marvellous quote from a 1959 speech in parliament by a junior transport minister. Introducing new legislation on motorway driving the minister said the legislation should be ' brief enough to be readable but comprehensive enough to cover every important point - like a lady's skirt, long enought to cover the subject,but short enought to be interesting'.How we laughed. Any politician attempting a comment like that today we be laughed out of the chamber - unless of course you live in Italy where blatant 'sexism' 1950's style seems to do the Prime Minister no harm at all. The 'font' rightly pointed out that Mr.Berlusconi survives, despite his alleged 'interest' in young starlets, because there is simply no alternative. His political philosophy is 'apres moi le deluge'. Although I'm no great fan of his I'd have to say that's right.

Bliss.

2009-07-29T11:16:00.003+02:00

Wilf has been exploring in the fields. He returned from our early morning saunter with his face and coat covered in grass seeds and other assorted vegetation. The remedy was a fretful ten minutes of detangling with a comb with Wilf fidgeting and generally letting it be known that he would rather be somewhere else - anywhere else other than on the grooming table. He has now settled down into a deep mid-morning snooze to try to forget the traumas that faced him.

Todi is looking quite blissful this morning above the ripening vines . The local grape here is the sagrantino which is small in size, with a thick skin and a slightly acid note to its sweetness. Over the last four or five years the big Italian insurance companies have bought up many of the small producers which has resulted in a marked improvement in quality and an even more marked increase in price.

I was delighted to read in the papers this morning that the senior management of EADS the aircraft manufacturer are to be fined for what was effectively insider trading. It's good to see watchdogs doing what they are supposed to. Governments around the world are keen to expand their own powers through closer supervision of banks and other financial institutions. All of this additional oversight and cost will be a waste of money as the industry is already weighed down under a raft of incoherent regulations. To put things right what is needed is for 100 or so criminal lawyers to be put onto enforcing the current laws and be paid by result - many people on Wall Street or the City might then find that there is no such thing as power without responsibility.The prosecutors might want to start with a long hard look at High Frequency Trading - or what in my day would have been known as the cardinal sin of front running.

Crusty formality.

2009-07-28T07:07:00.005+02:00

It's another day without a cloud in the sky. Seven in the morning and its already 25 degrees - it looks as if there is another 40 degree + day ahead of us. Dallas weather. Wilf and Digby , after a cursory tour of the olives groves,have retired to the shade of the courtyard and are giving every indication that they don't intend to move very far until lunchtime. Digby is on his back and Wilf has hunkered down into the cool grass. Their diet seems to be less than effective in this heat- while the kibble intake has been reduced by 30% their activity levels have also gone down . Net result is that their middle aged spread (like mine) remains firmly in place. I have just had an awful thought - what if it's true dogs and owners eventually end up looking like one another?

The gardeners failed to return yesterday with the oleanders for the new pots. They finally deigned to call at six in the evening to say that the plants wouldn't arrive from the nursery until Thursday. Not that we had much chance of peace and quiet. The pool man showed up on his Lambretta mid-morning - he's supposed to come on Thursdays. I'm sure his Christian name is Orlandoni - but the ' font ' tells me that Orlandoni is his surname. If so I have been happily greeting him with a rather crusty formality - the equivalent of saying ' Good Morning Smith ' every time we meet. I look at Orlandoni with a mixture of awe and suspicion.He wears bright plaid trousers that would be quite at home on a golf course but as everyday wear are a little strident for my taste. More worrying is his 'face furniture'. His exquisitely honed sideburns cascade down his cheeks to merge with a perfectly trimmed goatee - the total effect is rather like an extra in one of those 1940's Errol Flynn films about the Spanish Armada. For someone who has difficulty enough shaving this Italian emphasis on masculine grooming is quite alien - how much time must he spend in front of a mirror every morning?.

Why are Canadians so educated ?

2009-07-27T07:54:00.006+02:00

An article in this mornings Corriere della Sera has an interesting chart showing the percentage of those completing college level education by country. Canada leads with 47%, the US with 39%, the UK 31% and Italy 13%. No Italian university appears in the global top 100 due to lack of funding and a personnel policy that makes it impossible to force tenured teaching staff out of their positions even if they literally do nothing. As a result most Italian universities have senior faculty members aged in their late 70's and early 80's . This is hugely dispiriting for younger members of staff who have to wait for their colleagues to drop dead before they can gain promotion. Naturally teaching and research standards suffer accordingly. Pisa University is reported as saying in todays paper that it only has funds to pay 60 out of 264 professors.These cultural and financial issues are clearly not problems Canadian institutions face!

