A LIFE ON SHUFFLE

Absence

2011-10-15T10:49:00.001+01:00

Apologies to everyone that has messaged me asking why my blog hasn’t been updated. I’ve been very busy but shall update very soon. For those interested in what’s playing on shuffle at the moment, it’s the amazing new single by Tiziano Ferro, La Differenza Tra Me E Te.

He’s so hot!

Being a Holidaymaker and a Matchstick Man

2011-09-18T08:36:00.001+01:00

Sunday 11 September 2011 – Today I have breakfast with Gary Puckett and the Union Gap playing that 1968 classic, ‘Young Girl’. I wash the dishes used, and pack a bag for the beach. Today I’m in holidaymaker mode. Gloria and Pete join me and we drive to Le Morge. We slip straight into a parking space, and after checking that no one has parking tickets in their windscreens, I assume the parking is free now August has passed.

There’s still quite a few people on the beach, but it’s not as crowded as it will have been for the last four weeks. We find a spot and set up camp. I can’t resist the lure of the sea and within minutes I’m in the warm waters off the shoreline. I walk out and really enjoy the contrast of warm water that is replaced with swirls of colder water the further out I go.

The three of us spend the morning dividing our time between, sunbathing and swimming. At lunchtime we pop into the cafe and order pizza and a bowl of chips, and of course a beer. We pay and wait, and wait, and wait, and wait, and..you get the idea. I go up to ask where our food is and the boy that served us gets a clip around the ear, he’s forgotten to tell the kitchen Eventually we get our pizza, and a pathetic portion of tepid – almost cold chips. But our spirits are no dampened.

Back on the beach, a man in white speedos walks along the sands, I laugh as Pete says the man could be like George Michael in the Wham video, ‘Club Tropicana.’ I point out a rather rotund gentleman, also in speedos, but he’s got quite a large rear, so the logo on his rear reads: SPEEEEEEEDOOOOOOS.

I pop back into the sea for a final swim; I love swimming in the sea. When I return, Pete says I’m like a swan vesta, not because of my slender frame, but because my body is white and my head is red, like a match.

Don’t Touch the Fruit and the Bullying Insect

2011-09-17T08:04:00.002+01:00

Friday 09.09.2011 – The alarm rings and rouses me. The only day I use the darned thing is Friday, so I get up in time to meet Christine at the market in Casoli. I drink my morning cuppa as Usher sings ‘Can U Handle It?’ – Yes is my response, it’s only a mug of Yorkshire tea.

It’s hot again, and I find myself acting like a local, without realising. I walk up the stairs on the shady side, and when at the market stay on the right hand side under the stall awnings. We stop and chat to our friend Whispering Mick. We decide to get some veg from a store, and are promptly choosing some mushrooms. The stall holder is frantic and comes over with plastic bags for us to put them in to. It’s only after he’s managed to serve us that we notice the sign, which reads; DO NOT TOUCH ANY OF THE MERCHANDISE------Oops.

Mid morning sees me send a pitch to the Observer magazine, as I’m doing this Cherry Ghost play ‘Kissing Strangers’, and I’m being pestered by a fly. It keeps dive bombing me, it’s like being harassed by a tiny bully. I grab the fly spray and take up position; it’s like a scene from ‘Predator’. I’m armed with killer spray, standing stationary waiting for the flying menace. I spot it, but it stays out of aerosol distance. I move towards the fly, it moves away, until for five minutes I’m chasing this insect around the room like a complete loon. Needless to say I gave up in the end, and leave the door open, it flies out eventually. But only after one last fly past in defiance – I hate bullies.

Later, I take the coast road and pick up my friends Gloria and Pete at the airport. (I like the newly opened arrivals hall.) We get back have a few drinks and before you know it the time reads 02.00. Time for bed methinks. I take the glasses into the kitchen, press stop on the iPod, and the Boomtown Rats are silenced mid ‘Mary of the 4th Form’.

Condoms and Clattering

2011-09-15T08:17:00.001+01:00

Thursday 8 September 2011 – Surprise, surprise, it’s hot and sunny once more; where this promised rain is I don’t know, even the locals are beginning to complain. Now it might seem a bit remiss to be moaning about hot sunny weather, when it’s occurring in a country I’ve chosen to come and live in, but it’s not like a two week holiday. When you’re on holiday, you sip cocktails by the pool, lie in the sun for a little, swim in the sea etc. Okay I can do all these things here, but if I did I’d never get any work done. And today’s job is my laundry, so with sheets, pillowcases and my white ‘Primark’ trousers, sloshing in the washer, I make my breakfast. (Yes I own a pair of white trousers)

Breakfast dishes washed up and Tears For Fears playing ‘Broken’, I set about looking at which features I shall be pitching today. I opt for one about choosing the right size condom, for Attitude magazine. The more I look into it, more I realise I know very little about what makes and sizes of condoms are out there.

Suddenly I hear a terrible clattering sound coming from the utility room, I rush to find that it’s coming from the washer – first thought is, ‘Oh hell, I’ve broken the washer’. The spin cycle stops, and the sound stops with it. I breathe again, then as the spinning starts again, what sounds like crunching cogs and a mad monkey with a tin can full of peanuts fills the room. I close the door and return to my e-mail account and press send, hoping the editor likes the pitch. But, no. I get it returned saying undeliverable, I check the address, that’s correct, so I try again. No joy, so after a failed third attempt, I send it to the sub editor. The clattering from the washing machine isn’t helping my now fraught nerves.

I send a quick e-mail to Max, he says there’s no problem at the magazine, so can I send it to him, I try and once again nothing happens, I get a failed delivery message. I give up and go, with trepidation to empty the washing machine. I pull the laundry from within, only to discover lots of coins inside the drum. Turns out this numpty, left a pocket full of euro’s in his trouser pocket. Relief.

Sheets hanging in the stillness of a hot midday sun, I return to my laptop, set up the e-mail once more, press send and, hey presto, (Now there’s a saying – wonder where it came from?) the electronic letter is delivered – technology, huh!

How a Simple Vowel Could Get You into Trouble

2011-09-14T07:51:00.001+01:00

Wednesday 7 September 2011 – Today has had an ‘Eighties’ edge to it, I think my iPod is having retro-day, it started with Spandau Ballet and ‘Lifeline’ as I drank my morning cuppa, then came King, with ‘Love and Pride’ and as I gave Benito his breakfast we had ‘Oblivious’ by Aztec Camera.

It takes four loads to get all the used laundry downstairs washed, the thankful thing is that it literally takes minutes out on the line to dry in this heat. I spend the afternoon sweeping floors and cleaning the bathroom with music shuffling in the background.

In the evening I meet Chris at the Borgo, and we have a couple of beers, we don’t plan on making a night of it, just have a little break in the coolness of the evening. Now just as we are about to leave, Maria shows up, grabs a seat and sits with us. We chat for a while, and I tell her my bed is calling me. Now I have been known to crack the odd joke in my time, but I’m confused by what has Maria in stitches, maybe it’s the crossover into Italian that makes it funny? Perplexed, I rise and say good bye, Maria hugs me and gives me a rather enthusiastic kiss on the cheek, well actually several kisses in rapid succession.

I drive home, check my e-mails, pour myself a glass of wine and turn on the iPod, ‘Ice Machine’ by Depeche Mode plays, when it hits me. – Wallop! A great big ball of realisation hurtles towards me, Of course because I said chiamata when I spoke to Maria, what I actually told her was, “ My bed is calling you.”-------Oops.

Aftermath

2011-09-13T08:08:00.001+01:00

Tuesday 6 September 2011 – I venture into the apartment and am welcomed by the aftermath of the guests recent stay. The living room is okay, they’ve reassembled the sofa, and taken up the bed sheets off the floor. The kitchen however is a complete mess, the sink is overflowing with what can only be described as every single piece of crockery in the apartment. Food is mixed in with this mêlée of pots and pans, drink cartons have been drained then tossed onto the work surface.

The bin is overflowing, and there’s a mountain of empty plastic bottles; I suspect they never once took a walk up to the bin outside. I pick up all the towels that have been left on the bathroom floor, strip the beds and pile all the laundry in the main bedroom.

If I’m going to tackle this I need music, I collect all the rubbish and take it up the lane to the communal bin, grab my iPod and as ‘21 Days’ by Dave Gahan plays, I empty the fridge, which is filthy – spilled orange has not been mopped up, and the uncovered food smells bad. After another trip to the bin in the lane I start washing the dishes.

The act of washing up finishes after one and a half hours, and five fresh bowls of water. That’s enough for today, I think I’ve deserved a glass of something fizzy, and I don’t mean water.

Yes, Yes, Yes and the Public Convenience

2011-09-12T08:21:00.001+01:00

Monday 5 September 2011 – I wake at 05.00 and hear suitcases being wheeled along the lane, the guests downstairs gun their cars engine and I hear them drive away, en route to Rome.

Today I have breakfast listening to a new barking dog. This morning the ‘hello’ dog is replaced by one that sounds like it’s doing a Meg Ryan impression, its bark sounds like, ‘Yes, Yes, Yes’.

Bauhaus play ‘The Man with X-Ray Eyes’ as I sort out what magazines I shall be pitching features to, I downloaded an all singing all dancing PC planner, so I can keep track of who I’ve e-mailed, and when I need to chase them for answers. Can’t believe I’m getting organised.

I pop into Casoli and have dinner with Chris, before leaving with yet another bag of goodies from her house clearance. I walk down to the car park near the Borgo and I get a sharp pain, that tells me all is not well in my gut. – Now before I continue, I think I have learned a valuable lesson when it comes to defrosting meat in Italy. That lesson is don’t leave it out to defrost. The chicken I defrosted yesterday was warm when I went to cook it a few hours later. – To get back to my rather unpleasant story, I dropped off the goodies in my car, and grabbed the loo roll that was in the car door, and headed up the steps to the public conveniences I’ve often walked past.

I went inside and discovered it was one of those continental, stand, stoop, squat ones. By now the rumblings in my gut are loud enough for the whole town to hear, and all I’m thinking is ‘how the bloody hell do you do this’. Urgency was of the essence so it’s shorts off, and go for it – keeping shoes well clear. Suffice to say I must have looked very undignified, but it served a purpose, and made me feel so much better.

Apologies to all for this poo posting.

We is in the Borgo Hood, Innit

2011-09-10T08:45:00.001+01:00

Sunday 4 September 2011 - Today I get confirmation of the dates I need, to go back to the UK to finish a job I’m under contract to complete. I really don’t want to go back, even though a touch of rain and wind would be very welcome at the moment. I do very little today, of course I listen to music; as usual; as I type this Kate Nash is singing ‘Skeleton song’.

In the afternoon my friend Adam calls me on Skype and we have a chat, then David calls me with his news, and after a shower I head off the 5.5 miles to Casoli for beers with Christine.

The bar is full of young men; all dressed in shorts and t-shirts, they are sat at the tables playing cards. Behind us is a 20 something who is always here; he looks like he could be Freddie Mercury’s love-child, and he’s the widest mouth I’ve ever seen on another human being. The fact that it’s edged by immaculately trimmed facial hair just emphasis it’s size. (The trimmed beard makes him look like a singing minstrel in reverse). Some one cracks a joke, he laughs and I’m certain the waitress, Simona could set up another table and four chairs in there.

It’s almost 7.30pm, the young lads all leave en-masse, leaving me and Christine alone; we know we wont be alone for long, this is Italy and quite a lot of what happens follows a certain pattern. Simona walks over to our table, pops two bowls of nibbles before us and takes away the two empty Nastro bottles.

At 8.30 the lads come back, this time they’ve all changed their clothes, t-shirts are replaced by smart shirts and shorts by jeans: Freddie’s love-child has even changed his watch. What are they all dressed up for you ask – I’ll tell you – To play cards, yes play cards. Exactly as before but this time without a baseball cap in sight.

We see Maria, she joins us and before long we’re laughing and joking with her, albeit in pigeon Italian. The bar is lively, the boys playing cards are laughing too, as is the couple in the corner, how lovely it is to be a part of a small but happy community. Only one thing sullies our evening, for the very first time we’ve not seen the silver stalker; Christine is quite worried, I think he’s broken into her place and as we drink beer he’s rifling her knicker drawer for a trophy.

Halfway Through

2011-09-09T07:31:00.001+01:00

Saturday 3 September 2011 – I eat breakfast with the fan on. The rain that the weather people keep predicting fails to appear. There are a few lazy clouds in the sky, where the past weeks they’ve been non existent, but there’s no breeze; nothing moves, even this early in the day next door’s cats are sleeping in the shade.

I wash the dishes up, and turn off the iPod as Basia finishes singing ‘Time and Tide’, and start to finish off the work I started yesterday. I’m feeling motivated today and three hours later it’s completed. I put it to one side and switch on the iPod once again, and as Professor Green launches into ‘City of Gold’, I begin a few hours of mindless internet activity.

At 5 o’clock I double check my assignment, correct a few errors, and hit the send button and it’s on its way to my tutor. That’s my cue to open a bottle of fizz, a solitary celebration, but I feel good.

I am now halfway through my writing course.

