No oil

No I haven’t joined some environmental activist group I am talking about our olive crop. It’s been a dreadful year for the trees, a lot of rain and hail storms that have damaged the fruits and an invasion of the fly that lays its eggs in the developing olives, the larva then feed on the fruit. We generally avoid this infestation as our trees grow at a higher level than those in the valley, last year our olives were completely clean, this year we have the worms.

The fruits are soft and mushy, everyday more fall to the ground.  We have a few trees that are decent but nothing like enough for a mill run and sorting the crates to take out the bad ones would take an age.  

On our walks we’ve seen the situation is the same all around us, in fact many trees are much worse than ours. Usually the harvest is such a happy time, I know Giovanni loves it and he’s still hoping to get some oil, but many people have decided not to pick.   It’s not a disaster for us but Italian families rely on a good harvest, a household will easily use a litre of oil a week.  Giovanni usually produces hundreds of litres, I know his daughter takes 80 and his son 50 in return for their help at harvest time.  

We had such a good result last year, almost 50 litres of oil, so we were able to give a lot away and sell some too.  People had already been asking before we left if they could buy more, it’s not just the Italians who will be disappointed. 

La Pausa

Giovanni arrived at the weekend but stayed only one night before returning to Rome for the next two weeks.  I think we can assume the 3 cats have taken up residence here, which was much easier for them than the performance we had during lockdown to obtain our temporary residence. For them it was a case of arrive, eat, play, sleep, repeat.

They are delightful, becoming braver and stronger every day.  They explore the orchard regularly and like Grigio before them love climbing among the olive trees. They amuse and calm us, we try not to think about their future.

We have so far had a relaxing week without any big project.  It’s a pleasure to sit out and admire the view, the work we’ve done over the years and the way the garden has developed.  Of course we still get cross about the Comune and are disappointed by our olive crop but we have blue skies and a place to be, many people in the world don’t. 

Bound to happen

Giovanni our lovely neighbour returned to Rome about the same time we arrived here.  He’s away for almost 2 weeks.  He messaged us to say he’s been feeding a cat and 2 kittens, he’d left them 3 dishes of biscuits and hoped they’d come down to our house and we would feed them. I think it was around midday on Thursday that the kittens pitched up and by early evening the mother, still a kitten herself, arrived.

Luckily we had a few tins of cat food in the cupboard so we were able to feed them.

All 3 cats are in good condition, clean, friendly and very sweet.  They soon discovered the delights of the hotel Splendido on the terrace, the comfy pizza oven and the cat apartment, not to mention the sofas and dining chairs.  The little ones are playful and the mother almost brave enough to climb onto my knee.  There has been a lot of purring.

But what’s going to happen in November when we leave.  Mario was enraged when he saw the cats here and told us not to feed them.  He’s giving me the message he doesn’t want to feed them while we were away, as he did when we had Vincenzo.  When I tackled him last year about this he said of course he’d feed the cat and not for the money we pay him, he does it from his heart.  A week after we left he took the cat, the food we’d provided, dishes and our cat carrier to his house, we got none of them back.  

It’s a dilemma.  Even if the cats go back to Giovanni next week we know he won’t make any provision for them over the winter.  I hate this cruel Italian attitude towards animals. I have mentioned before that our Comune sent out a directive banning the feeding of stray animals. Fortunately an animal welfare organisation stepped in and put a stop to it. The Comune should educate people how to care for pets and promote a sterilisation programme that would reduce numbers but almost all the Italian men I know think this is wrong, that’s a surprise not.

We love having cat company again but we are setting ourselves up for more stress and heartbreak.  

Back in Europe

Just like that we are in Italy.  Maybe not that simple with 4 days in the car, 3 overnights, quick toilet stops and a lot of picnic lunches often late in the day. We started Sunday leaving home at 6 am without breakfast for the midday ferry. I grabbed a takeout coffee at our pre ferry toilet stop while MrFF bought the Sunday papers.  During boarding he accidentally left our sandwiches in the car which is not accessible during the crossing so first meal of the day was two mini sausage rolls and a banana. Fortunately I am not a person who needs to eat regularly. 

