The mostly low points of our journey

We arrived back in the penthouse early Thursday evening.  Whilst it was nice to have 2 nights in the same place twice which reduced the pressure of moving on each morning it was still a long way.  Leaving on Saturday worked well, once we’d turned round at Mario’s and gone back for the adaptor MrFF had forgotten.  I went through the list of phone passport keys iPad before he started the car, affirmative.  Then I asked if he’d got the adaptor for charging, I hope so was the reply.  I explained hope wasn’t enough, I needed to know so he checked at Mario’s then drove a bit further to turn round and go back.

After a couple of hours we stopped at the services for the toilet and I managed to lock myself in.  The lock was a little button in the middle of the round handle.  It wouldn’t turn and the bar on top of the handle did nothing.  I’d reached the stage of getting my phone out to call MrFF, who later admitted he’d left his phone in the car, when a voice asked in Italian if I wanted the door open.  Yes I said I cannot do it.  Within minutes the cleaning lady had got a key and released me.  After that I didn’t lock the toilet doors unless it was a simple bar.

Our 2 nights in Bergamo were not as relaxing as I’d hoped, the weather was good with sun but the town was very quiet. Leaving early morning to driving round Milan was as ever manic, made worse as MrFf hadn’t decided which route to take to get us beyond the Alps.  He wanted to try the Simplon train tunnel but since the service was only every 90 minutes it was time critical but unpredictable with all the traffic but it worked out well.  We drove our car onto an open platform and the train took us into a narrow and very dark tunnel.  We rattled along for 20 minutes, me wondering about what we’d do in an emergency and hoping the driver had a torch.  I was glad when that was over.

We then had to head for Bern, took a wrong road, turned round and seemed to start climbing a mountain pass, at least with a decent if steep road.  I was a bit concerned as I’d seen signs that some passes were closed so I looked on line.  It said the road we were on involved train travel but when I told MrFF he dismissed it saying we’d already done the train bit.   I explained I’d googled the route from after the train tunnel to Bern.  He insisted there was no train until the sign for Bern took us into the station, fortunately the next tunnel train was waiting as there was no more road.  So off we went again into the darkness except this tunnel had two tracks and occasionally we were buffeted about and illuminated by a high speed train wizzing past in the opposite direction.  

Our night in the Alsace was fine and next morning we drive towards Colmar stopping at a nice village on the outskirts where we joined a well attended Remembrance Day service.  There was a band, members of the forces, police and fire service plus local dignitaries who laid wreaths at the war memorial, each accompanied by two small children which I thought was very appropriate.

We spent some time in Colmar which is a beautiful town but also quiet, Armistice Day is a holiday in France and well respected.

Our last 2 nights were in the champagne region, we love the little town of Vitry le Francois, the restaurant we always use, the boulangerie and the big supermarket.  On our final day before the ferry we went again to Lac du Der where we’d walked in the summer.  En route we spotted hundreds of the migrating grey cranes that stop off at the lake on their route south.

We visited a little village museum that explained how the lake was created to ease flooding in Paris.  The local river Marne feeds into the Seine and it was decided to create a lake to store the winter flood water and release it in summer.  3 villages were destroyed but some buildings, including a church, were saved and moved to the museum which also records the agricultural activities lost. It reminded me of my childhood growing up on a farm, my brother has a similar butter churn that my grandmother and my mother both used, it’s now in the garden of his retirement bungalow. 

We spent a couple of hours walking round. It was fascinating, especially hearing recorded interviews with people who had to abandon their homes and livelihoods  but the construction solved a big problem, created a beautiful recreational attraction, fishing, boating, cycling, walking, bird watching with lots of holiday accommodation, all provide jobs.  

We’d never seen the lake after the water has been released, the marina was unusable and the boats elsewhere. I think that was the best day of our whole trip.

Next morning we were up and away just after 7 hoping to catch an earlier ferry than we’d booked.  At check in the girl said we could try for the earlier one but it would depend on border control. Maybe she knew who was operating that morning.  After we left Dover on the way out I noticed our passports had not been stamped. When I checked online it said they might not be stamped but our whereabouts could be checked by our passport details.  The man examined every page of our passports then asked us where we live.  Then he asked if we had dual nationality, at which stage I realised he was looking for the stamps and explained we didn’t get them at Dover. He got a bit shouty then, said since Brexit we had to get a stamp, it was our responsibility to get a stamp and we could be in for an expensive fine.  We showed him our outward journey booking and MrFF started to explain it wasn’t our fault till I told him to shut up and not argue.  The man wrote in our passports, I thought it was the fine, but then he stamped and handed them back saying sternly even if a French policeman says you don’t need a stamp you are to say it’s our right to have a stamp and we want one, I said we’d definitely do that.  At the border control it’s always pressure to get through without holding up others, especially for us when we rush for an earlier ferry, I should have checked at Dover but then we were rushing for an earlier ferry.  So once again we were last on board parked at the back among the the big lorries but on our way over the channel.