Simple Pleasures

2011-09-08T06:43:00.002+01:00

Friday 2 September 2011 – I wake up in agony today, my back really aches, and It hurts getting out of bed. Now this isn’t an affliction I normally suffer from, so I assume I’ve slept in a funny position. I hobble into the living room, switch on the iPod, press shuffle and first song of the day is the 1978 top ten Johnny Mathis, Deniece Williams duet, ‘Too Much, Too Little, Too Late’.

I check my e-mails, and my tutor has returned my latest assignment with an ‘A’ and superb comments, I just wish I could get more magazine editors to take notice, but hey, perseverance they say will pay off.

I turn off the iPod, stopping Meatloaf telling anyone who’ll listen that Cher’s a ‘Dead Ringer For love’. I start work on another module of my course, completion of this one will mean I’m halfway through. I have to come up with a non-fiction book idea, and put together all the components for a sales pitch; synopsis, chapters, proposed length etc. I think a bottle of fizz is in the offing when I cross that halfway point.

In the evening, it’s beers at the Borgo with Chris, I ask her if she’s seen her silver surfer today, and as the words are let loose he appears around the corner. No one else in the bar can understand why the two English folks have burst into spontaneous laughter. We’ve started to be accepted by the locals, more and more say hello, especially those in their early twenties. Maria drops by and we chat, she’s becoming more tactile each time we see her, and Chris laughs, saying she’s got a new dress on just for me.

It’s very atmospheric later in the evening, as darkness covers the town, the streets are lit by ancient looking streetlights, I take a couple of photographs, sadly they cannot truly catch the mood.

At the end of the evening I walk back to my car slowly, just absorbing everything around me, A family passing on their way home bid me good night, I return the greeting, before driving home. After parking the car, I take a slow stroll down the lane in the darkness, listening to the sounds of nature all around; a thought pops into my head, and it’s – I love my life.

Pepsi, Pasta and Phantom Phone Calls

2011-09-06T10:07:00.001+01:00

Thursday 1 September 2011 – So September is upon us, and to welcome me into the new month is my ringtone. My telephone has rung four times today with a number I don’t know, I answer and there’s some indiscernible noises on the line before it goes dead.The only indication of who my caller is, is that the screen reads, – Northern Los Angeles Area, – The only person I know out there is my Italian friend Paolo, but I can’t see why he’d call, he usually sends e-mails. It rings for the fifth time as Scouting For Girls play their hidden track off the first album, ‘Michaela Strachan’, Once again the connection is bad and the line goes dead.

I take Chris to Eurospin so she can do her shopping, and on the way back we stop off at the Borgo for a well deserved cold drink. Now in the Pepsi – Coke debate, people who know me personally know I prefer Pepsi to its rival; and diet Pepsi is my preference. There’s only one shop I’ve found that sells cans of my choice, but at the bar they sell Pepsi with lemon, which on a hot day like today is very welcoming, so much so that I tend to have two cans.

As Chris is getting ready to move back to the UK, I leave with a trolley on wheels laden with odds and ends she doesn’t want, everything from a torch to a shower head, and cans of beer and a tub of Bolognese. Back home and as Marc Almond sings the infectious ‘Jacky’, pasta boils and the Bolognese, that tastes darn fine, is heated up and presto I have lunch – albeit at 3pm. As usual I’ve a little pasta over, so it’s put outside for the cats, who wolf the stuff down.

I decide on a evening in with a DVD, and watch Shaun of the Dead, which to be honest is better second time around – or am I starved for entertainment? My phone rings again, it’s my phantom caller from LA. Three more attempts to connect with me are made, before fed up of hearing my Dynasty ringtone, I switch it off, and torture myself with a truly dreadful film called ‘Brotherhood of Justice’, starring a very young Keanu Reeves and Keifer Sutherland.

Olive Wi-Fi and the Satellite Expert

2011-09-05T08:17:00.001+01:00

Wednesday 31 August 2011 – Today begins really well, ‘Bones’ by Editors plays, Tom Smith’s distinctive voice fills the living room with dark broodiness; that’s an amalgamation of moody and brooding. There’s a slight breeze bringing with it a welcoming coolness,and I enjoy a nice cup of good old strong English tea. I even fashion myself; as best I can with Italian ingredients, an English breakfast. I am about to sit down to eat when I hear my name being called, it’s the guests from downstairs.

I resist the temptation to say, “Have you ever thought of knocking on the door?” and smile nicely. He’s come to tell me he’s not happy as there was dirt under the sofa – why he’s looking under the sofa I don’t know? He also says he’s seen two scorpions and there’s been some little ants that have come into the house. I try to explain that we’re in rural Italy and if you choose to live here you must accept the local wild things. I give him some ant powder, he looks at it, wrinkles his nose, then says, “This is toxic,” Oh how I so wanted to make a flippant Britney Spears remark, I was restrained and just replied, “Yes it is, kills them stone dead.”

His next remark is, “I’m finding it difficult to find Wi-Fi hotspots out and about, once more I restrain myself from reiterating the fact that this is rural Italy: I don’t think the old guy who comes over on his tractor has much use for a wireless iPad while he’s tending his olive trees, but you never know. Oh and he can’t get the satellite decoder to work, and he’s apparently highly qualified in all matters technical regarding these type of systems.

They guests leave and I settle down to doing some work, I break for lunch and then notice my workstation has an Italian feel to it – how quickly we adapt to new practices. I drink the whole pot of coffee, then go down to water the plants in the bases of the gazebo, (for ‘water the plants’ please read – have a nosey through the windows). The place is a mess, there’s dishes everywhere, I can see towels on the floor outside the bathroom, and the bedroom doesn’t fare any better.

After a few hours working; with music to keep me company, the guests arrive home. I pop down to see if I can help with the satellite. He opens the door dressed only in his underpants and beckons me inside – I’m dying to say, “Thanks, but you’re not my type shorty”. – The spare sheets that I spent my time and sweat over ironing are strewn on the floor, and all the sofa cushions are on the floor too; if this is what they’re like in a holiday rental, I’d hate to see how they live at home. II look at the plug at the back of the TV, it’s not in fully, I push it back into its socket and hey presto it works. – Does this mean I’m now highly qualified in all matters technical regarding these type of systems?

Aniseed Eggs and Propaganda

2011-09-03T07:52:00.002+01:00

Tuesday 30 August 2011 – I wake slowly, enjoying the morning breeze that’s whispering through the room. 07.00 and the dreadful screeching bird is exercising its lungs: I don’t know what it looks like, as I’ve never seen it just heard it; if its plumage is anything like its voice, it must be ugly.

I decide on scrambled eggs for breakfast, the iPod shuffles and Wrongkong begin the day with ‘Real Boy’, I’m whisking eggs adding seasoning and without looking reach into the cupboard which houses a plethora of herbs and spices. I grab a bottle and shake a sprinkling of what I think is dried mint into the egg mixture. As it cooks the aroma it gives off is not minty, so I check and discover I’ve added aniseed – oh well too late now. The result was aniseed flavoured scramble egg, and very nice it was too; methinks I’ll be having that again.

I have to write a 250-500 piece news story today and despite doing the prep for it, I just can’t muster the enthusiasm; I know I have to do it but surfing the internet becomes my mode of procrastination. As the Gibson Brother’s bounce around the room with their Latin inspired disco tune, ‘Que Sera, Mi Vida (If Ever You Should Go)’, I make myself a cup of chamomile tea; (a taste recently acquired) and unplug the laptop from the internet.

I finish my work, switch on the iPod and shower as it shuffles away in the background; I emerge from the cool water as ‘Immigrant Dreams’ by Sandii and the Sunsetz fades out. I drive to pick up Chris, however the quick road up to Casoli is closed, so I take the long route, only to discover the road up to the piazza is also closed; a quick look around confirms there’s no police around, so I move the bollards and scoot through.

We visit Richard and Annie in nearby Palombaro, their house is a real treasure, art deco staircases, oodles of hidden rooms with vaulted ceilings, a fabulous view, not mention the cantina, attached shop and prison cell. They are hoping to eventually open up a spa B&B, but for now are just enjoying cleaning the place up. My favourite thing is the piece of fading Mussolini propaganda painted on the wall. which reads: The class (?) is the power the (?) hope the certainty of the future of Italy - (?) indicates words indiscernible/missing

We meet new people at the local bar and enjoy a few beers, and are joined by Glenn Murphy, the actor who was in the ITV drama, London’s Burning. I take Chris home and she tells me she hates me for making her walk up the hill; as she does every time – we laugh and I set off home, only to discover both roads out of Casoli are now closed, the reason being so people try the new one that’s just opened, which is steep and winds like a coil. (No change there then).

Pedestrian Sandwiches and the Hello Dog

2011-09-02T08:40:00.001+01:00

Monday 29 August 2011 – The temperature is lower this morning, so I strip the bed and wash the sheets, In the distance the ‘hello’ dog is barking; I hear him every day. In this rural area the sound of farm dogs barking is part and parcel of life here. This dog is very distinctive because his bark sounds like he’s shouting hello, sort of sounds like wet-wo.

Today marks the next two weeks of ‘gigantic savings’ at the local supermarket; a shop that already has low prices. I decide to pop down to check them out and am very soon leaving with a couple of bags of shopping. Some of the bargains I come away with are 6 x 1.5 litre bottles of sparkling spring water for 99 cents, 5 litres of Montipulciano red wine for €4, 6 x cartons of peach juice for 75 cents and an amazing cheese I’ve never tasted before because it’s always quite expensive, but today I got a 500g block of Quartirolo Lombardo DOP for just €1,75 and a bottle of spumante brut for 75 cents – BARGAIN!

After lunch; tasty arosticini, the American’s arrive who are staying in the apartment downstairs, they don’t knock on the door, they go straight downstairs and then shout my name until they get my attention. They tell me they came over last night at 01.30, saw my car and banged on the door, but I must have been out; I smile and say, “Yes”, reminding them about the festa last night. Truth was I was asleep, and didn’t hear them, for goodness sake who tells you they’re coming at 2.00pm then turns up, twelve and a half hours early, on the off chance in the early hours of the morning.

I’m doing a little writing, nothing that needs my considered attention when I am sure I miss hear a lyric in the Siouxsie and the Banshee’s song, ‘Halloween’ - for some reason I hear ‘I wandered through your sandwich’ – obviously this is incorrect.

I escape the American’s and pop into town for a drink with Christine, Richard and Annie. Richard and Annie have purchased an old jailhouse in the nearby town of Palombaro – More about that though tomorrow.

Part way through the evening and Christine’s silver stalker walks past us closely followed by Maria. Now it’s very hard to miss Maria, not only is she a lady of large proportions, and quite tall for an Italian signora, she wears what can only be described as quite vocal. Despite being a widow, there’s no black dresses for Maria and tonight she’s in her tangerine one. She comes to say hello, I chat to her and establish she’s lived in the town for twenty years, and her husband passed away in September, two years ago. She asks if I live there, I tell her no, but not far away. I also joke that I’m here looking for a new wife, her eyes light up, we have more flirtatious banter before she leaves with a jolly, “Buona Notte.” The others laugh saying that I’m now betrothed to Maria, and I have a vision in my head of WWE wrestler Johnny Curtis in a tangerine wedding dress.

Yorkshire Pudding and the Pizza Sucking Granny

2011-09-01T08:43:00.001+01:00

Sunday 28 August 2011 – I wake and am happy, there’s a breeze today, a small one but a breeze non the less. Despite getting back in the early hours, I only slept briefly, and I find myself at a loose end at 06.30. I take advantage of the coolness, and slip into the garden to eradicate a few weeds, before breakfast.

Eartha Kitt sings ‘C’est Si Bon’ as my egg poaches and my bacon sizzles in the pan. There’s a few things, that when they appear in the shops that fall into my basket without thinking, and one of those things is bacon. Okay it’s sliced so thin you could take a photograph through it, and it’s nothing like the middle bacon back in the UK, but it’s not pumped full of water and when crispy is divine.

The morning is taken up with mindless internet surfing, Facebook watching and email writing. Benito, a cat with dreadful facial injuries a few weeks ago comes in for his lunch; I’ve been feeding the feral moggy up, hoping some regular food will help the healing, and it seems to have done the trick.

I shower and head off to Christine’s for dinner. Upon arrival she warns me she’s made a Yorkshire Pudding for the first time, and if it’s a disaster I can’t laugh or tell anyone on Facebook. We watch a little TV as we wait for the potatoes to roast and the YP to do its thing in the oven.

The moment of truth arrives and it’s a whopper, Christine is so pleased, and it merits a photograph – watch out Facebookers.

Stuffed after eating, we are watching TV and in that general state of repose post lunch, when we are shaken by the sound of a cannon going off, then another followed by another, the town shakes with the vibrations. We guess it’s a precursor to tonight’s festa, and Saint’s procession.

We have a beer later down at the festa, (costs twice as much here), a band plays as the locals follow four men carrying a Saint’s effigy. The religious ceremony is quite upbeat, with the jolly sound of the band playing what I can only describe as Catholic Ragtime.