Our overnight in the champagne region was brief, next day we drove to Mulhouse.  There we decided to walk to the historic centre, arriving 40 minutes later the heavens opened and without coats we were soaked, we took the tram back to our accommodation.  On to Bergamo MrFF was determined to drive the Splugen pass, reviews said it was terrifying.  If you watch the Tour de France imagine driving Alpe du Huez with large camper vans swinging out round the tight corners and motorbikes speeding past, all without safety barriers.  On the Italian side there were 50 hairpin bends.  This tortuous detour added a lot time to our journey as we then got caught up in traffic around lake Como.  By the time we checked in at our stop at 7.30 neither of us could face going out for dinner, we had super market pasta and went to bed.

The final on day the autostrada was busy, scary in places and tedious in others.  We collected a few provisions and arrived at our house at 6, for MrFF to announce he didn’t have the key for the back door, the only access from the road.    Apparently when he told me he had keys in response to my usual routine of passport, wallet, house keys, phone before we left it was because he thought he did, not because he knew he did.  I suggested he open the big gates into the garden and try unlocking the terrace doors  We have so many keys for the house, various doors, french doors, garage, gates we were bound to find a way in.  He discovered the terrace doors security locked from the inside but then found the back door key where he always keeps it, on the key ring with the car keys.  He said he usually takes it off when we are in the UK but must not have this time

Today we’ve tackled the garden, had yet another late lunch and enjoyed some sun.  Everything has done really well without us except the olives which have apparently suffered from hailstorms, knocking fruit off the trees or damaging it.  Mario says the crops is so poor he isn’t going to collect his.  We shall see.  Before we left I threw down some seeds I collected not expecting greet results, look at this

Also a white datura has appeared, I haven’t had one of these plants for years.  I grew the original ones from seed, I love their exotic blooms.  Incredibly this one is in just the right place.  I think it’s my reward for not complaining about that mountain pass, I’ll take that.

The ancestral bed

This week we had an overnight stay at my brother and sister in law’s house.  The bed we slept in was the first we ever owned, I begged it from my parents when we bought our first house around 1973.    The bed lived on the farm in a room above the kitchen which had its own separate very steep staircase. When I was a child one of our farm workers slept in there and when he’d left my Gran sometimes used the room as it was slightly warmer than all the other unheated bedrooms.

It was a black iron bed with a mesh base and a worse for wear feather mattress when we took possession.  MrFF made a new ventilated wooden base, we bought a new Dunloppilo mattress and painted the frame matt white. I wish I had more photos, this is the only one I can find.

After a few years we bought a new bed and the old one was relegated to the guest room.  It then travelled to several homes with us until we downsized from Scotland 11 years ago when I persuaded my brother to take it for his new bungalow because I couldn't bear to part with it.  It’s now painted silver and still going strong. We slept in it this week and mentioned next morning how comfortable it was.  My sister in law told me that the grandchildren love a sleepover in the old bed and always remark on it.  I think it’s just wonderful, I’ve no idea how old the heavy metal frame is but I know for certain that the great great grandmother of the youngest generation slept in that bed and possible even older ancestors.   The continuity is amazing and a fine example of sustainability. 

Suddenly I am popular

I don’t court blog popularity and while I appreciate my audience reading and leaving comments I mainly write my blog for myself as a kind of journal.  At most each post was getting maybe 1000 reads but over the years that gradually dropped to around 200 or less.  While a lot of my favourite bloggers turned to YouTube or give up I happily soldiered on.  

So it was quite a surprise in the last week to see my views start to rise.  My latest not particularly interesting post has had 2,500 views which I think is quite suspicious though comments have only been from the usual sources.  I wonder if anyone else has noticed such a large and sudden pattern change.  Do we put it down to bots AI or some alien interference and why do the ramblings if a 76 year old who doesn’t get out much attract such attention.