After much discussion with the local commune we have now finally restored the old Roman wall in the courtyard and completed the reconstruction of the archway.Last week the wooden doors went in. To complete the 'tout ensemble' the gardeners arrived this morning with two large terracotta pots to go on either side of the wooden doors . We intend to plant large red oleander bushes in them to brighten up the rather stern and forbidding stone walls. The delivery went well, the team arrived at seven, nothing was broken, and the installation seemed to go according to plan. It's only now that they've gone back to pick up the oleanders from the nursery that I see that the two pots have been laid at what can only be described as an extremely 'drunken' angle. I am hastily looking up gardening terms in my Italian - English dictionary.

The two boyz have recovered from their weekend exertions and have been happily playing ball with the gardeners. Perhaps that's why the pots are the way they are.

Digby - exhausted after a late night.

2009-07-26T11:11:00.004+02:00

Digby seems to be suffering this morning from the canine version of staying out too late. We had Italian friends who because of the heat arrived for dinner at the rather chic hour of nine o'clock and stayed until one. The boyz were naturally delighted to have company and after giving their usual enthusiastic greeting they sat patiently waiting in the courtyard while we ate. Despite their enthusiasm to play ball, by midnight their energy levels were flagging and they were keen to turn in. By the time our guests left they were beyond caring, by the time we had tidied up they were out of it.

This morning when I got up at five to water the olives trees there were two comatose dogs lying on the floor. After much cajoling they consented to make it out of the front door but refused to follow me down the driveway. They have taken up position in the shade of the courtyard and from the look of Digby will be there for the rest of the day.

The bee.

2009-07-25T09:44:00.005+02:00

When I started the blog I decided for the sake of simplicity and immediacy to only use the camera on the mobile phone. This means that from taking a picture to it appearing on the screen can take at most five minutes. This morning I went to take a view of Todi shimmering in the sunshine from the lower terrace in the garden. When I came to download the file and look at the picture there at stage left was a bee heading off for a mornings hard work in the lavender fields. At the centre of the photo there is also a large black and white butterfly sitting sunning itself on a lavender bush. Says a lot for the quality of the lens on my little Sony Ericsson.

The' font of all knowledge ' is taking an Open University maths course. This sudden immersion in science ( for which I can evince no interest whatsoever ) does throw up some interesting facts. Apparently 20-30 year olds in the UK have become so used to in-car navigation systems that the sale of maps to this age demographic has simply collapsed. People talk about map reading becoming in twenty years or so one of those lost skills like spinning or thatching.

Wilf is back in control of the soft sheep much to Digbys chagrin.It was 41 degrees here yesterday and the two troubadors were inside from lunchtime until seven in the evening.There is a limit to how much Polish Lowland Sheepdog boyz can sleep and it's not seven hours ! I played ball with them for forty five minutes solidly at midnight to get them exhausted. Both dogs and owners enjoyed a good nights sleep until awoken at three o'clock by the sounds of the summer party resounding across the fields. The 'font' recognized one of the songs being played at mega volume as having rather 'risque' lyrics but was uncertain as to whether it was by Amy Whitehouse or Amy MacDonald. It only goes to show what new horizons are opened up by the Open University Chat Room and an MP3 player.

Digbys thought du jour : ' This is the best day the worlds ever seen and tomorrow will be even better '.

2009-07-24T07:24:00.006+02:00

July brings with it that peculiarly Italian phenomenon - the summer party. Across the country there is a sudden spawning of adverts for outdoors discotheques ( do discotheques still exist elsewhere ?) where the youth of the region congregate in a large open space to dance the night away to what passes in these parts for the latest hot sounds. Being Italy the noise level at these events is simply incredible and in the weekend small hours we can hear the thump,thump,thump of the music reverberating down the valleys.Tonight the signs promise the joys of the Maurizio Monti show and for next week there's a harder edge with DJ Frankie Knuckles. I can hardly wait.

Digby has managed to steal the new sheep toy from his big brother and is wandering around the garden with it firmly encased between his jaws. Having won a rare victory over Wilf his look seems to say ' this is the best day the worlds ever seen and tomorrow will be even better '. Not a bad philosophy and one I intend to adopt as my own .

The automatic dog wash at the car wash.

2009-07-23T05:40:00.004+02:00

We live at the end of what the Italians call a 'strada bianca' or more prosaically a farm track. At this time of the year the sun has dried out the dirt and every excursion in the car creates large billowing clouds of fine dust as we speed up and down the hill - rather like the effect that one used to see behind stage coaches in movie westerns of a certain era. Yesterday I was sent down to the car wash in the local town to get a thick layer of accreted mud washed off the rear window. As I was contentedly washing away with a power jet I looked up to find that a self service dog and cat washing system has been installed in one of the bays. The animal goes in at one end and comes out at the other washed,rinsed and blow dried. I can't imagine that Wilf and Digby would take well to the idea of a quick trip down the road to wash the car and shampoo the dogs.Mark you I can't imagine Wilf or Digby being happy at the thought of any actvity that involves water.