Now it’s not the sight of locals in their devotion that catches our eye, nor is our interest taken by the male compere who bears a striking resemblance Eamonn Holmes, for us it’s the old lady that is purchasing a slab of pizza. She looks to be in her late seventies, and doesn’t have a single tooth in her head: I suspect they’re in her handbag. We are transfixed as she tears off the corner, pops it into her mouth, gums the tomato and cheese topped foccacia for a while, then sucks the living daylights out of it. Each mouthful follows the same ritual – tear, pop, gum, suck – and it’s a long slow process. After ten minutes she’s only an eighth of the way through, by my calculations it’s going to take her at least an hour and half to eat her slice, taking in sips of water and jaw resting.

We leave the event and stroll up to the small corner bar, where we sit and watch as the town winds down, before the evening draws to a close. Because the roads are closed off, the only way home is through the snaking side streets only wide enough for one vehicle at a time. So with Britney Spears singing ‘Big Fat Bass’, featuring Will.i.Am, I hold my breath, put the car into gear and hope no one is coming in the opposite direction. I didn’t meet any other cars, just streams of pedestrians that didn’t care if they were walking in the middle of the road – Who could blame them though, they’d all had a good time out, just like me.

But part of me wonders if there’s still a little old lady, sat on a plastic chair, and gumming a piece of pizza?

Downloads, Chillies and Stalking

2011-08-31T07:50:00.001+01:00

Saturday 27 August 2011 – Morrissey is singing ‘Shame Is The Name’ as my breakfast is cooking- a full English – The sun is belting out more of its hotter than hell rays, will this heat-wave ever break?

I spend the morning getting the downstairs apartment ready for a family that are arriving on Monday. To be honest I’m not really into the domestic side of things, having already done it once before, it cemented my belief that I’d hate to run or work in a hotel.

I spend the remainder of the morning searching for and downloading music, I run into quite a few demo tracks and feature recordings of ex Sugababe Mutya Buena, these are added to my collection as is The Sound of Camden and Linea 77. So my iPod now has 19,055 songs.

Early afternoon, it’s so hot that there’s nothing for it but to have another cold shower. The heat is so intense that I have to keep doors and windows closed, there’s no breeze so it creeps inside the house. Everything is warm, my shirts in the wardrobe feel like they’ve just come out of a tumble dryer, and tepid pillows make taking a siesta a no no. Still this baking sunshine is good for my sundried chillies, that are as hot as the Italian countryside at the moment. (I think I’ll make little packages up for Christmas gifts).

I read for a little, shave, then head up to Casoli for beers with my friend Christine. Now there’s something you should know about Christine; it’s not that’s she’s a real life Eastender, or even that she can be seen in a Pathe newsreel as a young schoolgirl. The shocking revelation is that she has a stalker, a silver haired gentleman that shuffles around town with an air of old fashioned eccentricity.

I use the term stalker loosely, as the chap has never made contact, he’s not so much as posted a pair of his unwashed pants through Christine’s door, and to the best of my knowledge he doesn’t have a room plastered from floor to ceiling with photographs of her. In fact his only crime is that wherever she goes, he always appears. She can be sat in the bar, and he’ll saunter past. A trip to the post office and she turns the leave and he’s the next person in line behind her. And heaven forbid she takes a stroll through the market on Friday morning, because you can guarantee, as she rifles through the €3 clothes stall and picks up a lilac halter-neck, there’d be another hand on the hem, – the silver stalker.

I’m Back and it’s all Ya Ya

2011-08-30T08:26:00.001+01:00

Friday 26 August 2011 – Okay so I’ve had a brief break from blogging due to work commitments and also sheer laziness. So what have I been up to in the hiatus – well mostly sweating and showering.

It’s been blisteringly hot in Italy, some locals have said hotter than it’s been in many years. One day plant life looks vibrant, the next day it looks withered and wilting, the next its lush and leafy. I just hope one day I’ll adapt to this climate, as most days I’ve been more the withered and wilting variety.

August is festival season here, so I’ve enjoyed bands, street parties and watched locals dancing in the street, not to mention a few beers at my favourite watering hole – Bar il Borgo in Casoli.

Workwise, I’ve been catching up on writing assignments for my course, and even had some work published, with other articles due for publication next month. Here’s the link to an article I wrote about the writer/actress Rachael Halliwell and her splendid one woman show, Deirdre and Me.

http://www.differentscene.co.uk/?p=3076

Lunch today was arosticini as Jim Gilstrap sang the classic ‘Swing Your Daddy,dishes washed up and I pop downstairs into the cool of the apartment, it was my intention to do some writing however I spot a DVD with a name that intrigues me.

I end up lost in the film called Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. it’s got a great cast and the story albeit more chic-flick is very good, and for an hour or so it took my mind off the soaring temperature outside.

There’ll be more to come, so keep coming back for details about Christine’s silver stalker, the pizza sucking lady and my impending marriage to Maria the orange peril of Casoli.

Ciao x

Brief Break

2011-07-18T07:09:00.002+01:00

My dear blogsters, and regular readers of A Life On Shuffle. Due to a heavy workload of writing I shall be taking a brief break from updating this blog, sadly I’ll not be able to write daily updates for the next two weeks, but I shall be back with a review of what has happened in my online absence. And if I get my work completed early I'll be back sooner than predicted.

Vediamo presto…………..Flatfield

Liz McClarnon and the Egg and Pocket Incident

2011-07-17T07:17:00.001+01:00

Domenica 10 luglio 2011 – For anyone who’s noticed all this past week the dates have been written in Italian, however I do feel I need to point out that Italians don’t capitalise months, hence luglio (July) being lower case.

Being 49 years old and seven months to this very date, there are some lessons I have learned: Things like, never take a pan of roast potatoes out of the oven without an oven glove, or even if it sounds like a good idea, don’t down a whole bottle of absinthe in a pub in Motherwell. (Not unless you want to wake up with many unanswerable questions racing through your head). So I travel through life armed with this veritable encyclopaedia of learned knowledge that will keep me safe, or out of harms way at least.

Add to this the common sense that we are supposed to posses, that needs no intervention of action to become a part of our daily remit: Things like you know it’s going to hurt if you leap off a multi-storey car park in Dagenham. Or that it would be unwise to try roller skating with scissors in your hands. You don’t need to experience these things you just know the concept of doing them is loopy.

So today, I’m in the kitchen, the trusty iPod is doing it’s job nicely, Liz McClarnon sings Woman In Love (Dancing DJ’s Remix). The bass is thumping and the hi hats splashing and I’m singing along. I’m about to make myself a poached egg as the kettle boils, so as I’m still dressed in night attire: PJ bottoms, I slip said egg into my pocket as I pour the boiling water over a tea-bag. I carry on singing along, and ponder how the lovely Ms McClarnon is getting on touring the UK with the musical Legally Blonde. I do like her, she was always my favourite ‘Kitten’. She has a clarity to her voice that’s very rare, and her diction when she sings is superb; listen to her sing Someone Like Me, the final track on the third Atomic Kitten album Ladies Night, and you’ll hear what I mean, the vocals are crystal clear; I think there’s only ever really been one other singer with such clarity and that was the late Karen Carpenter.

The water in the pan is boiling, I pick an egg out of the dish; here’s a tip for you all, – never store eggs in the fridge, it taints the flavour, chilled egg holders were invented by fridge manufacturers, – but I digress. The egg slips from its opened shell and plops into the water. Toast pops up and is buttered, the egg nicely poached is lifted from the water, and popped onto the toast, just a pinch of salt, and a stab at the yolk has its golden insides running. I walk to the table, sit down and you can guess the rest.

Suffice to say, my encyclopaedia of life has a new entry, filed under E for egg, and cross referenced with, M for McClarnon: It reads: don’t put eggs in your PJ’s, whilst distracted my Liz McClarnon.

Crocodiles in the Kitchen

2011-07-16T07:26:00.001+01:00

Sabato 9 luglio 2011 – Breakfast dishes are washed up, Janet Jackson sings Love Will Never Do (Without You) and I ponder what the day will bring. As forecast, the heat really has turned up, it’s far too hot to be toiling outside, and truth be told I don’t have the inclination today.

I’ve been invited to lunch up at Chris and Bills. I decide to park lower down and walk up to their place; this was a good idea at the bottom of Casoli, not so clever at the top. Shattered and dealing with altitude sickness, (an exaggeration) I arrive. It does take me a good fifteen minutes to get over the climb. (Note to self, try harder to drop some timber, fatty).

We sit outside chatting in the shade, the sun, even this high up is unrelenting; Italy has just gone to code 3 red alert, due to the unusually hot weather. The neighbours come and go with cheery waves and shouts of ‘Ciao’. An old guy in his 80’s whips past in his three-wheeled Ape, (pronounced App-ay), its engine buzzing as he passes: Ape is Italian for bee, and the machines are made by Piaggio, who make the famous Vespa, (wasp) scooters.

After lunch I spot a tiny lizard on the window sill, I say spot it, it’s hard to see as it’s about a half of a centimetre long. Chris screams as it scoots under a cupboard to safety. She’s convinced it’s going to grow into a full sized crocodile overnight, and have her when she comes down in the morning.

Bill nips out, and Chris and myself are on ‘crocodile watch’, eventually it emerges and we set about capturing it. For something so small it sure can shift. I corner it and Chris drops a plastic container over it. Now we just have to find a way of getting outside.

Eventually after following the tried and tested paper and glass technique used by spider removers the world over, the 6 foot crocodile is evicted, and we give ourselves a pat on the back. A job well done.

Bouncing and the Freezer Graveyard

2011-07-15T09:36:00.001+01:00

Venerdi 8 luglio 2011 – I don’t feel like work, the iPod is having a summer mood today, Steps are playing their cover of the Diana Ross top ten hit, Chain Reaction. I’m feeling bouncy and singing along as I eat my toast and jam. Now there’s a thing; back in the UK I never ate jam, but there was a jar (cherry) in the fridge and I’ve been eating it ever since.

I decide to spend the day at the coast, so I fill up with petrol and head off northwards. First stop is San Vito Chietino, the little beach here is crammed with people under umbrellas, the sound of enjoyment bounces on the air, and laughter washes in with the waves. A voice is raised at a small boy who bounces his beach ball into another family’s space.

I drive further up the coast, bouncing along with every dip and rise in the coast road. My bottle of water once chilled is now warm and devoid of any fizz, however I’m parched. I pull over at another beach, I want to check out. Now apparently this is supposed be a popular place with gay men. For popular read, spot where they can get a quick shag. I stroll along the beach, it’s empty, apart from one man sunbathing and a couple in their latter years canoodling in the sea. I arrive at the area supposedly frequented by gay men and spot the signs of outdoor activity. tracks into the wooded area are apparent, and occasionally there’s a discarded condom wrapper on the ground.

I’m being followed by a man, he looks nervous and obviously married, he keeps stopping and looking over to see if I’m looking at him, I’m not. It’s too hot for any of that outdoors nonsense. I pass through a dense piece of undergrowth and discover a ramshackle set of buildings, now covered in graffiti and in serious disrepair. They are the remains of what was once a holiday park, in an area beside what was the reception building lie fridges and freezers, rusting and lifeless, they put me in mind of the imaginary elephant’s graveyard.

I walk back, now the man is chatting to a young lad about 20, he lowers his gaze as I walk passed, guilty maybe or embarrassed I don’t know nor care. I drive into Pescara to buy some more cans of anchovy stuffed olives, then continue my bouncing along until I get home.

A Bugs’ Life

2011-07-14T07:45:00.001+01:00

Giovedi 7 luglio 2011 – Chris and Bill are coming over today to help me up at my place, so as the final notes of Lazy Afternoon by Barbra Streisand fade out, I crush rosemary and garlic and make a paste for the pork we’ll have for lunch. Donna Summer swaps places with Barbra and Spring Affair plays as Chris and Bill arrive.

Bill manages to sort out the strimmer and replaces the line for the metal blade, before strimming the untamed grass outside the front of the house. Chris, who doesn’t like bugs comes face to face with a scorpion, then a grasshopper, followed by a mantis. She lives higher up than me, so the temperature can be at least 5 degrees lower, and they have more of a breeze up there, and no mosquitos. The mozzies are a bind to be honest, people think you can spend the evenings sat outside drinking wine as the sun sets. You could, but you’d get eaten alive.

We leave the work and set off to have lunch, when we spot something on a neighbours steps. Soaking up the heat is a little adder, about 12 inches long, the poisonous little reptile eyes us suspiciously. It’s a beautiful little thing, but knowing it’s venomous we keep our distance, and Chris takes a photo.

Despite having a large lunch, I have to cook the mussels purchased yesterday, so I have dinner late, cozze piccante con spaghetti, very nice it is too. The wine is poured, a large beetle is evicted before the next instalment of Heroes rounds off the day.

Mundane to Magnificent

2011-07-13T07:46:00.001+01:00

Mercoledi 6 luglio 2001 – The Cure sing Let’s Go to Bed, I wish I could as today has mundane written all over it. I’m ironing, polishing, sweeping and doing all manner of household chores today. It’s a lovely day, a tad warm to be honest, which means the heat and steam from the iron are tiresome.

