Home at last

We had what Mr FF would call a picturesque drive back from Italy, lots of snow on the alps but fortunately none on the roads, more snow and freezing temperatures in France, blizzards over Bowes Moor on the A66.  Finally we arrived home to discover our driveway covered in sheet ice, several attempts to get the car up, then we could barely climb the steps to the front door.  As I said picturesque.
Our stop overs were perfect, one night in a modern efficient Novotel outside Milan, one in a delightful French B&B, two nights in Yorkshire with my brother where we met our new grand niece and sister for Amelia, Esme Sophia arrived while we were away and is now 3 weeks old. 
The enthusiasm to be back didn't last long,  we both have colds, haven't had one of those for ages, feeling drained and lethargic.   The central heating isn't working in the bedrooms, which isn't a major problem but means Mr FF is going to have to go under the floorboards at some stage to check things. 
Then there's the small matter of Christmas.  I have told my family they will all get an Italian lucky bag this year, odds and sods I've picked up for them.  I'm also rootling through cupboards for anything to add, I just can't face going to the shops though I will have to go out soon as we don't have much food in the house.  Today knitting in front of the fire calls, though I must catch up with all your blogs so please don't be posting about how organised you are for the festive period it will only depress me.

Proper photos etc later in the week meantime I hope this one makes you feel warm, enjoy your Sunday.

Good morning

from Milan.  Big day of travel today, those bloomin Alps.  From our comfy hotel we are surrounded by mountains and most of them are white.  Hopefully we will be in France tonight and through the tunnel on Tuesday.  Driving home for Christmas indeed.

Stock taking

I can accept that 
I've eaten the several bags of whole wheat museli I brought to Lazio in August and am reduced to cornflakes every morning
I have to ration my knitting wool, though I have ordered more to be delivered to my brother's in Yorkshire where we will stay for a couple of days en route to Scotland 
Supplies of my favourite toiletries are running low, already out of face wash and not much hand cream left
but
I'm devastated that we are practically out of Yorkshire Tea.  I just made a brew and I can see the bottom of the canister.  This is a disaster, every morning the first thing we do is make a large pot of tea, Mr FF takes his out onto the terrace to listen to the Today programme on radio 4 and I enjoy mine in bed whilst reading.  
So we plan to start the long drive home in about ten days, Mr FF has ordered the snow chains that are obligatory when driving through the Alps in winter.  For want of a tea bag the dream is over for another year.

The oil business

After I started picking our olives we had a couple of wet days which put the pressure on, you can't pick wet olives as they won't keep and you don't want to keep the already picked olives waiting too long before they go for pressing.  So I was delighted on my birthday to receive an offer of a days help from our lovely Danish friends.  I managed to collect 4 crates myself on dry days before they arrived on the Saturday, equipped with their own nets and rakes and we spent a happy if tiring day harvesting and chatting in true Italian style.  Hans and Tenna stayed on and had dinner with us, did I sleep well that night.
The plan was that in Monday we would drive to a local family run frantoio where we would meet up with a friend of Marios and combine our harvest with his as we probably wouldnt have enough for our own run.  However when we got to the mill, had our crop weighed at 207 kilos and waited for Vincenzo to arrived Mario received a phone call to say that he had had a puncture and would be delayed.  Some discussion with the owner, more waiting, a coffee and finally our olives were tipped into the hopper, the process began.  We watched them go along the conveyor for washing, be crushed by huge stones, saw the resulting paste, which I thought looked very much like cat sick, spread onto pads that were piled onto a large spike and then put under pressure as very murky oil and water seeped out.  After almost and hour the reservoir underneath was connected to a very magical machine, the liquid was pumped out and beautiful green oil poured into a tank.  The proprietor said it was excellent oil, Mario said it was OK and I was euphoric. We paid 25 euros for the millimg, shook hands with the family and came home with 40 litres of hand picked, extra virgin, stone crushed gorgeous glossiness.  We have made bruschetta for the last four nights with this delicious new oil, we can't get enough of it. 
People are still picking all around us, the mills are working flat out.  The lady at our frantoio told me they work 4 am till midnight for 2 months, parents, a son, a daughter and her husband all efficiently helping each other and I'm sure they've never had a days team building training in their lives.
We are so lucky to have such good pure oil, I've also been reading lots about the various scams selling imported stuff as Italian, mixing cheap vegetable oils and claiming them as extra virgin olive oil.My opinion of big business never improves, my admiration for people who work hard to produce something so wonderful increases daily.

Retirement as we know it

I am about to start the first day of olive picking.  Mr FF has just taken delivery of a lorry load of sand cement and building accoutrements.
See its not all pasta and prosecco round here but it is lovely and sunny.

Better now thank you

My little blip of sadness has passed, thank you for the kind and helpful comments, it was comforting to know that I am not the only one who gets the homesick blues.  A few UK meals, a beef casserole and toad in the hole, plus more social activity probably helped.  We had friends round for a long al fresco lunch, they are a Danish couple who are in Lazio March to November, the wife says she feels much the same as summer fades and is almost ready to back to Copenhagen.  We had a day on the beach which despite all the establishments being closed, no bars, beds, showers or toilets, just miles of sand, was lovely.  The sea was like a millpond and Mr FF swam round the bay while I did my usual beach combing walk and found a little plastic dinosaur, result.  The gelato shop was still open and well stocked (biscotti and amarena for me) and on the way home we stopped at the beautiful farm shop that always makes me happy for bufala mozzarella and other delicious foods.

Friends from Rome called by this morning and also Mario who after an inspection told me that I can start collecting the olives next week.  Meantime he has shown me how to cut out the tender new growth to keep the centre of the trees open and pronounced that my secateurs are rubbish.  

We are at friends for lunch on Friday, they are cracking on with their harvest but they live down in the valley where things happen a bit quicker.  

Busy times but we still manage a bit of relaxation in the sun, unfortunately the forecast is for lower temperatures by the weekend, let's hope the end of flip flop life for another year doesn't plunge me into the depths of despair.  I doubt it as I caught myself looking longingly at a cashmere jumper this morning when I fished out a clean sleeveless t shirt to wear.

Home thoughts from abroad

When Robert Browning wrote this lovely poem, and I'm sorry I can't give you a link to read it, blame the iPad, he was in northern Italy and thinking of spring back home in England.    But suddenly I in southern Italy in autumn have gone all home sick too. It's something I've always suffered from, hard to describe but a sad empty feeling that seems to take over early evening.  It has little to do with distance from the familiar because often as a child I'd be taken during the long summer holidays to stay with my Gran or to my cousins farm, both a few miles from where I lived and either have to be brought home after a few days or arrive with my case then refuse to stay at all.  

I did ask Mr FF last year before we embarked on our first long visit if we could  return if I got homesick, at the time he agreed but of course once I got sad there was no way we were going back and the feeling did pass.  I have everything I need here, including my husband, and I know that if I did go home, I am not even considering it, I'd instantly want to be back in Italy.  Strangely I only feel this way here in autumn, during high summer I am fine and equally strangely I may long to be in Italy when we are in Scotland but never in this heavy hearted displaced person way

Feel free to give me a good talking to, I'll be fine in a few days and boring you all again with tales from our glorious life in Lazio.