Scorched earth

For over 2 weeks now the North York Moors have been burning, a wild fire covering  over 2,500 acres keeps spreading sending acrid smoke as far as Whitby, Scarborough and York. Holiday makers have been evacuated and livestock moved to safety, many roads around the moor are closed.   Fire services work continuously with help from local game keepers and farmers who have left their jobs to ferry tankers of water to the fire service and dig out fire breaks to hold back the flames.  These are the farmers who are constantly persecuted by our government, the same government that has so far provided zero support to the fire fighting effort.  Locals are collecting donations of food and water for the workers and money to help pay for the fuel used by the farmers.  

Photo from BBC website 

The North York Moors is my old training ground, The Cleveland Way, The Lyke Wake Walk, MrFF and I were out there most weekends when we lived in North Yorkshire. I learnt how to pace myself to run uphill at Carlton Bank.  The loss is already enormous, grazing for animals, wildlife, flora and fauna habitats and still it goes on. The peat can smoulder for weeks and recovery will take years.  It’s heart breaking.

We keep hoping for rain, there was a little yesterday but we need a deluge to dampen the fire.  MrFF took this photo of Scar House reservoir in neighbouring Nidderdale on Sunday.  Already our water authority is taking water from our rivers as supplies dwindle.

Knitting now - lethargically

During the various heatwaves we’ve enjoyed lately there hasn’t been much knitting done but now it’s cooler I am back into wearing socks and trousers so work has resumed.

I knitted more of my neighbour’s handspun into a cable scarf which pleasingly avoids having a wrong side simply by crossing the stitches on alternate sides, genius.  Again the yarn varied a lot in thickness which was particularly noticeable on the garter stitch edge, the scarf is bulky and quite scratchy, to be worn outside a coat not against the skin.

I also used up some 4 ply pure wool to make a lacy Falling Water scarf which does have a wrong side but I made it long so it can be arranged to avoid showing the reverse.  This project took some concentration but it’s a really nice scarf in good colour.   It took about 120 g of yarn and I am left with at least 50 still to use.

However it’s time for socks, I am making these for a friend who particularly requested a red pair. I cast on last night with my favourite West Yorkshire Spinners Signature and my new appropriately matching Knitpro needles.  It’s a joy all round, the needles are smooth and comfortable to use, I am able to knit while paying attention to the tv, it’s all very relaxing.

Hot and cold

Last week MrFF took himself off to North Wales to climb Snowdon the highest  mountain there.  He booked himself into a Youth Hostel overnight, we are life members. His hike was successful, he said he slept well in his lower bunk and came  home with a stinking cold.  He admitted the guy sleeping above him, a Belgian lad, had coughed most of the night,  I wasn’t too worried. I haven’t had a cold for years despite contact with contagious people.   I pride myself on my excellent immune system which I reinforce by at least 30 seconds of cold water at the end of every shower.  A couple of days after the wanderer’s return my throat was a bit itchy, then my nose was running, finally the cough started.  That was a week ago, I am only just recovered.

Meantime temperatures here have rocketed, 30 degrees on Wednesday.  It’s not been the ideal time for me to enjoy the sun, I’ve been weak and feeble, not sleeping because of the cough, tired and tetchy.  We all know who’s to blame, £16 for a bed wasn’t a bad price but hardly the bargain he expected. Here are some photos from the walk, much nicer to see than any of my red nose.

Pensioner in disguise

It was the Ilkley half marathon recently, MrFF and I were out on the route encouraging the participants of all abilities.   It was a hot day and I was impressed by the smart kit worn by many of the women particularly the elite runners.   Cropped tops that I assume were also sports bras, cut out vests and much flattering figure hugging lycra.