Touch Me, from the Bollywood movie Dhoom2 plays as the ironing board is eventually stowed away and I make some lunch before having a shower. I have an appointment with our lawyers in Lanciano to pay the council tax. People say it must be expensive to live in Italy? But it’s not when you consider you save £40 a week just on council tax. Once you get residency you pay no council tax and you get a reduction in all utility bills.

I have an hour to kill in Lanciano, so wander around stopping just to buy a guide to all the summer festivals in Abruzzo; well I got to do something on those warm summer evenings haven’t I? I escape the heat by ducking into the cathedral, it’s cool so I sit and reflect on my life. An Italian man walks in and asks me for directions, I’m happy that he asked rather than just thought I’d not understand/know the answer due to being a foreigner. The man walks away happy, and I’m smiling.

I meet with my lawyers, who tell me there’s a resolution almost on the supply of water to our house. Looks like we’ll have to pay for a new pipe to be laid, but at least we can get sorted with the plumbing once it’s done. They tell me that they think my Italian language is coming along nicely, Piero says my pronunciation is very good. So I leave their offices smiling once again.

I’m thinking nothing else good could happen, when I nip into the supermarket and on the fresh fish stall they have fresh mussels, with half a kilo in the cool box I drive home singing along with Kate Bush to Wuthering Heights, what started off as mundane ended up as magnificent …….Isn't life grand?

A Naked Englishman and the Rain

2011-07-12T07:29:00.001+01:00

Martedi 05 luglio 2011 – The French windows are open allowing the early morning breeze into the room. My breakfast of omelette and ham is consumed as José Carreras sings Donizetti’s classic, Una Furtiva Lagrima. The breeze is brisk, making it a good day to be in the garden.

I spend a couple of hours on my toil, that seems never ending, again it takes a great effort just to clear a small area of land, but at least I can see a difference. Kate Bush sings Love And Anger, as I feel a drop of rain on my forehead. I can hear a grumble on the wind, and overhead the sky has become leaden. Then suddenly as if someone has slit the sky open with a blade, a torrent of cold rain drenches me. It feels good, and like a demented fool, I walk back slowly.

I get back soaked, Baleno looks like a wrung out mop as she takes shelter under the patio table. I resemble something similar and rather than traipse wet into the house, I strip off, one advantage of living so remote is that you can go all day without seeing anyone. Mind you that said, what’s the betting a car full of nuns will drive past as I’m slipping out of my pants?

I put the iPod in it’s dock and as Joan Armatrading starts to sing No Love, I pad off to grab a shower.

The valley has disappeared, completely engulfed in mist and rain. I hear mewing, and open the porch door so Baleno can shelter inside, as I settle down to an hour of writing.

Around midday the rain has gone, and brilliant sunshine takes its place, the cat goes to soak up the sun on the wooden walkway, and I prepare lunch with Crazy Cool, by Paula Abdul in the background.

It’s All About Food

2011-07-11T06:37:00.001+01:00

Lunedi 04 luglio 2011 – I’m working in the garden, still attempting to clear the years of badly behaving plant life. Plan B play Free, from the hugely successful album, The Defamation of Strickland Banks, an album that in my opinion, must go down in musical history as a work of genius. I can hear my name being called, I turn the volume down and realise it’s my 93 year old neighbour. I rush to see what’s wrong: which isn’t easily done in steel toe-capped wellington boots.

I arrive, hot and sweaty the run taking the wind out of me, she beckons me into her kitchen, pours me a cup of freshly brewed coffee and tells me she’s made me some Ferratelle. Like a waffle with a hint of aniseed to them. I thank her, saying I’ll save them for pranzo, (lunch).

I work on the land for another couple of hours, before it gets too hot to continue. I shower as Black Eyed Peas play Shut Up. I’m suitably cooled down, and just wrapped in a towel I start to think about lunch. I decide to have a plate of anti pasti, so I chop some ham, grab some salami, pickles, cooked mushrooms, chopped tomato, and to top it I spread two Dairylea triangles on toasted bread. (I brought the Dairylea over from the UK) So pranzo can only be described as Dairylea meets la dolce vita.

I spend the afternoon working on Italian verbs, thrilling I know.

I pop to the shop, car windows open to let the stifling heat out, Hurts are belting out Stay, as I trundle along; with scenery like this there’s no need for speed. I buy a big bulb of fennel, and decide that dinner tonight will be pork, roasties and braised fennel. I drive back with Whatever’s Left, by Snow Patrol trailing in my wake.

Earlier I found a DVD with the American TV series Heroes on it, so I downloaded the appropriate player and spend the remainder of the day with 4 episodes, and go to bed entertained but none the wiser as to what’s actually going on. Hopefully it will become clearer in later episodes.

Baking Bread

2011-07-09T07:47:00.001+01:00

Saturday 02 July 2011 – I’m chatting to Brenda on Skype, when there’s a tap at the window. It’s Bill from Casoli, he’s popped in to see if I’d like to go for lunch. I think this is a jolly good idea, and after the chat we head off to Lanciano as he needs to get some wholemeal flour. This is a good sign, as it means I can get some instruction into the art of bread making.

It’s a funny old day weather wise, it rained in the night, then this morning it was sunny, but midday signals a breezy yet temperate afternoon ahead.

Bill shows me how he makes bread, and Chris cooks us lunch, a very tasty bolognaise. We spend the afternoon chatting; well to be honest mostly laughing raucously. (Christine does have the ability to light up a room, she’s so witty.) Bill’s bread has proved and has tripled in size, he knocks it out, and sets it aside again. I learn that during this process I’m being too tender with it, it needs a good seeing to, as Bill says.

The days slips away swiftly, and before long it’s early evening. I leave with a loaf under my arm, heading back for another 4 episodes of Heroes.

There will no A Life On Shuffle tomorrow, for Sunday 03 July, as all I did that day was chill out and do nothing.

The Roman Ruins at Juvanum

2011-07-08T08:46:00.001+01:00

Friday 1 July 2011 – Despite the rain in the night, the first day of July is bathed in sunshine, I sit outside eating my breakfast listening to the birds singing in the valley. It’s going to be another hot day and to be honest I don’t fancy toiling in a still damp wilderness.

I grab my Abruzzo guide book, and look for somewhere to visit, I decide on the Roman ruins of Juvanum. So as Aha play Stay On These Roads I shave and get dressed for my trip out. How insightful the Swedish rockers were, the roads up twist and turn with spectacular views over the mountains, but some of the hairpin bends are scary, so I follow their advice and stay on the roads.

I drive through the pretty hilltop village of Gessopalena, I park up and have a wander around. My friend Alessio’s family are from here, and I see his family name on many post-boxes, making me wonder if the people who live behind them are his relatives.

The next village I pass through is Civitella Messer Raimondo. I’ve heard many people talk about this village, so expect it to be beautiful, in honesty it’s rather dull and non descript. So I don’t bother stopping to take any photographs.

I spot another brown sign which indicates I’m still heading in the right direction. At a sharp left turn the road rises steeply, and I climb upwards seeing a sign telling me the museum is just 2km away. I pull into the car park, and apart from the two shirtless gardeners I’m alone.

The Ruins at Juvanum

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The ruins at Juvanum are really just low walls peeking out of the earth, there’s the remains of a road, no longer flat due to the seismic activity over the years. The location is thought to indicate the ruins were a place famed for health, the name Juvanum derives from iuvare, which is Latin for ‘to improve one’s health’. The settlement was left ruined following an earthquake in 4 AD. What was left over the years was plundered by locals needing the stones to build homes.

I drive back, stopping once to take a photograph of Lago di Sant’Angelo and a second time to grab a bottle of wine from the supermarket. The dinner dishes are drying over the sink, the pop of a cork sounds and Jimmy Somerville sings his excellent version of Where Have All The Flowers Gone? Perfect end to the day.

The Bonfire

2011-07-07T07:29:00.001+01:00

Thursday 30 June 2011 – ENEL, the electric company are doing some work today and we’ve all had notice that the electricity will go off for a few hours at 09.45. Breakfast is eaten as the iPod plays the remains of last night’s Killers track, it shuffles and Revolver (David Guetta Remix) by Madonna takes its place.

I shower, take a quick look at my email accounts and check out Facebook. At 09.44 the electricity goes off, so I pull on my wellingtons and make my way up the road to continue clearing the land.

It’s very hot, so I decide to work in the shade around the side of the house. We’ve got some concrete steps at the side, as like all old Italian houses there are no internal staircases. I decide to clear the ivy and weeds that are clinging to them.

Before After

I’ve accumulated quite a pile of weeds and rubbish, and have built myself a nice little bonfire, however as the midday heat is now too much to bear I go back for another shower and to grab some lunch. Luckily I have a rechargeable docking station, so at least I can still have my music, and I eat my lunch as The Scars play Je T’aime C’est La Mort

At 18.45, the electricity comes on again and I can think about cooking dinner. I’m about to do this when there’s a rumble in the distance. So with matches rattling and a watering can of water I go back up to our place and set fire to the mini bonfire. (Not before checking there was no snake taking a nap inside). The fire burns nicely and the last of the embers lose their heat as the first, fat drops of rain turn to steam upon contact.

Job done, it’s time to get some dinner, so I walk back down the lane Lost In Music, with Sister Sledge.

Sugababes, Snakes and South Africans

2011-07-06T07:50:00.001+01:00

Wednesday 29 June 2011 – To remind me that the cats are missing, during breakfast Tom Jones sings, What’s New Pussycat? I put my cup down and open the front door. Baleno is there, I look under the steps and there’s still no sign of her kitten.

I continue in the morning clearing the land, it’s a case of popping out of the downstairs room to do a bit every time a cloud covers the sun, and popping back inside when its cover has drifted off. It’s hotter today, and there’s not even a whisper of any breeze. I have to keep stopping to wipe the sweat away, I’m sure I must be losing at least 2 litres of water each morning doing this task, thankfully the coolness of downstairs room keeps my chilled water cold.

Sitting on the ground, trowel in hand lifting some clumps of grass, I stop and listen as the Sugababes sing Ace Reject, from the last album that featured Mutya. It’s shame that, what was once a pool of incredible talent is now just a commodity. I fear we wont see much from the new line up, before they fade into obscurity. I feel something on my foot, I look down and a shiny black snake is resting on my wellington boot. It’s only about a foot long, and its skin looks like highly polished patent leather. It spots me and in an instant has vanished and I start to breath again.

In the evening I go dinner at my south African friends Bronda and Koort’s house. It’s a lovely little house and they’ve made great use of the space. Bronda shows us why she fell in love with the house, a spectacular view of Casoli and it’s castle, which is made even more spectacular by night. Sadly no photograph could ever do it justice.

Just before I retire for the evening I have another glass of wine, and catch up on some emails and Facebook messages. I turn off the Killers, two thirds of the way through When You Were Young, It’s time to put another day away.

The Disappearing Cat

2011-07-05T07:42:00.001+01:00

Tuesday 28 June 2001- There’s a little cloud cover today, so after washing up the breakfast dishes I start to tackle the back garden. With the iPod in it’s dock, it’s man against nature: It’s not long before nature starts winning the war. The problem is, that beneath about an inch of soil and weeds is a cobbled hard-standing, so I have to excavate slowly, it’s not so much like gardening, more like an archaeological dig.

Before

Zombie by the Cranberries plays, I stop and listen as it throws itself across the Italian wilderness. The earlier recordings by the Irish rock band were superb, songs filled with angst and clever lyrics melt alongside innocence and melody. They did however start to go off the boil towards the end with some of their songs just becoming lyrically baffling.

After

After four hours I’ve cleared a sizeable amount of land, and as the temperature rises, I retire for the day and make myself lunch. After a shower I take a walk; Baleno follows me, mewing all the way down the lane, she’s a really vocal cat. When we get back, I see the big tom cat outside the gate, he really is a hulking brute, black and white with shaggy fur and face made up of pure malevolence. Baleno spots him too, and runs back to check on her kitten.

I leave for my Italian lesson, looking in on mother and kitten, both are sleeping quite contently. Upon my return, I begin to make my dinner, the iPod is playing and Meat Of Youth by Meat Of Youth plays, the drums and fretless bass pounding away. A shuffle takes place and more heightened drum beats as Bow Wow Wow plunge into Cowboy. I pop outside to give Ada’s cats the skin off my chicken. I look for Baleno but she’s no where to be seen, nor the kitten, both of them have gone. I hope she’s moved the kitten to somewhere safer.

Bogs, Bites and Belgians

2011-07-04T08:17:00.001+01:00

Monday 27 June 2011 – After breakfast, I leave the house early today, in my endeavour to get some work done. It’s too hot to be outside so I tackle the upstairs toilet. I say toilet, it’s actually a smelly loo and sink in the living room behind a plastic walled partition. The loo has rocks on the lid to stop the rats coming in, as it was the way they were getting into the house when it was empty, via the septic tank.

Now at first I thought It would be a relatively easy task, but no. The walls are riveted together, not a screw in sight, but Kate Nash sings Merry Happy and it puts me in a bouncy mood, so I start prising the rivets out one by one. After a couple of hours the sweat is dripping off me, but I’ve removed the roof, the wall and door.