The drive from Dover to Ilkley wasn’t bad, we are all unpacked but still tired.  Amazingly my balcony pots are still in flower. Usually I come back in November to bare earth and brown slime.   MrFF is walking tomorrow, I am at the dentist on Monday, it’s grey and wet but it’s home albeit without any oil.

Leaving

Last weekend several of our Danish friends left for winter, this coming weekend friends just down the road also leave and so do we.  However we were taking a relatively leisurely drive back to Yorkshire with 5 overnight stops, the first 2 in Bergamo, 1 in the Alsace and 2 in the champagne region. I am so looking forward to not having the usual confusing 5 different beds in 5 nights scenario, this time it will be 5 in 7 though I still expect to wake up wondering where I am for several days.

The weather continues to be beautiful, clear blue skies and warmth, so MrFF has been repairing the roof for winter and pruning the olives.  You might just spot him beside the chimney but please don’t tell health and safety that he went up to the higher level too. 

We’ve got the cats used to the automatic feeder which works just fine delivering a good portion of biscuits twice a day.  It should only need refilling every two weeks, getting Mario to do that is a greater challenge.  

My garden has really done well this year thanks to more rain and less heat.  The nerines have been a delight and I noticed some paper white narcissi, they don’t generally come again after being forced at Christmas, are in bloom.  Strange but lovely as I usually I not here to see the spring bulbs.

It’s not all been home maintenance. Last week MrFF went with a friend to the Abruzzo where they climbed a 7000 feet mountain. I stayed home as I don’t have my walking gear here and the ascent involved some rock scrambling which I do not enjoy. I had such a relaxing day completely alone with the cats, all loving the solitude and isolation.  

So let the packing begin.

Autumn days

 

MrFF has been installing a new garden gate.  It arrived at the end of last week, 7 days after it was due for delivery. First day they were unable to deliver, which was odd as we were home and saw nothing of a courier.  Then 6 days of it being out for delivery at the local parcel shop but being returned to the depot each evening.  Complaints to the courier and the supplier eventually got a result.

The gate is made of Corten or weathering steel which rusts to a pleasing finish and doesn’t require any maintenance. It’s the same material as used for the Angel of the North, another project on a slightly larger scale MrFF was involved with many years ago.

The new gate is intended to keep animals away from my terrace pots and plants in the border.  It won’t impede the cats as they use a different route to the lower garden that involves climbing and jumping, a route all our cats have preferred for some reason.

On the first photo you can catch a glimpse of blue skies, we’ve just had two chilly days of low cloud and rain so it’s nice to have the warmth back.  Giovanni came out at the weekend but despairing of the rain and lack of any kind of olive harvest he went straight back to Rome next day.  Our thoughts too are turning to home but we’ve a few jobs left, not least making provision for the three amici.

Party food rant

Today I had an email from Marks and Spencer announcing that their party food has arrived in store,  just in time for the festive season.  

Kick off a festive party with these Collection Mini Turkey Feast Toasties. Enjoy pulled British turkey, sage and onion stuffing along with ham hock, nestled with Emmental and Cheddar cheeses, cranberry chutney and béchamel sauce on toasted malted bread. Beautifully finished with turkey gravy.

Excuse me it’s October besides which those single mouthfuls of complicated nonsense can hardly be described as food. Yes we all know I am not in favour of Christmas being mentioned until at least mid December but this is ridiculous.  

I detest the while concept of party food.   I’ve been to events where the hosts have offered a bought in buffet, in one case it wasn’t even decanted from the plastic trays it arrived in. I’ve also been to (better) parties where I’ve been served proper homemade food, like a big dish of chilli con cane accompanied by fresh crusty bread.  If you are going to hold an event for friends and/or family surely it’s better to prepare them something wholesome rather than order in plastic packs of questionable content that they could easily buy themselves.  

I love eating at friends, I appreciate the effort they make to prepare a meal for us and love sharing their food.  I certainly don't want anything complicated or difficult, it’s about being together round the dining table chatting and relaxing.  As you can imagine party food won’t figure on my seasonal shopping list, in fact I don’t have a seasonal shopping list, ever. 

I bet you are looking forward to my festive table decor rant, it won’t be long, it’s that time of year.

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.