Later I had a discussion with a friend I used to run with more than 30 years ago.  We reminisced that in our day there was very little stylish kit for women.  Mostly we wore Ron Hill men’s freedom shorts, which were brief and flappy, never intended to fit the female form.  In winter we had Ron Hill tracksters which were slim jogging trousers with stirrups to stop them springing up, a bit like ski pants for those who remember. The only item specific to women was very brief track shorts that looked like knickers.  I never wore those, far too revealing and clingy.  Sometimes our club would send a driver to the Nike factory on Tyneside to buy seconds, a guy would turn up at the training track with a selection of male oriented kit in the boot of his car. Finding anything that fit wasn’t easy, you bought what you could and style wasn’t an option.

How times have changed, there are dedicated running shops everywhere even chain store brands have lots of great sports gear.  Now on my power walks I step out in colourful and comfy Lycra leggings that fits like a second skin.

I have lovely soft stretchy cycling type shorts with pockets.  Nothing I ran in had pockets, on fell races I used to stuff a photocopy of the map in my bra, not that I could read a map and yes I got lost a few times.  Obviously this modern clothing is unforgiving but since I got below 9 stone thanks to my dental work I feel confident whilst acknowledging that at 76 it’s hardly age appropriate.  But equally power walking up and down the valley till I am red faced, hot and sweaty isn’t the norm either.

I am at a stage in life when I wear what I like.  I may have succumbed to elasticated waists but I embrace shorts and camisoles, sleeveless tops and strappy sundresses when I have a tan, I love bright colours and rarely wear black because it makes me disappear.  Recently I bought a pair of python print skinny trousers, I’ve already worn them to the supermarket and I didn’t get asked to leave. 

It’s my opinion that if you can you should for as long as possible, I don’t know of an age bar to wearing Lycra.  If this lovely modern kit had been so easily available 30 years ago I am sure I’d have run a lot faster and happier. 

Nature update

Before we left Italy I posted Here about the huge flower stalk on an agave which I hoped would still be open when we return.  MrFF had been checking our security camera and here it is in flower, it looks spectacular.

He also showed me on the camera archive that three pine martens had been playing among my pots at the back door of our house.  Sadly neither of us can get the video to transfer to blogger or capture a still. Last year we saw one pine marten, these three seem quite young so maybe they are the kits.  They were having such a jolly time chasing each other and climbing in and out of pots at 3 am in the morning.  Like the bats they are protected in Italy and not known for causing any damage in the garden.  Here’s a photo taken from the internet, the ones we have are just as adorable and very welcome visitors.

Pot luck

Sunday MrFF suggested we take my usual walk together before shopping for the news paper and a few items we needed as friends were coming for dinner.  We were out in good time, only got a little damp and were home before the heavy rain started.

The route down to and over the river takes us past a pretty garden where the owner often puts out pots of mostly bedding plants for sale, around 50p each and sizeable healthy plants they are a bargain.  You make your selection and post the money through the letterbox.   As usual I stopped to see what was available and this time he had some very lovely terracotta pots planted up with begonias and petunias.  I am a sucker for a nice pot, I’ve been known to buy plants just to get the pot and these were good.  Two small square ones £5 each a larger one £10 of the usual flowerpot shape with a pie crust border.  I looked at them longingly while MrFF pressed on, no way could we carry them on our walk. But I thought about them a lot, particularly the square ones and Monday morning after breakfast announced I needed to go out.  

Amazingly the pots were still for sale and I bought the two square ones, posting a £10 note through the letter box.  I also checked the pie crust pot which I saw was handmade from Witchford Pottery they call these their pastry pots. We visited the pottery located near Stratford in Avon many years ago when we toured the Cotswolds.  Then I bought a lovely pot for my Scottish garden that I passed to my brother when we downsized.  

By the time I came home via the town collecting a few essentials my arms were aching as after overnight rain the pots and their contents were saturated.  But it was worth the effort, they look great on the balcony.  But of course the pastry pot preyed on my mind and by mid afternoon I was out again telling myself if the pot had been sold it didn’t matter.   It was still there, another £10 through the letterbox, more arm ache and it came home, I’d walked 3.5 miles on my journeys.