Destiny’s Child sing Girl, as I slip under the shower to wash away the mornings toil. I’m making a sandwich for lunch when I hear a commotion outside, I open the door and see a huge tomcat running away, and Baleno spitting and hissing: she may be tiny but she’s feisty. I check on the kitten and it’s got some blood on it’s neck, there’s a small bite but it doesn’t look too bad. I put it back and mother clambers in beside it, rubbing her head into the palm of my hand and purring loudly.

I find a stash of DVD’s, the ones you get free in the English newspapers, there’s a handful of Agatha Christie’s Poirot, the ITV television series. I never watched these back in the UK, so in the evening I chill out with a glass of wine and the little Belgian detective.

A Trip to the Beach and a New Life

2011-07-03T09:01:00.001+01:00

Sunday 26 June 2011 – Radiohead sing Just, and I think I know what I’ll do today, ‘just’ chill out. So I have a leisurely breakfast, log onto the internet and check out the news. It’s only 08.30 and the temperature is already at 23 degrees, and with no breeze it’ll no doubt feel hotter by midday.

At 11.00 am, I pack a bag and drive off to the beach at Fossacessia, the pebble beach is full of families enjoying the sun. I find a spot and layout my towel, considering it’s pebbles it’s quick comfortable once you arranged them beneath yourself, by doing what must look like a horizontal mamba. There’s a welcome breeze coming off the Adriatic and I feel the lure of the sea. I scramble awkwardly over the pebbles, making a mental note to get some shoes I can swim in. The sea is a welcoming respite from the sun, I wade out until it’s above my waist, before swimming in the clear water.

My swim over, I lie on my towel eating a fresh peach and just people watch for an hour. The sun is becoming unbearable, so like the Italians I pack up and leave, heading back for some lunch.

The afternoon slips away, and after dinner I go outside to water my veg, I see Baleno under the steps, she spots me and calls to me. I walk down and to her and she shows me that she’s had one solitary kitten. I guess because she’s so young herself she was only able to carry one.She’s hungry, so I give her some chopped ham, and leave her to her motherly duties.

Just how do these people know this?

2011-07-02T07:23:00.001+01:00

Saturday 25 June 2011 – It’s just before 7pm and as Gary Numan plays This House Is Cold, I take a shower before heading off to Bill and Christine’s place in Casoli. I drive up the twisting streets following the SatNav as it directs me. I turn one way then another before it tells me to take the next right. I do and it says “You have reached your destination.” I hardly think so, as it’s left me facing a sheer drop on two my left side and an almost vertical side road to my right. Nothing for it but to turn the car around, (gingerly) and go back the way I came in.

Fiasco over and at the party I’m introduced to a little Italian lady, she says hello and says “You’re the new man in G.V.” I reply, “Yes I am.” to which she then tells me my house number. How she knows this I do not know, my house is approximately 6 miles away, and I’ve never laid eyes on the woman before in my life.

An Italian couple arrive next, I’m introduced to the husband, who also says he knows me, “You’re the man at number”……. Following this another lady arrives, she also knows who I am, and stresses this by pointing me out to her husband, who also comments on my address. Just how do these people know this information?

The evening is really lovely, Bill being an ex Navy chef means the food is excellent, the views from the roof terrace are spectacular, and the air is cooler being so high up. I leave and as I’m driving I take a tight turn, I have to stop as there’s a car opposite, so to negotiate the turn I’ll need to reverse, so I put my handbrake on, only to discover the road is so steep, the handbrake will not hold the car. Luckily, Koort, from the party also is behind me, he gets out and assures me I’ll make the tight turn without touching the other car.

I get home, and it’s time for something stiffer, a grappa hits the spot and I go to bed thinking, it may be hard work walking up to the top of Casoli, but at least it’s easier to park lower down.

Bill’s excellent homemade bombolini

Tiresome Travel

2011-07-01T08:34:00.002+01:00

Friday 24 June 2011 – Today I eat breakfast, poached eggs on toast as eighties Welsh rockers, The Alarm play Tell Me. I nip down to the shops to grab a few things, before the heat of the day increases. I’m leaving when a guy asks for my car keys, he’s locked out of his car and needs to try to get in. The car has a Bulgarian sticker on the bumper, I think to myself, bleeding hell, that’ll be a long walk back then.

I get to my car and I’ve been blocked in, despite the plethora of available parking spaces, someone has left their car behind mine. I look around to see if the offender is near by and noticed me. No such luck, I sit and wait. Ten minutes later a small Chinese lady from the shop opposite, comes out and moves her car from behind mine into the vacant space on its right. No apology, no eye contact, not even the slightest recognition that I’ve been inconvenienced.

The heat today is almost unbearable; I guess I’ll become acclimatised to it eventually, but just a few weeks in from the UK and this is almost too much to bear. A cool shower after lunch sorts me out, and as Tiziano Ferro sings Mio Fratello, I drink a pint of ice cold apple juice.

I leave for Castel Frentano, for the free language lesson, I’m driving along the lane until I have to stop, because the road is blocked by two cars, side by side. In front is a tractor and some sort of harvesting machine. The car on my side of the road moves forward, this allows a car coming in the opposite direction to pass. I watch as the car in front then stops next to the tractor and starts having a conversation with its driver. I beep my horn, nothing happens. No apology, no eye contact, not even the slightest recognition that I’ve been inconvenienced. (I’ve been here once before today). I beep again: nothing. I beep again this time continuously sounding my horn: nothing . I get out of my car and walk round to the elderly driver and tell him to move out of the way. No apology, no eye contact, not even the slightest recognition that I’ve been inconvenienced. He pulls his car forward a few feet, parks up and as I drive past the old git flips me the finger.

Homemade Haircuts and Anchovies

2011-06-30T07:45:00.001+01:00

Thursday 23 July 2011 – I drive into Lanciano in the morning, hoping to find the kennels where Karen works, sadly I take a wrong turn somewhere and end up outside the Poly Centre Shopping Complex. Oh well as I’m here I nip inside and grab a few items from the supermarket, before heading back. I get chatting to a guy named Alessandro, and before long we’ve spent a couple of hours chatting and drinking coffee. I drive home with the iPod playing, Love Like Blood by Killing Joke.

There’s one disadvantage to having a haircut like mine: low Italian doorways. Because it spikes up so high every time I walk through a door it brushes it, like an automatic cobweb remover. So there’s nothing for it but to reduce the height, with scissors in hand I trim an inch or so off the top. One advantage of the style is that it’s suited to homemade haircuts.

I’m quite pleased because today I found a well known supermarket, that sells the most delicious green olives stuffed with anchovies, so I grab three cans, knowing one of them is going to be empty by the end of the day. How right I was, a DVD and a couple of glasses of wine later the empty can is dropped into the recycling.

One last song before bed, and Jessie J sings the acoustic version of her hit, Do It A Like Dude.

Casoli and the Trapped iPhone

2011-06-29T07:55:00.001+01:00

Wednesday 22 June 2011- I eat my breakfast as Aussie band Operator Please play Other Song. It’s a real scorcher of a day and I decide to take a trip into Casoli to see if I can get an Italian sim card there. The drive is pleasant, as I wind my way up through the lanes. I don’t park near the school, like the last time I was here. There are cars parked outside, but the locals know they have to move them before the school buses arrive. I didn’t and it resulted in a parking ticket. I park a little higher up, then have to shimmy across to get out of the passenger door. The trials and tribulations of a right hand drive in a left hand country.

It’s very hot today, and this makes trudging uphill a chore. I stop and take in the view, it’s glorious.. A simple sign outside a butchers makes me smile, it’s succinct, yet conveys it’s message perfectly. Just two words, ‘oggi coniglio’, (today rabbit).

I spot a mobile phone shop, but continue my stroll in Casoli, and find the public swimming baths, here modern buildings are nestled alongside small patches of farmed land, I pass a patch of land with chickens scratching around in the dirt, and from the car park I see vegetables lovingly laid out in lines. The view up to the castle from here is breath taking on such a nice day. When it comes time to walk back to find the shop again, it’s all uphill.

At the shop the man behind the counter asks me if I’m English, I say yes and he tries out his grasp of the language. “Are you a good morning?”, I respond in the affirmative. “What is it you look for?” I explain that I want a sim card for my iPhone. He sucks his teeth then rummages through a drawer, his assistant tells him there’s only one card left. This leaves me to wonder why they’re so thin on the ground? Holding the card aloft he beams and comes back to the counter. “iPhone, (pronounced E-phone) é troppo caro.” (iPhone is very expensive). He puts the card on the counter top and shows me the costs of the calls and texts. “No people many in village can afford these phones.” he says then asks me if mine is ‘trapped’? I assume by trapped he means locked, I tell him it’s not, and after filling in a form, having my drivers licence photocopied and my tax code noted, I’m ten euros lighter but with an Italian sim card in my pocket.

As the heat begins to diminish, I water my tomatoes and onions, before making my dinner. Isis, by Yeah Yeah Yeah’s plays and I make a basil and caper pasta sauce, which I have with pasta and chopped up spicy sausage. Looks like my cookery affliction has passed.

The Pointless Lesson

2011-06-28T08:26:00.001+01:00

Tuesday 21 June 2011- It’s Italian lesson day again, so off I pootle to Castel Frentano to the library. Now we’re an odd group really, two Brits, one German, a couple from Uzbekistan and man from Bangladesh, who speaks perfect Italian, as he’s lived her for ten years, however he can’t read or write it.

As we wait for the teacher, an Australian woman, I walk around the library, I reach the children’s section, with it’s lurid green walls decorated by purple plastic flowers. I look out of the window and watch as two young boys kick a football about. I take a few more snaps as our teacher’s car arrives.

The lesson today concentrates on making a money transfer at the post office, so for two hours we are shown how to fill in certain forms, and how to transfer cash into an uncles account and how to ask for proof of posting etc. To be honest it’s a waste of time, as none of us will ever need to do any of these things. It makes me wonder how out of date is the teachers manual, as modern banking deals with these things efficiently without ever having to be present. Oh the joys of direct debit.

I come home and chat to my neighbour, she tells me she often hears me singing, I’m about to apologise when she says she likes to hear it, and I must be happy. I thank her and tell her that I am happy.

I cook my dinner singing along to My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion. (Camp I know, but what can you do when you’re living a life on shuffle?)

The Camera Shy Butterfly

2011-06-27T07:01:00.001+01:00

Monday 20 June 2011- There’s a slight breeze this morning, so after breakfast I decide to fit new line to the strimmer, and attack the ever growing grass out front of our house. I take the cassette off the strimmer, and as River City People play All My Trials, I begin winding the new line on to the spool. Now the mistake I made was thinking, just how difficult can it be?

I wind the line on clockwise, it then springs away from me into a tangled mess. I wind it anti-clockwise, once again it jumps away from me. Once I have it wound on I try to feed the line on, but nothing happens, it’s never going to budge. I give up the fight as the line once again uncurls, resembling a mess in a spaghetti factory.

Fed up I walk back to where I’m staying, and am greeted by Baleno, the greedy moggy must want something to eat. I look up how to fit strimmer line, on YouTube. Luckily there’s a video demonstration by a round faced American man. I watch the video and take in everything he says, and return to the troublesome task. Ten minutes later it’s tamed and ready to be fitted back into the cassette. Sadly the breeze has gone, and now it’s far too hot to be cutting grass.

After lunch, I take a wander down the lane. On a flower I spot a big black and white butterfly, so out comes the iPhone and the camera selected. I’m about to take the photo when it flutters away and settles upon another flower. I creep up and am about to get the shot when It flies away again, only to settle on a cactus flower. Several more attempts are made, but success eludes me, the damn thing just doesn’t want to be photographed. So I plug the headphones into my phone and walk back with Hot Ride by the Prodigy playing.

Culinary Alzeimer's

2011-06-26T07:37:00.002+01:00

Sunday 19 June 2011- It’s a scorcher today, early morning and the temperature is already 29 degrees. I eat breakfast on the balcony overlooking the garden, as Poly Styrene sings Virtual Boyfriend, from her 2011 album Generation Indigo: (Thanks to Lowri). I take the rubbish out to the comune bin and on my way back I stop to look at the walnuts on the tree outside Ada’s, they’re coming along nicely.

Before it gets too hot, I water the plants outside in pots, something I guess is a continuous practice over here. Ada’s cats watch me, always on the look out for a free feed. Heathcliffe and Whisper are very close and are always rubbing up against each other, Benny however is very much the outsider. I’m washing the breakfast dishes when I hear a mew at the front door, it’s Benny. I give the poor mite some ham, which I’ve chopped up into small pieces as he has doesn’t have many teeth..

I decide today is a day for just relaxing, so I sit outside with my book. However, quickly I tire of Bill Bryson and his plodding dialogue, so he’s discarded and put on the bookshelf between a Patterson and Grisham. I turn off the iPod, lock up and take a walk. I head off up the track, pass Domenico’s olive trees and the ruins hidden by the ever encroaching undergrowth. Butterflies of every size and colour flit from flower to flower, oblivious of me, as the crickets and grasshoppers buzz and click. poking their heads through a tangle of dried grass is, Arisaema triphyllum or as it’s commonly known Parson in the Pulpit it’s maturing seeds turning red.

