Halfway Over the Hill

N.B. This post was written written on 28th, December 2021 so, obviously, all references are to last year. ‐-------- 28/12/2021 I survived summer, thank you very much, and am now ready to reanimate the comatose blog. So this is a catch-up post. I wasn't short of things to write about, it was what to choose and how to overcome the deadweight of oppressive heat and get my finger to tap on the phone.  The atmosphere of this summer was molten and as dense as gelatine. It smothered my breath and glued me to my chair even in the tomb dark of a house shuttered 24 hours against the relentless sun. Throughout the months of July and August I sizzled and sparked like a red hot coal. Now it's quite the opposite, little darts of chill pin down my bones, forcing me into a stalacmite huddle and similarly the windows are shuttered but against the adamant cold rather than the adamant heat. And my airways struggle against rasping ice shards  but at least the freezing fog veiling the

 Back in September 2017  Standing on tiptoe in the narrow bathroom of my hired lodging in the hilltown of Ilboli, I watched a spectacular show playing out in the night sky through the thin strip of window set high in the wall. Lightening leapt off the shingle roofs, the frenetic sirocco known locally as the FaOoohn whipped round the chimney stacks and whistled inside. The distant hills flashed in and out of existence; and between rumbles and the drumming sluice of heavy rain, deafening thunderclaps rung through the startled house. The naked light bulbs over the wash basin quivered and dimmed repeatedly. Out of the corner of my eye, I was intensely aware of the shadows. I backed out of the bathroom and started at my own image in the mirror. This was my last day here, I'd been on edge all week. The cottage which had been undergoing essential renovation was ready to be moved into. I was going to brave it for a couple of weeks before returning to Paris. My first day there shoul

( Reading time  - 5  book pages of text ~ 2300 words ) 11th July - Morning has broken and you rise from your bed with a question. Indoors or outdoors? In the city it doesn't matter: the angry roar and choking stench of traffic or the dance of fury of hundreds of dissatisfied lives, pounding on the percussion walls of your appartment cell. Here in Abruzzo, the open air beckons. I step out at dawn and am immediately welcomed by the orchestral hum of teeming, unseen life and a caressing breeze of dew-drop freshness. I raise my head to drink in the view and every time, without fail, I am arrested by the silent call of the ageless hills. Their eternal youth enveloping me in their warm embrace. The still, inescapable hills are a reminder that Old Mother Earth is here beneath your feet and they put your half-century of worries into perspective. And although we live in a time of doom-laden horizons and it feels like the beginning of the end of the world; the hills uplift me with t

I have stalled on the 'Earth & Air' sequel for lack of information so here is just a filler. How to clean: The best way to clean is to avoid doing it as much as possible i.e. you must develop a strategy that will bring about a situation of low cleaning necessity, primarily achieved by radically lowering your standards. I have a different take on Quentin Crisp's famous saying: Dirt only gets dirty after five years* Now of course that is a bit of an exaggeration. I expect you to clean at least once a year. But we can go one better and aim for a monthly clean. You could get a cleaning person but as most cleaners will only clean an already clean house, that is not really an option for me. Don't be alarmed, I have (almost) never achieved Life of Grime (tv doc) levels of insalubrity. I have my daily shower every other day and I actually take pleasure in hearing the churn of the washing machine on its 15-minute cycle, and hanging out clean laundry on the line is ev

About Abruzzo:  Not so long ago Abruzzo was one of the poorest regions in Italy but now the inhabitants have a good income owing to all the ugly manufacturing plants that have sprung up along the coast and around big towns. They live work-heavy double lives as factory workers and smallholders. Their croft is their second home, and their main one is in the village or town. Tradition runs deep in this rural community. And I have yet to be initiated into the mysteries of local logic. About me: In my early twenties I considered writing but did not produce a page for over 30 years, despite regularly acquiring beautiful blank notebooks. Motivation sunk like a stone in the slough of despond that we know as depression.  Much has been said about that unenviable state. The universal struggle for self-worth is fought feebly and without conviction.  A child will cry her woes to sullen oblivion. And then, in spite of herself, she will grab the unfinished Book of Life and, turning the page, r

 Fire and Water  ( Reading time -  4 book pages of text ~ 1800 words ) ( N.B. Names have been slightly altered in this narrative. + I will now refer to my neighbour, the Wild One  from previous posts, as Dahlia , this is the Google Voice suggestion for his actual name ) 1st July 2021  Since I planted my saplings mid-May (zucchini and lettuce now ready to harvest) it's only rained once. A few days ago, a whiff of smoke transperced the thick heat. Towards the east, over the line of trees, a haze of smoke veiled the sky. I thought nothing of it, people often have bonfires. Many people had noticed the oddity of a roadside fire and even texted their friends. It was only after twenty minutes, when it had started raging through the woods, did someone think to call the fire brigade. It took three days to put out and it destroyed 70 hectares of pines and olive trees. People gathered to watch, marvelled, and texted their friends. The land is still smouldering today. Yesterday even

 Part 2 - Cherry Lost ( Reading time  - 2  book pages of text ~ 900 words ) Friday 18 June (Heat is here to stay. Insect explosion) The cherries I really want are the amarena cherries - not ripe yet, surprisingly. I have a couple of small trees. It's like eating the essence of dark velvety purple and the final tart tickle on your tongue hmm - it's a symphony of deliciousness. The people here don't like 'sour' cherries but they like sour tomatoes and not the sweet ones. Odd, but more on their oddness at a later date. Another odd thing, I just tasted one or two dark-looking amarenas, they had the same hue as a very ripe and sweet regular cherry and they tasted horribly bitter. Maybe that's why people don't cultivate them here? They haven't waited for the right moment? Perhaps they need to become a dark red indigo before they become a gourmet delicacy. (Or it's just not a local fruit. And they like things local here. League of peasants! Th

( Reading time  - 2  book pages of text ~ 900 words ) Cherry Glut, Cherry Smut and Cherry Gut Part 1 - Cherry Found 13 June 2021 Can you get sick of cherry breakfasts under the cherry trees - from branch to mouth? Apparently so. You can have one figurative bowl too many. It seems a pity, however, to leave them in this succulent state to the birds who have plenty else to eat. Nature obviously intended cherries to be picked when they're perfectly ripe. With minimal pressure those pearls of delight slip off the stems into your hand like a gift received and  the spat out seeds holds the promise of germination in the vicinity of the mother tree. Human and tree mutually benefit from the giving and taking. When they're overripe and beginning to ferment, they come off with a barely a touch but unlike the ripe ones the seed too is left behind on the tree. The tree seems reluctant, however, to give up its stems; it's a fiddly chore but cherries with stems are best for conserva