I like the symmetry, a friend had already lent me the other big pot for my dahlias, and I like all the clashing bright colours. I am so pleased with my purchases and our summer balcony. 

A tisket a tasket*

I lost my summer basket.  When we returned to sunny Ilkley in June I had visions of me floating round the town wearing cream linen carrying my lovely basket from the Oxfam shop fair trade section.  Except I couldn’t find the blooming thing anywhere and began to wonder if I’d taken it to Italy in April and left it there.  I searched all the wardrobes plus I thought the coat cupboard which was where after several weeks I eventually found it, on a coat hanger and covered by a coat.  

The missing basket however prompted me to have a good sort through the penthouse and rediscover a lot of things.  Do I need my old running club vest even if it still fits.  How many pairs of old trousers do I need for gardening when mostly I just tend the pots on the balcony.  And as for my extensive collection of scarves, maybe I need to stop knitting them.

* this is a nursery rhyme that I sung as a child.  Oddly I remember the words from 70+ years ago but not where I currently keep my basket.

A tisket a tasket my green and yellow basket.  I wrote a letter to my love and on the way I dropped it. Someone must have picked it up and put it in their pocket.

The Middleton Lemons

Growing and maintaining plants in an apartment that is unoccupied for several months each year can be challenging not to mention the logistics of potting, storing compost, equipment etc with limited space.  But I have gardened for many years and created two gardens from scratch so it’s hard not to. I still have the desire to grow things wherever I am despite being thwarted by Mario’s brutal unwanted pruning in Italy and the mow and murder gardener in our Ilkley communal gardens.

Before we left for Italy in April I passed two plants I really didn’t want to lose to a friend to keep for me.  I’d slipped a few lemon pips into the compost of the Swedish ivy, plectranthus verticillatus, one was growing.  My friend said she’d take great care of the seedling and named it Pippa.  In Italy I had a message to say another little lemon seedling had appeared, I named it Kate and then just recently James appeared, he stayed in the pot with the ivy as he was only small.

The two original plants came back to the penthouse after MrFF met up with their keepers on a group walk but the first two lemons were deemed too fragile to travel in the boot of the car and spend the day there while the walk took place.   With difficulty I managed to get James out of the compost and into his own pot, so far he has only his seed leaves.

Last Friday we travelled to our friends’ house near York to have lunch, admire their newly landscaped beautiful garden and collect the lemon sisters from the greenhouse. The girls had kindly been repotted into little terracotta pots complete with saucers and labelled.  They have grown considerably and like the other fostered plants are extremely healthy.

At present they sit in the lounge next to the balcony doors though they can probably go outside this week if the forecast heat returns.  I hope I can keep them going, it would be a delight to have lemon plants in the apartment, does three count as a grove?   My single Italian lemon tree in Italy shown below is thriving, why did I never think to plant pips there, I could have an orchard full by now.

For those who don’t follow the British royal family, Pippa Middleton is the sister of Kate Middleton, the Princess of Wales, wife of Prince William, James is their younger brother 

Knitting now

Before we left for Italy I was gifted by a fellow (male) resident who is an expert spinner about a kilo of his hand spun Cheviot yarn.  I was delighted and after some thought decided I should pass his kindness forward by using the yarn to do some good. It’s very thick and rustic, I used my largest size needles for a few sample swatches and finally decided to make cable winter cowls.  I had enough yarn for 5 which I then passed back to him to be sold at a craft fair and the money given to a girls’ refuge he and his wife support.  

He was very pleased when I delivered them and I came home with about 500 g of different handspun, half of which is New Zealand lustre, much finer and softer with a very silky feel so maybe a scarf.   Again I’ll pass the end product back to my neighbour for his charity.  He did tell me he spins more yarn than he can ever use, even considering his wife is an accomplished weaver, so perhaps my own stash isn’t going to reduce much for a while.

Meanwhile in Italy i successfully used up a lot of yarn oddments to make 3 pairs of socks, some more odd than others. 