When I get back home, Baleno is waiting at the gate, I give her some ham and she snoozes, safe behind the fence. As she sleeps I prepare my lunch; a ham salad. I’m halfway through my meal when it strikes me that something is missing, yes I’ve forgotten to put the tomato in the salad bowl: What’s going on, first the pizza now the salad, have I developed culinary Alzheimer's disease?

The afternoon passes by slowly, music shuffles and I mooch about just relaxing. I get a call on Skype from my parents; my mother is a little perplexed by the technology. I take another stroll, this time down to the bottom of the lane, I pass the house where Rosa, la strega della borgo: (the witch of the village) lives, outside is a flowering mimosa tree, it’s fluffy pink tufts looking as delicate as spun sugar.

I continue on to the bend in the lane where there’s three crosses made in concrete, maybe it’s a war memorial? I don’t know, it’s old and there’s a space where maybe years ago there was a plaque, however now it stands lonely and forgotten.

I walk back, open a bottle of chilled prosecco, and prepare dinner. The potatoes are roasting and the veg is ready when suddenly I jump up from my chair and shout, “Bugger, the chicken.” Now before anyone complains, this isn’t an ancient rural pastime: look at where I’ve placed the comma. I’ve forgotten to put the chicken into the oven. Looks like I do have a case of culinary Alzheimer's after all.

Ants and the Upside Down Pizza

2011-06-25T07:45:00.001+01:00

Saturday 18 June 2011 - When you live in rural Italy you must expect to share your space with the critters that live there too. I do my best to co-exist, and when they enter my living space; whether they’re grasshoppers, scorpions or spiders, I’ll always remove them and pop them back outside. However today I have no option but to exterminate. I spot a couple of ants wandering across the floor, now these are not the tiny little ones found in the UK, but big fat buggers around 0.5 cm long. There’s even more walking down the walls, so I look up and there’s literally hundreds walking along a beam in the roof. They all seem to be concentrated on one section of the beam, so out comes the ant powder. A quick squirt and they leave pronto. those trapped get crushed under foot: they’re so big it’s like squashing blackberries.

I pop down to Euronics to get a micro sim for my iPhone, as the man behind the counter said on Wednesday, they’ll have new stock in today. Today it’s a different man and he says they wont have any for two weeks, so I guess it’ll be trip into Casoli next week to get one. On the way back I’m spotted by Baleno, and she runs up to see me. Baleno, meaning lightning is a little cat, that’s obviously pregnant, but so thin it’s a wonder she’s alive. She’s very vocal and I give her something to eat and contented she has a snooze under a patio chair. (She has a ginger flash on her head hence the name).

I don’t know where the days go to just lately, one minute I’m looking at the clock and it says 12.00, the next time I look it’s 18.30. So it’s time to consider dinner. The Humans play, This Belongs To You, the 1,415th song to shuffle since I moved here. I decide on pizza, and set about chopping ingredients for the topping. It’s only when I’ve assembled it that I realise I forgot the cheese, so the cheese gets added onto the top. Okay it’s upside down but hopefully it’ll taste good.

Before:

After:

And yes it tasted fabulous.

Naming Cats and Passeggiate

2011-06-24T08:00:00.000+01:00

Friday 17 June 2011 – Sugar Hiccup by the Cocteau Twins plays; a perfect song for early morning as I enjoy breakfast, whilst looking out over the valley. Ada, next door has a passion flower, that is entwined along the fence and into an olive tree, its yellowish foliage standing out against the olive’s silver and green.

There’s a lovely breeze blowing, so I decide to plant my onions: Now it may be late, but I did start them off in plastic cups back in the UK. I clear the ground and plant them in rows besides Terry’s beautiful vermillion coloured dahlias. The breeze disappears and I’m thankful I completed the planting before it did.

Two of Ada’s cats come over to watch me, hopeful of a titbit to eat no doubt. Her cats don’t have names as they’re semi feral, but I have named them. The friendly cream coloured one one, I’ve called Whisper, there’s one that looks just like Benny the Ball, from the cartoon Top Cat, so he was easy to name, and the disagreeable one I’ve called Heathcliff, after Emily Brontë's anti-hero, and the name suits him so well.

"It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” Wuthering Heights. Emily Brontë.

Onions planted and puddled in, I turn my attention to weeding outside the downstairs apartment. As I uproot the unwanted vegetation, Despair by Japan plays. This morose, mostly repetitive song suits the stillness of the morning, David Sylvian’s vocal, (in French) is accompanied by the buzzing of bees and whirring of scarab beetles.I particularly like this song because of Mick Karn’s haunting saxophone in the background.

I lift a weed and I’m accosted by a grumpy little scorpion, unhappy to be out of the shadows, I begin to feel the same. It’s nearly mid-day, and without the breeze the heat from the sun is becoming too much. the temperature is beginning to hit 30 degrees, so I decide to have a break in the shade.

Benny, (Who has very few teeth)

It’s Friday, so it’s Italian lessons in Castel Frentano, then after a few drinks with my new friend Alessio. We partake of the passeggiate on the promenade at Vasto. It’s an Italian custom at around 9pm to stroll and chat. We laugh as neither of our cultural senses of humour are understood, as joke never seem to translate well. We have a pleasant evening, Alessio is easy to get on with, and is good company.

Three Things

2011-06-23T07:29:00.003+01:00

Thursday 16 June 2011 – I wake up feeling awful, I only had one beer yesterday, yet feel like I’ve had a skin-full. Corn flakes soon put an end to my malaise. New Zealand duo, The Brunettes sing If You Were Alien, from their musically stripped down album Structure and Cosmetics .

I climb into my car, which for some reason today, believes itself to be usicallyan oven. I drive the dirt track way to the shops, twisting and turning on a track just wide enough for one vehicle. (Believe me, it can be a stand off situation if you meet anyone coming the other way). I pull up outside of the bank and relish the cool air in the air-conditioned Bancomat cash machine area. I punch in the code and it process my request for €50. No money appears but it spits my card out. I re-do the whole transaction, exactly as before and am rewarded with a crisp €50 note. Did it rip me off, am I €50 down or what? I’ll have to wait at least 24 hours to check online, by then it’ll be too late to complain. BUMMER.

I pop into Euronics to ask for a micro sim for my iPhone, they don’t have any, “Come Saturday back.” the assistant tells me. I nip into Eurospin and do a ‘big shop’ before driving back. I’m half way home when I think to myself, what I be doing today if I was in the UK? I came up with these three things:

1. I wouldn’t be driving up a steep snaking dirt track to get home.

2. I would be surprised to see a neighbour has a big fat sheep in their front garden, here it’s par for the course.

3. I’d not be coming home from Tesco and thinking how come I did a ‘big shop’ and it only came to €25.63.

Adam and the Ants play Press Darlings, and I finish of the ironing, I packed my washed clothes un-ironed and so they needed to be pressed and hung up. I even washed our working clothes and pressed them, no one wants to see a scruffy peasant as they tend to their land.

As the heat of the day wanes, I water my tomato plants, chat to my neighbour and round the day off with another couple of episodes of Rab C Nesbitt. I like not having the distraction of the TV at the moment. Back in the UK there was always something to watch, which meant I didn’t catch up with DVD’s very often. I never saw the complete series of Rab, so am enjoying catching up with it. (The 1980’s clothes are a hoot too).

No doubt my feelings about the lack of English speaking TV will change as time goes by.

Officially Gay

2011-06-22T08:00:00.000+01:00

Wednesday 15 June 2011 – It’s a scorcher today, at 08.20 it feels too warm to venture out into the garden. Jet by Wings plays, as I catch up on some e mails over breakfast. The treatment has worked and my hearing is back to normal. I take my blood pressure and the reading is normal, as i turn around I jump out of my skin, (blood pressure up) sat on top of my iPod in its dock is another grasshopper. I grab my camera just as it jumps onto my video camera and starts to walk off. Photo snapped and it’s taken outside.

I have another heart stopping moment later in the day. I wander down to the bottom of the garden where I planted my tomato plants. I look up, and sat in an olive tree with a malevolent grin on it’s face, is one of Ada’s cats. It’s the biggest tom, which possesses a spiteful nature; a personality that matches its disagreeable visage.

After dinner I venture out, I drive along the coast road to Pescara. I pull up and take a stroll along the beach, there’s an eclipse tonight which should make the moon appear reddish in colour. I look up and our natural satellite has an orange hue. I find a gay venue I’d read about previously and decide to pay it a visit to enquire about obtaining a Arcigay card.

The Arcigay card is a membership card that allows you entry to all gay venues in Italy, as unlike the UK you can’t just walk in, as they are all member only clubs. As usual I have to provide documents to prove who I am, (this is Italy after all) I sign in triplicate and get given my plastic card. €15 per year to discover, to coin a phrase “I’m not the only gay in the village.”

Hey, What, Pardon?

2011-06-20T08:00:00.000+01:00

Tuesday 14 June 2011 – I wake later than usual, it’s 07.40 and before I get up I lie there for a while listening to the sound of birds. As the kettle boils I open the doors, a warm zephyr enters the living room and Toyah finishes exploding.

I’ve woken up deaf in my left ear: well to be honest it’s self inflicted. How many times are we told not to stick things into our ears? I decided upon finding some cotton buds to clean mine, and have managed to push wax deeper. With music muffled on one side of my head, I try the old ‘olive oil’ treatment. Ten minutes later and there’s no improvement, just a peppery odour to the left side of my head.

I decide to pop to the chemist for a remedy. I’ve practiced saying, “Avete, gocce per l’orechio per cerume?” As I drive away my neighbour waves, I stop to tell her of my plight, “Almond oil.” she says. I park up and walk the few steps to the Farmacia, only to find it closed. Lesson learned: Remember this is Italy not England and the shops close in the afternoon and re-open in the evening.

I drive back only to be met by two more grasshoppers, these two, (Vic and Bob) are climbing over the gate. As I open the gate Vic gets a bit testy and rises up and wiggles his antennae at me. I leave them behind to do whatever it is grasshoppers do – probably hop in grass, and plant my tomato plants out. It’ll be interesting to go through a growing season in another country.

Tuesday evening brings Italian lessons, these are followed by a trip to the chemist in Castel Frentano, where I am served by a very handsome young man, as I leave with my ear wax remedy, I’m already wondering if it would be ethical to dream up new illnesses each week just to be served by him?

I wind down in the evening with a couple of G&T’s and a few episodes of Rab C Nesbitt on DVD.

Grasshoppers Galore

2011-06-20T07:51:00.000+01:00

Monday 13 June 2011 - I knew today wouldn’t go well when I stubbed my toe for the third time, on the same chair. How the danger of toe injury increases when you’re in a climate that promotes barefoot traffic. I get a call from back home, my other half has had a crash on the way into work, he say’s he’s fine but the car is a mess. Thankfully no one else is involved.

Terence Trent Darby sings Do You Love Me Like You Say? What happened to him, didn’t he go a bit potty? There’s a commotion in the lane, I look outside to see a tractor with what looks like a giant vertical lawn-mower attached. It moves slowly trimming the undergrowth on both sides of the lane. A man walks behind it with a fork unsuccessfully removing any debris left in its wake. They decimate the flowering cacti that only days before I photographed, it seems such a waste, they don’t pose a risk to passing traffic. Giuseppina is walking up the lane, surprisingly it’s 29 degrees and she’s wearing a cardigan. I show her the mess left behind and she shrugs and says, “It’s only leaves, the wind will clear them.” It’ll take time for my attitude to change from British to Italian, before then I’ll get a brush and sweep them up.

Before:

After:

I seem to be attracting grasshoppers of every variety just lately, there was an odd looking one on the mosquito screen in our kitchen, and now as I’m about to turn in for the night there’s one in the bathroom. I evict the unwanted guest, and switch off the iPod mid song. Toyah is singing, I Explode. (Sorry Ms Willcox, the explosion will have to go on hold until tomorrow).

Buon Viaggio

2011-06-19T08:37:00.000+01:00

Sunday 12 June 2011 – I wake early and decide to take advantage of the coolness of the morning. I decide to do some work on the house before the day warms up. I plug in the iPod and music fills the little kitchen, My Chemical Romance sing Blood. I remove the rubble from the weeks earlier demolition of the fireplace, and turn my attention to the hearth. It’s concrete and takes many whacks of the hammer to break it up. I’m finished both in energy and in purpose, as Terry arrives to tell me he’s ready to leave.

I help Terry load up the car and it’s with a heavy heart I watch him and Brenda drive away. They’ve lived in their house for seven years and today they leave it, destined for a new life in the USA. Buon viaggio amici.

I go downstairs to the apartment and begin to fetch my belongings upstairs. Brenda calls me to say they’ve left their laptop. We arrange to meet at the toll at Val di Sangro. I drive along the lanes, the Berlingo bouncing on the uneven roads. We meet and the exchange is done, and with Hersham Boys by Sham 69 playing I pootle along: There’s no need to drive fast, speed defeats the pace of life here in Abruzzo.

After dinner I have another slice of my special cake, and a glass of wine, and as the evening draws in I sit and look out over the valley.