The next door neighbour came down in his antique combine harvester to give the lupins their second cut and collect the stems for winter cattle feed. It's proven to be a good crop requiring little care, no fertilizer, returning a good yield and all the time looking pretty.The two boyz were delighted to have the farmers company for the requisite ball games but had to be put into the courtyard once the harvesting proper started.

Their confinement was eased by a new play thing. The 'font' brought the boyz a new toy back from a recent shopping trip to the Harrods dog store. It is a soft fluffy sheep with a squeaker inside. Wilf has taken a great liking to it and even managed to smuggle it upstairs last night - a major no no. Thankfully these toys are designed with squeakers that last for two or three minutes before they are crushed by the relentless chomping of a sheepdogs jaw. Why is it no one has invented a squeaker in a dogs toy that can last for more than a few minutes? You would think the dog toy manufacturers might have figured it out by now.

The shuttle flew over last night

2009-07-22T06:03:00.004+02:00

The Space Shuttle , brilliantly illuminated by the setting sun , flew across the sky last night followed ten minutes later by the Space Station. We haven't seen a cloud in the last week and the nights are clear and just perfect - we are lucky to live in a part of the world where there is very little light pollution and so we can see the stars in every direction .

In the village activity, which is leisurely at the best of times, has slowed and the summer doldrums have set in.The high point of the day was the arrival of two cars with Belgian registration plates which parked (within the painted parking bay lines so clearly not locals) in the Square outside the church. Inside 30 seconds of them ordering coffee at the counter,the news got around that they were two families from Brussels and that the driver of one of them, the big black Jaguar covered in chrome, works for the European something or another ( precise details are never of paramount importance in village life ) and that they had rented a local villa for the summer. There could be no doubting that they were northern Europeans as they sat for an hour, pale skinned, on the cafe terrace exposed to the direct, and surprisingly fierce sun - there will be sunburn and regrets this morning. .

For my birthday evening I was paid (unannounced and unexpectedly) a visit by the mayor and then ten minutes later the head of the local Carabinieri. I don't know whether the visitors came for a glass of champagne or from a genuine interest in our recovery from the robbery - anyway it was delightful to see them. Italy can be disarmingly charming.

This morning the balloonists were up and out early with thirteen of the tender craft hovering in the skies over Todi.The two Troubadors were in fine fettle for their morning 'rosh' and are now settled in the shade of the courtyard waiting for the first visitors of the day.

Can dogs smile?

2009-07-21T08:20:00.008+02:00

Can dogs smile? Looking at these pictures I think there is evidence to believe they do.

For my birthday today I asked for ,and received, an early edition of John Bunyans Pilgrims Progress. This piece of 17th century English literature was something I absolutely loathed studying at school. However, I've recently come to realise that everyday English as spoken in England is rapidly losing much of the richness and diversity that used to be its hallmark . It might be dumbing down but more probably it's just that people use fewer words to convey their thoughts. I'm going to use my time this summer to revisit some of those dutiful works that underpinned the sense of our cultural 'exceptionalism' and rediscover some of my lost vocabulary. The font of all knowledge says it's a sign of middle age.

What got me started on this rediscovery of language was a conversation with a friend who developed cancer ( thankfully now cured ). I naturally told him that he would be in our 'thoughts and prayers'. I didn't mean the 'prayer' part so much in an overtly religious way but rather in the sense that his travails would not be shouldered alone and that we would be there whenever needed. He expressed appreciation for our support but made an interesting statement that people today are deeply embarrased about showing personal feelings. Most people would say 'you're in our thoughts' but would find it difficult to express their feelings in a less general and more personal way. They certainly wouldn't say you're 'in our prayers' in case it caused offence. Previous generations of course had wonderful stock formulas for dealing with lifes different phases - something that we have lost . We stick with the 'thoughts' but have dropped the 'prayers' out of correctness or embarassment.

Chuckles all round

2009-07-20T07:19:00.005+02:00

Chuckles all round in the bar this morning at the headline in the papers ' Nun fined for 180 kmh Pope mercy dash'. A motorway police patrol pulled over a Ford Fiesta clocked at 180 kmh ( 112 mph) to find a 56 year old nun at the wheel with two fellow nuns aged 65 and 78 in the back. Their excuse was that they needed to be at the Pope's side after he fractured his wrist : 'I know you shouldn't drive so fast but the news of his Holiness's injury has made us truly anxious'. The driver was fined €375 but she is appealing on the grounds of a state of necessity. Anyone who has ever encountered the weaving trajectory of a car full of nuns on Italian roads knows that what they lack in lane discipline and driving skills they more than make up for with the absolute certainty of a providential guiding hand. The lawyer who took on the nuns case recently defended a priest stopped for drink-driving on the grounds that the communion wine he sipped at four consecutive masses pushed him over the limit.Only in Italy!