And a pair of my favourite ever socks, West Yorkshire Spinners wood pigeon, I can never have too many pairs of these. That all feels quite productive if all completely  unwearable as our heatwave continues.

Treasure trove

Before we left Italy we took a trip to the isola ecologica, the refuse recycling centre that is open two days a week.  It’s situated several miles below the village down a steep narrow road and always busy with refuse vehicles but needs must as MrFF had an old and broken wheelbarrow to dispose of and I’d decluttered a few things myself.  Lots of villages have scrap men calling most days. If you leave an item at the side of the road outside your property it disappears almost immediately, we regularly hear them calling for ferro vecchio but they never drive up to us. We have been know, with permission, to leave things outside our friends’ house in the valley if we’ve been visiting.

So off we tootled on Saturday morning, the depot was busy as Friday there had been a one day strike over safety issues so people were getting rid of their general waste as well as objects the collectors won’t take.

The centre seems to be organised by a group of ladies who run it very well, we were  told where to put the barrow and the box of odds and ends was quickly sorted and despatched to the appropriate skips.  I noticed in the large skip of rubble that a few items were strategically placed on top, pottery bowls, plates, cookware.  Of course I had to take a look and spotted a little statue of three discreetly clad young women, it looked like marble.  I suggested to MrFF it would be nice in the garden.  Take it he said, they let us take the cat carrier years ago they’ll let you have that.  Even though it was obvious the items were set out to be claimed I thought we should ask and the lady said of course we could have it, how happy was I.  She then said she knew where we lived and we chatted for a while about the heat and our upcoming journey home.

Back at the house I did some research, it’s the 3 Graces made in Rome by R Leoni from a resin of marble and other material.  One not in such good condition, mine just has a tiny chip on the base, sold for 100 euro.  Now of course I feel it’s too good for the garden, but I’ve no idea where to put it in the house.  Maybe the girls can just spend their summers al fresco after all they are hardly dressed for the cold.

The drive home

It’s always nice to be home but particularly so with such good weather.  As ever our journey back was long, driving to the north of Italy was frantic. There may be fewer lorries on the autostrada on Sundays but the traffic was still heavy and the service areas incredibly crowded. We stopped for our picnic lunch in 37.5 degrees.

Our usual Aosta hotel was not available, they were taking a holiday themselves, so we searched for an alternative.  I was very taken with a pretty little locanda run by three sisters but MrFF was not taken by the fact the restaurant was vegan.  It turned out to be a delight, the food was delicious, breakfast was the best I’ve had in years and I am a connoisseur of the continental brekkie.  Who wouldn’t be happy waking to this view then eating fresh fruit, many types of bread, fluffy pancakes, banana bread, brownies, apple cake, the best croissants ever, yoghurt, good coffee.

On our drive to our French 2 night stopover we found time to visit the Charles de Gaulle Memorial, situated outside a little village in a quiet and calm wooded area, we were impressed.

We also called en route to quickly look at Lac du Der which isn’t far from our accommodation. It was so nice we went back on our non travel day and took a walk.  It’s a lovely facility with holiday cabins in the woods, camping, boats, restaurants, cycle paths and everyone quietly enjoying the peace.

Back to our apartment for a swim, out for dinner, we left by 8 next morning.  We arrived in good time at the port but received a thorough check at border control, that involved completely unpacking our car and opening our suitcases so we were almost last onto the ferry. We had to park among the giant lorries and wait for everyone else to disembark but it was another epic journey safely completed.

Yesterday MrFF walked down to our beautiful Lido, had a picnic lunch, swam and sat in the sun, he said it was the mostly relaxing day he’d had in weeks and I can well believe that.

Final flora and fauna post

I won’t overwhelm you with nature posts, this will be the last one from Italy as we leave tomorrow.

I took a walk to the bottom of our road late afternoon and spotted this, why had I not seen it before its easily visible from our terrace.  The giant flower spike of an agave, almost as tall as the telegraph pole.  I am really hoping it will still be there and in bloom when we return and that Pietro whose house it is opposite won’t have had it cut down.  The flowering process takes a few months, after which the stem topples over and pups, new young plants, are produced.  The mother plant which could be 100 years old dies, even if the flower stem is removed now it will not survive. 