Blog Changes From Sunday 19 June 2011

2011-06-16T12:09:00.001+01:00

I’ve had a few messages from regular readers saying they like my blog, but find a whole week a lot to digest. So is it possible to upload daily bite-size chunks? So from Sunday the ‘Life On Shuffle’ will be as daily as I can possibly muster. (Maybe then my reader in NYC wont spend too much time reading about my exploits in one session and getting behind in her work.) As previous it’ll still be a week behind the posting date. Until then here’s a photo of one of my constant companions. Baz

Tomato Plants, Top Tens and Home

2011-06-15T08:52:00.001+01:00

Monday 6 June 2011 - I spend the first part of the morning cleaning up after yesterday’s party, then start my packing in readiness for my departure from the UK. As I’m going alone, as my other half has things to tie up here, all I take is some things for the house and clothing. We’ll do a final pack when we have to ship the remainder of our possessions over. I leave Stoke on Trent at 21.30, Fill up with petrol at Tesco, turn on the iPod and Some Of Your Lovin’ by Dusty Springfield plays, the first song of my new life- slash- adventure.

It’s an odd feeling leaving your partner behind as you set off for another country. I’m used to doing this as an actor, as I’ve toured internationally. This time however I don’t have the company of other actors to distract me. I know I must do this, it’s our dream, and it makes sense for me to work on the house out in Italy, rather than sit at home in the UK doing very little. This said, it still doesn’t stop me fighting that knot in my guts that wants me to turn back.

The drive south is mundane, and just under four hours later I pull into the 24 hour services just outside Dover, (despite the name, they are only open for 22 hours per day.) I catch an hours sleep in the car park then drive the last few miles to the port.

Tuesday 7 June 2011 - I drive through border control unchecked, and check in with a brunette complete with cheery disposition despite the hour. I then line up with all the other cars waiting. I’m surprised by the amount of ancient vehicles, my own being a battered X registered one. K’s and R’s sit comfortable alongside S’s and the occasional 51 plate.

At 03.23 it’s 14 degrees and I watch as the information board tells me that on the previous day 57,307 people passed through the port of Dover; the busiest port in Europe, apparently.

After boarding, I find a corner and desperate for sleep I curl up on a sofa. Thankfully this early morning crossing is under prescribed, meaning everyone seems to find somewhere to relax. I have an hour of constantly disturbed sleep. I’m woken by the barista at the coffee bar, who is unable to make a beverage without the maximum amount of noise. A woman sleeping nearby lets out an impressive fart, much to the amusement of the young boy with her. I decide to walk around, I notice the man beside me has an unfortunate tenting effect in his jogging bottoms, I smile, hoping he’s enjoying the dream. I get a coffee and walk out on deck. The sea is as grey as the sky, making the division between the two indiscernible. At this early hour it’s almost as if the world is devoid of any colour.

The coffee is hot, that’s all than be said about it, it’s bitter and devoid of any enjoyment, but as I drain the last dreg and toss the paper cup into a waste bin, we are about to dock at Dunkerque.

I plug in my iPod, tune it into a free signal and press play, Haysi Fantayzee burst out with their ludicrously upbeat oddity, John Wayne Is Big Leggy. I sing along as I disembark and head off into the French countryside. The drive is tedious, to say the least. As I leave Belgium and enter Luxembourg, the iPod/radio connection becomes jangled with the vast amount of stations here, making it impossible to enjoy the music. I stop in Luxembourg and in a rest spot have a bite to eat, I have my first bite of my special cake overseas. (thank you to who ever came up with the invention of the cool-box). Cake consumed and I partake of 40 minutes snoozing in the back of the car. In the foot well there’s my tomato plants and my onion’s, and the warmth mixed with the scent of the plants conjures up an image of sleeping in a potting shed.

After passing Metz, I find myself making lists in my head to divert my attention from the brain crushing boredom. I start off listing my top ten songs:

	Song	Artist/Band
1	You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)	Sylvester
2	Neon Womb	Toyah
3	The Day the World Turned Day-Glo	X-Ray Spex
4	Lagartija Nick	Bauhaus
5	Under the Ivy	Kate Bush
6	Il Tempo Stesso	Tiziano Ferro
7	Playground Twist	Siouxsie and the Banshees
8	Donne In Amore	Gianna Nannini
9	Top of the Wheel	Hazel O’Connor
10	Stronger	Sugababes

As the journey continues the lists become more and more banal and after listing my top ten names for a dog, I give up halfway through my top ten green vegetables and stop for another 30 minutes of shut-eye. (For the curious the top veg was broad beans)

I enter Switzerland, (regular blog readers will already know my feelings for this country), and after passing through the Gotthard Tunnel I look for somewhere to stop for the night. I continue on and just minutes from the border I spot a lorry park. I pull in and squeeze the Berlingo into a space between two goliaths of the road, and crawl into the back. I plan to have a glass of red wine, but after checking out the shower facilities I’m too tired. I’m falling asleep, when a car pulls into the park and windows open a young couple have an argument, gradually his voice is getting louder, like a vocal incendiary, I’m wondering when the explosion will occur, suddenly the engine guns and they drive away; altercation obviously resolved.

At 22.40, with the funk of tomato in the air, my eyes begin to close and before I know it the world outside has dissolved.

Wednesday 8 June 2011 – I wake up at 06.15, untangle my twisted body, reposition my aching frame and sleep again. I wake the second time at 07.20. I look around and I’m alone, every lorry has silently slipped away, leaving one blue Citroen stranded upon a grid of white lines. I walk over to the showers only to find the automatic doors wont open, there’s a sign saying the free showers can only be used between the hours of 04.00 and 07.00. I try the toilet door and with a swoosh it opens, I press a button to dispense lavatory paper, but none appears, just the whirring sound of a motor. Yet another, although illogical reason to dislike the country.

I drive a few metres to a service station, only to find the showers are being cleaned, so it’s a trip to the loo and a quick wash. I exit and as I’m crossing the car park there’s a loud crack followed by the smell of electricity; I get my shower in the end, albeit courtesy of Mother Nature.

I’m waved over the border and emerge through the mist into Italy, as before it’s tedious heading south alone, the most exciting occurrences being the change in weather conditions. Lombardia has drizzle, Emilia Romagna has sunshine and Marche has the most dramatic thunderstorm I have ever witnessed.

I am driving down the autostrada (A14) when a sheet of water hits the car, the rain is so heavy all three lanes stop, and the motorway is at a standstill, the only things visible are the orange blinks of numerous hazard lights, as they flash on stationary vehicles. I can see the sea and am privy to a spettacolare naturale. The sea is being attacked by rods of glowing yellow, the surface is penetrated by lightning as it crackles and hisses it’s way to earth. The rain eases and we move away en massé, I watch as cars ahead of me move erratically, dodging the lightning that is coming down onto the road surface.

I sail past the Marche sign with the red line through it, and into Abruzzo, the sun is shining and I stop at Le Siren Ovest, (the mermaid west, rest area) and stretch my legs, pee and continue on my way. I leave the motorway at Val di Sangro, take the first exit off the strada statale and once on the country road that runs parallel I feel like I’ve come home.

I check on the house, all is fine, no signs of rodents, rain or robbers. To clear the stench of rodents months ago we used a strong smelling alcohol cleaner, still months on it lingers in the air, like stale tobacco on a seldom worn evening gown. I open the windows to let some Abruzzi air in and drop in to see my friends Terry and Brenda. A cup of tea later I go to unpack the car, my neighbour Domenico has been over to cut his grass, coincidence? Maybe he doesn’t want the stranieri to make a complaint again?

I make a few phone calls to let people know I’ve arrived safely, down the glass of red wine I promised myself in Switzerland, have dinner with my friends, shower, put my new watch beside my bed and finally collapse onto the mattress: my back is grateful. With a slight hint of potting shed still clutching to me I give in to slumber.

Thursday 9 June 2011 – Today is the first real day in my little part of Italy and to celebrate I wake up with four mosquito bites. First lesson learned: Don’t stand early evening, outside in the long grass calling people in the UK without any protection from the little critters. I spray myself liberally with enough anti insect repellent to fell a swarm off African bees mid flight, and walk the few metres to our house.

I begin by mixing some weed killer so that I can see what lurks beneath the mass of weeds that is our land. I spray three areas and at 11.00 the day is getting too hot to be outside without shade. So with the iPod shuffling as usual, I turn my attention to the huge fireplace in our kitchen, as ironically The Prodigy unleash Firestarter.

We love the fireplace but it’s impractical, taking up so much room. When the wood burner is fitted we can use the space for two chairs. I have been advised by Spike that it should come down easily, so armed with hammer and chisel I begin to dismantle it. I discover a secret shelf plastered over and filled by a block of polystyrene. A few more chips and I’m level with the mantelpiece. A quick swipe of my hammer to the side reveals the supporting beam and it looks safe to remove the remains of the white plastered fireplace.

I stand back pleased with my handiwork, the kitchen smells of soot and fires past extinguished, and the hearth is littered with rubble. The black hole is photographed and uploaded onto Facebook, and I retreat for lunch. This being Italy, lunch becomes a three hour affair of food, conversation and respite from the sun.

Friday 10 June 2011 – I’m just about to get petrol but have a dilemma. Should I take the track down the hill or the better road? I decide on the easier option and am halfway down the road when I meet someone I’ve met briefly before. We chat and she asks me if I’m interested in free Italian lessons for foreigners? Yes I say and make arrangements to pop along. (Just a few days in and I’m getting a social life already.)

I pop along as promised and have an enjoyable two hours, lessons over I partake of a glass of wine with Sheila, a fellow classmate, at her place. The view from every window in her house is spectacular, her property is perched high enough up to give you the opportunity to look down on middle Italy literally for many, many kilometres. I quite like the fact that I’m out and about as part of a community: long may it last. (Well at least for the next six weeks until the free lessons end.) I drive home and Joan Armatrading sings Willow – Perfetto

Saturday 11 June 2011 – I wake up ridiculously early today, 05.50, I try to snooze but to no avail my brain is churning. I make myself a cup of tea, clamber back beneath the sheets and read a couple of chapters of Bill Bryson’s, Neither Here Nor There. To be honest I’ve only read one of his books before and didn’t really like his style, his dialogue is full of negatives, his jokes are instantly stale and his metaphors are jaded. However I got the book at an Italian book swap, and as it’s the only one I have I’ll persevere; my opinions remain the same though.

I make myself breakfast, and make a discovery about myself: not that I’m a member of the estranged Albanian aristocracy, but that the reason I get indigestion every morning is because I always eat breakfast stood up and pacing up and down. I sit down and Boy George sings Out Of Fashion, a song I assume to be mostly autobiographical.

I prepare some salad and a pasta sauce for later, before helping ship furniture down to the main road for Terry and Brenda, onto the removal lorry, as there’s no way it would ever make it up our lane. The removals complete I come back with a possible offer of some work teaching drama in September, and a desire for some fizz. The cork pops and I pour a large glass, before starting to prepare dinner.

Dinner is bavette (a kind of flat spaghetti) with pasta sauce and the most gorgeous meaty sausages from the shop down the road, tied up with little pieces of string. After my small feast I sit outside and read – it’s past 19.00 and the temperature is pleasant. There’s a hint of jasmine floating on the air, the full effect of this heady perfume won’t emerge until darkness falls. – I try to read but am distracted by the view, I put my book down and look out over the valley, and up at the mountains opposite. I can’t believe I own this view, and if I told you how much It cost you’d think me a liar.

I chat to my neighbour Adda, she checks she has my telephone number written down correctly, at 93 she needs to feel secure. Despite our close proximity to many amenities, in the evening our little hamlet becomes quite remote. I finish off the fizz and settle down to watch a DVD on my laptop before once again, earlier than when back in England I feel the hands of sleep holding my head, and retire for the evening.

So I come to the end of another week, and the end of the first few days of my new life. So much has happened in such a short space of time, I look forward to next week with the anticipation of a ten year old on the eve of its eleventh year.

This posting is dedicated to Terry and Brenda, with love for a happy and healthy new life in the US. In bocca al lupo.

Cirka Non Prata & Arrivederci Barry

2011-06-12T11:04:00.002+01:00

It’s been a couple of weeks since I updated my blog, I had got a posting to publish full of random pieces of chat, but as it was out of date decided not to post it. So here we are up to date with a new week.

Monday 30 May – Friday 3 June 2011

Half term arrives and once again The Action Project pops it’s head above the battlements. This week Rachel and myself are staging a travelling circus. The show is a ensemble piece designed to teach the children how to interact with an audience and work on a traverse staging. The theme is melodrama, so we’ll also be making our own silent movies, using larger than normal expressions to move the storyline along.

Cirka No Prata, (the circus of the mind) is meant to be a feared group of Latvian circus folk that visit villages and perform dark and dreadful routines to afraid villagers, who believe it bad luck to not watch the show. The audience on Friday evening shall be our villagers, and the group shall terrorise them accordingly.