There is a breeze this morning so the two boyz are out and about helping (hindering) the work in the fields. The young olives are developing rapidly on the branches and it should hopefully be a good crop come October. We were also delighted to see that the pomegranates are forming at a rapid pace - we've never grown pomegranates before so for us this is quite exciting.

Manic paw licking.

2009-07-19T07:09:00.003+02:00

For some reason Wilf has started to lick his back paws with what appears to be a manic determination. He does it every year at this time - so it must be some form of allergic reaction. Has anyone else come across this problem? I wash his paws in a saline solution twice a day but it has no effect whatsoever.

Up to the local bar this morning. At last the tourists have started to arrive much to everyones delight. The Dutch and the Danes seem to have returned to their annual routine of migrating en masse to southern europe. Not a moment too soon - the hotels and restaurants are decidedly empty. Even the very fancy hotel on the coast that is always full has sent us an e-mail offering 35% off a room for nights between now and mid-August. Last year we were only able to get in, after a cancellation, in mid-September.

Swine flu mania continues to sweep Italy. In the supermarket the aisles were full of large displays selling disinfectant, face masks,and medical hand gel.

'Splosh'.

2009-07-18T08:43:00.003+02:00

Apart from eating the boyz favourite pastime is what I call the 'splosh' game. Wilf in particular is fascinated by the 'splosh' sound that is made when he drops a ball into the swimming pool. He can then stand totally spellbound for ages watching the ball bob around in the water. Within a minute of either of us clambering into the pool there he is, ball in mouth, waiting for the game to begin.'Splosh', throw, 'splosh' , throw until we get tired. I say we because Wilfs stamina and enthusiasm for the game always outlasts the amount of time the human component of the family can spend in the pool. Digby's rear quarters seem to be worsening but he does his best to get the ball and enter into the spirit of the game whenever we throw it directly to him.

In the UK a pool is an undoubted luxury. Here it is an expensive but life saving necessity. When it gets above 40 degrees it's the only place to be.

Afghanistan is proving to be yet another problem for the British government. The huge loss of life over the last two weeks caused by roadside bombs has attracted the medias attention to the fact that the UK deploys one helicopter for every 400 troops on the ground. The US marines fighting alongside them have one helicopter for every 33 soldiers. There are huge demands of the government for healthcare, education , unemployment benefits and so on but why send our 18 years olds into battle if we can't afford the equipment for them to do the job properly?

Bundles of energy

2009-07-17T08:05:00.004+02:00

It's eight in the morning and already it's hot. The two troubadors are going to be kept in the deep shade outside by the pool until as late as possible this morning to make sure they are completely exercised and thereby avoid a repetition of yesterday afternoon. Keeping two supercharged Polish Lowland Sheepdog boyz inside on a scorching summers day is not the most relaxed of pastimes. Every toy in the arsenal was dragged out to see if it would distract their attention from the one overriding fact that they wanted to get out and chase lizards.Nothing worked.When the books say that PON's are a breed that need lots of exercise they are right.

Thankfully, 'the font of all knowledge' finally made it home last night and Wilf literally flew down to the car in a euphoria of greeting.His paws barely touched the ground as he shot off down the drive. It took four and a half hours for the 'font' to get back from the airport. There was a horrible accident on the motorway out of Rome with tailbacks of seven miles - two meat trucks had overturned on the central reservation, scattering carcasses all over both carriageways. Quite gruseome and just what you need in 40 degree temperatures! We dined outside at midnight and went to bed at two after much rebonding and ball throwing by moonlight.I'm hoping a late night coupled with an early morning start and copious exercise for the boyz will give us humans a quiet afternoon.

Our marvellous doctor in London came out with a sound and simple piece of diagnostic advice. If you're in the northern hemisphere and you are displaying flu symptoms then you probably have got swine flu - ordinarily, the height of the summer is simply not a time when flu is an issue so cases that appear now are pretty clear cut. The spread of the outbreak in the UK is proceeding exponentially.

The plan didn't work.

2009-07-16T17:12:00.002+02:00

I thought that by getting the two boyz up early and rushing them around in the cool of the early morning they might sleep all through the heat of the afternoon. The plan which worked so well yesterday has failed miserably today. It's well over 100 degrees out and Wilf and Digby are full of life and raring to go - far from being exhausted by the early morning start they seem to be re-energised. Every three or four minutes one of them arrives in the office and drops a ball at my feet.I've played with them indoors for what seems to be hours and both master and dogs can hardly wait for the temperatures to moderate a bit so that we can get out.