Now for some nature

So far this year we haven’t been invaded by porcupine, badgers or wild boar digging up the garden. That may change during the drought of high summer when they search for water and easy digging for grubs and worms.

We’ve noticed during our first year without any cats at all that we have many more little lizards about and they all have their tails intact.  However last week I saw a fairly large snake in the front garden, later MrFF spotted two of them and next day they were both intertwined on the path outside the kitchen door.  I don’t know if they were fighting or mating, it wasn’t very romantic, but we haven't seen them since. I checked because we do have poisonous snakes about, a neighbours dog was bitten and died many years ago, but these seem to be harmless whip snakes. We have been told that having cats around keeps snakes away, let’s hope there isn’t a large family here when we come back in September.

Below is the nest of a solitary black bee, it’s on the terrace outside the lounge door at the junction of the floor tiles and the skirting.  The olives are in flower now so we welcome the pollinators and don’t use any chemicals in the garden for that reason.  The nest is staying.

T

Then MrsB decided to build an extension. I consulted a biologist friend who tells me these are egg chambers and when I checked the first one has been sealed so the first eggs are laid. Now she is on her third property, we could end up with a whole terrace of these little chimneys.

For years we’ve had a few bats swooping over our balcony as it gets dark I love to see them.  On Saturday I was delighted to spot one hanging at front of the house, tucked in between the gutter and the fascia board.  Then I found another near the front door and I am sure I saw several little ones that quickly disappeared under the roof tiles.  This is great news.  We have no loft space or attic, the roof is directly above the bedrooms which makes them very hot in summer.  The bats can only get under the tiles, they do no harm and a lot of good.  I checked at dusk and they had moved, they were back next morning.  And the best news of all is that as in the UK bats in Italy are a protected species, it is illegal to disturb their roost which they return to each year.  So I assume the Comune will not be allowed to demolish our house if we don’t get the planning violation sorted. Maybe I need to let them know it’s a protected property, I might also declare our garden a nature reserve, see how they like that.

Days of dusty feet

We will start our drive back to Yorkshire in a weeks time.  Meanwhile the heat has arrived in Lazio, it’s 27 degrees today fortunately with a slight breeze.  No definite mosquito sightings yet, MrFF thought he was bitten once but I am hoping they will stay away till we go.

We have made much progress inside and out including cutting both sides of our large laurel hedge, that is at least 4 days of hard work.  Of course everything will run riot over the summer and we’ll do all the same jobs again in September.

I am rising early, opening the doors before the sun comes up to get some cool into the house, watering the pots and sweeping the terraces. A camisole, shorts and lashings of SPF50 are my dress of choice.  I am sticky, dusty and generally dishevelled until an outside shower amongst the wisteria and a change into more respectable clothes for our al fresco dinner.   I love these sweltering days when it gets too hot for serious work, we are alone on the mountainside with just the birds for company and the occasional hang glider drifting overhead. Summer has arrived.

Upcycling

 

Most of the furniture that we inherited when we bought the house, ie what was easier to leave for us than dispose of, was old, brown and poor quality.  I am not complaining, it meant we were set up more or less to move in without sourcing everything new and over the years we’ve upgraded and donated many pieces.  

I’ve never liked this dresser in the dining room, although it’s useful storage and shelf space I’d happily chop it up for the wood burner.  Last week I finally painted it with a blue grey chalk paint.  It wasn’t the mammoth task I expected given I am a very slapdash painter who used the excuse I might run out of paint to cover only the visible surfaces.  Two coats of paint and one of finishing wax, don’t look too closely there are drips, but I am delighted with the result.  The paint cost less than 20 euros, I had good advice from a friend back home well experienced in this process and I am so bloomin happy.  As my mentor said ugly to lovely.