The week starts well, the students get an idea of what the show is, however cannot get a grip on the concept of ensemble, and keep asking who the lead character is. Giorgia surprises us with her confidence, it’s great to see how far she has come from the quiet girl that didn’t want to be noticed, to become the self-assured young lady who single handed is strong enough to perform the rap from Plan B’s song She Said alone. All this on a Monday morning at 09.30 with no warm up.

The week progresses as usual, changes are made to the running order and the script. The silent movies are devised, Lowri is filming a homage to Mary Pickford, and her film The Hat. We’re bringing it up to date and the object of the characters desire is a stuffed bear. Luca has devised his own story, ghostly tale with a lingering question, I’ve written a traditional poker game goes wrong scenario, and Ewan wants a custard pie in the face.

Facebook link to movies is here: http://www.facebook.com/bezbaz#!/video/video.php?v=10150193314377187

Thursday sees us move into the new performance venue, where we discover the stage isn’t big enough for the end dance routine. Earlier in the week Nicki had spent a day choreographing the opening and closing dance routines, she also kindly devised an intricate pop and lock routine for the mime in the show.We faff about over the staging and eventually come up with a new way to put on the show, still in traverse but with the some portions of it staged on the floor, this couple with the stairs at the back giving us three different performance levels.

Another change is made, it becomes decided that I shall be the circus ring master and introduce the acts; as I don’t want to introduce every one my appearances are trimmed down to just five.

Friday and the show goes really well, the performers freak out the front row of the audience by getting very close and sneering at them during Sally’s solo; a piano version of Lady Gaga’s, Dance In The Dark. Sam (Pash) portrays the sarcastic magician, with gusto and Lowri, as Danjie, the storyteller keeps her audience in check with her barbed tongue. I enjoy my pieces of narration, particularly the odd Latvian phrases; (Even if my accent at times seems to slip from eastern European to west German.)

The finale begins with a group mime, influenced by the French school, it’s performed to Fabri Fibra, an Italian rap artist’s song, VIP In Trip. Rhiannon and Giorgia set the standard high, and each performer that joins the routine match it, Sally hits the high notes in On My Own, from Les Miserables, before the final dance routine to We Are by Toyah explodes.

It’s been a gamble, not performing a known story or at least anything with a linear plot, but everyone has enjoyed it, especially the cast. Oddly enough the piece they liked performing the most was the mime, despite it’s intricacies and rigid performance rules. This said, it was very entertaining, and my favourite part of the show too.

I drive home happy and proud of them all. I know when I move away I shall miss them all, I’m thinking about this as I drive home, just then iPod shuffles and Donne In Amore; my favourite Italian song comes on, maybe it’s a sign that all will be well with the move abroad.

Sunday 5 June 2011 – In readiness for my leaving the UK for a new life in Italy, I had a party. Just close friends, family and some of the parents and students from The Action Project were there.

I spent around seven hours doing prep in the kitchen for the day on the Saturday, and rose early on the Sunday to bake bread, (2 loaves, a sundried tomato and an olive and lemon one.) The morning was taken up making stuffed mushrooms and antipasti, the most time consuming being garlic and anchovy stuffed cherry tomatoes and deconstructed Caprese salad bites, which is a hollowed out cherry tomato, stuffed with mozzarella and a basil leaf and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil, (Italian of course).

At 1.00 my mate Dave arrived and gave me a hand setting up the barbecue, in case folks weren’t keen on Italian food, and he set out the chairs in the garden. I made up a jug of Pimms, using the innovative jug we got at Ikea recently, it has a central tube that you put in the freezer, and it fits inside to chill your drink without diluting it, (not a bad buy for £1.50.) So menu complete, people begin arriving with bottles of prosecco etc.

The antipasti is devoured and the mains are ready to arrive, a two meat lasagne, a vegetarian cannelloni, asparagus and gorgonzola gnocchi, porchetta, beef in Barolo and chicken caciatore, all served with Italian style vegetable accompaniments.

The day goes really well, I get given lots of cards and some gifts. Daniel gives me a watch similar to the one’s that he wears. I don’t wear a watch so all the previous week I’ve borrowed one of his, (incidentally he has many colours to co-ordinate each day.) Mine is white with a pink face, and I’m really pleased with it. Lowri gives me the best gift to give me, pink balloons that light up and an iTunes gift card. Methinks the new Poly Styrene album will be on my iPod within days. All of my cards are really nice, and one of the students has written in hers the following: “You’ve been the biggest inspiration to me.” Another reads: “You made me the confident person I am now, thank you for being a good friend.” When you hear things like that it makes all the hard work worthwhile, but what really touches is the word, ‘friend’ rather than ‘teacher’.

There’s a commotion outside and Alison arrives with an assortment of cakes she’s made for the day, within minutes the children are on the chocolate one, parents dive into the strawberry mousse cake, and the carrot cake lasts literally seconds. The centre-piece is an amazing cake she has made for me. The cake resembles a table complete with tablecloth, on it are grapes, a pizza and a bowl of spaghetti with meatballs, all made from sponge and icing. There’s two small Italian flags on the front and in between the words Arrivederci Barry are written. For a rare moment I’m lost for words.

All in all, the day goes really well. Everyone seems to have enjoyed themselves, all that’s left to do is sort the recycling and wash the mound of dishes in the corner…….Hang on, I’ll open another bottle of prosecco, the washing up can wait.

Eurovision Review: First Semi Final 10.05.11

2011-05-11T13:36:00.002+01:00

Okay so it’s that time again, Eurovision is upon us and here’s my review of the first semi final held in Düsseldorf yesterday. For those new to my reviews, please note they are meant to be just a bit of fun and not a deliberately negative attack on acts, and remember these are my opinions..

A bit of background for you all, the Eurovision Song Contest derived from the Italian, San Remo Music Festival and has evolved ever since into the contest we either love or loathe. Now some people say the British don’t take the contest seriously, but think about it, which nation really does take it seriously? Well maybe Ireland do – they love to win it. This year, after an absence of 14 years, Italy are back. Let’s hope they don’t throw a strop like back in 1997 when they weren’t happy with the points they received and so withdrew from the contest. A case of throwing their pasta out of the pram.

On May 10 2011, there were 10 places up for grabs and 19 countries performed to gain votes from the viewing public to secure their place.So with Italy, Great Britain, Germany, France and Spain being automatic finalists in the competition* who else is competing this year? *Automatic means they’ve thrown enough money at it to secure a place. The German comperes for the evening were a pretty, blonde TV presenter, a tubby bloke and a man bashing female comedian with terrible dress sense, however the show isn’t about them it’s the acts that matter:

Poland – Sadly this lukewarm offering never really takes off, the singer Magdalena Tul, clothed in a dress that looks like it’s got milk bottle tops stuck to it, has a very weak delivery and throughout the performance is swamped by her stilted backing dancers. The song, entitled ‘I Am’ really has poor structure, but makes me wonder if the lyrics when translated read – ‘I am in England not Poland as I can get benefits here’. No doubt England’s burgeoning Polish communities will use their pay as you go, T-mobiles to call in and vote.

Norway – Here we have the first of the pointless lyric songs, called ‘Haba Haba’ this is a surprise. Since when has Norway been part of Africa? The song has a backdrop of African rhythms and Swahili language mixed with odd English phrases. Forgive me if I’m wrong but isn’t Norway over 6,000 miles from Africa? Sadly the song has very little substance.

Albania – Sang by a woman that looks like she could be Lady Gaga’s mother, she belts out ‘Let Me Share My Song With You’ - quite frankly scary lady with the long silver nails I’d rather you didn’t. This is another disappointing song with no real verse/chorus structure. But I guess L’Oreal will use her to plug their red tones hair dye in the future.

Armenia – At last we get a Euro-pop song. ‘Boom Boom’ sung by popular Armenian recording artist Emmy, with three albums already under her belt, is an infectious tune. Starting off with her sat in a giant boxing glove, the intro has a slight Plan B, ‘She Said’ undertone to it, however it is the first song to have a distinct verse, chorus and middle eight. Pity the male dancers looked out of place dressed in black jeans, white T-shirts and bow ties, they’d have looked better in shorts and boxing gloves to keep with the theme.

Turkey - Last year’s runners up once again deliver a rock song, the ageing rockers that wouldn’t look out of place in a ‘Can Your Dad Be A Rock Star Competition’ are not particularly good. The singer really needs to take a look in the mirror, it’s never a good idea if you have a paunch to wear spandex. Lyrically the song sounds like it was written by an 11 year old in a year 7 poetry competition. And why they have a contortionist trapped within a spherical cage is beyond me. Sadly this offering is more mock than rock.

Serbia – Bubbly blonde Nina bounces onto the stage with Čaroban, the song reminds me of something but I am unable to pinpoint what. Dressed with a 60’s theme the stage really does at last light up. This is what the competition is all about, fun, fun and more fun. To be perfectly honest Nina has enough personality to front this one out herself without the need of the three badly co-ordinated backing singers. The first real contender of the evening.

Russia – ‘Get You’ the Russian entry was written by top record producer, RedOne and if you close your eyes you can almost hear a snippet of Lady Gaga in the background. Sung by Russian X Factor winner Alexej Vorobjov, the square jawed twenty something gyrates with gusto and even cheekily winks directly into the camera, a ploy to win the female vote I assume. Sadly, however the below par performance of the three backing dancers makes the whole thing look like a drama student showcase in Doncaster not a polished performance in Düsseldorf, not so much, get you as, get gone.

Switzerland – Oh my goodness, what a load of tosh this offering is. It starts very twee with a man plucking a ukulele, then a double bass kicks in and the singer Anna Rossinelli, warbles away until we get more lazy lyrics, no words just a chorus of ‘Na Na Na – bloody Na’. Looking a little like Eliza Doolittle wears posh Primark this song just plods along, personally I’d have called it ‘Dobbin’s Song’. The only amusing thing is at times the tune sounds a little like a Lily Allen track, and every now and then I expect the recently retired songstress to pop up and sing, ‘Fuck You, fuck you very, very much’.

Georgia – Eldrine give us ‘One More Day’ another rock song, however the band seem to have a genre identity crisis. The female vocalist, unhindered by what looks like a cushion stitched to the front of her dress delivers a sterling performance, a little pop versus rock-chic, then we get some geezer; also with a bit of a cushion sewn onto him, doing a bit of rap until we get an ageing rocker belting out a few syllables. Despite the fact that it’s a bit of a mixed up merger of Girls Aloud, Linkin Park and Fabri Fibra I quite like this one – However sack the costume department, I’m guessing Dunelm had a sale on.

Finland – The 2006 winners give us Paradise Oskar, a boy who looks like he’s not yet left school. He gives us a banal song about a boy named Peter who is going to save the world because government’s don’t care – Oh give it a rest. A storytelling song, that wouldn’t be out of place as a B-side to Rolf Harris’ hit, ‘Two Little Boys’. However Harris’ actually told us what happens from beginning to end. This absurd morality song omits to tell us what ‘Peter’ wants or will do, an example of the lyrics to prove my point:

“If they don't help I'll do it by myself. I don't wanna be Da da dam, da da dam da da da da da da da.”

A close up of Paradise Oskar, shows us clearly where he had his monobrow waxed before the show, for me the highlight of this performance.

Malta – Glen Vella gives us the gayest offering of the night with ‘One Life,’ which comes complete with the lyric ‘I am what I am.’ However this gay-anthem lacks real guts, something that cannot be said about his 2 dumpy backing dancers, dressed in lycra their routine is a manic presentation of posturing and posing. I have to say, Glen has such a wide mouth he’d be sure to beat the world record for fitting a Cornish pasty into the mouth sideways. This is yet another failure for Malta, I’m afraid – well actually, I’m very afraid, deport those demented dancers at once.

San Marino – At just 24 square miles, it’s one of the smallest countries in the world, hailing from middle Italy, this is the second appearance by the republic in the competition. They allegedly weren’t happy with the way the voting went on their first shot at the prize, back in 2007 so stayed away. However what have they sent to Germany this year? In answer, nothing more than a Jane Macdonald sound-a-like dressed in tin foil with two enormous dustbin lids acting as a brassiere. Instantly forgettable song. What was it called – I can’t remember?

Croatia – Singing a song originally called ‘Mild Wind’ then ‘Break A Leg’ before becoming ‘Celebrate’ Daria treats us to some magic, or rather she sings whilst the creepy looking guy, who looks like an American high school student about to massacre his classmates, strokes her arm creepily, and her dress changes from a black and gold creation to a pink one. Daria towers above her three backing singers and strides around the stage like a giantess, before creepy bloke points at the audience and the short pink frock changes with a flash into a long silver one. Thankfully the dress magic distracted from the dull monotonous song. Daria will be back behind a checkout in Baška Voda quicker than you can say nula bodova.

Iceland - My, my didn’t Moss Bros do well the day these five walked past. Singing a song called ‘Coming Home’ all I can say is why? This group of men that all sound alike, apart from the James Corden lookalike in the middle, (Scott Mills also saw the comparison) are as entertaining as road kill. The song is a piece of over sentimental tosh, however due to the plug about the songwriter dying and his friends taking over, I guess this one will grab the sympathy vote. Pity there was no volcanic ash cloud to keep them at home.

Hungary – Tipped as the favourite, Kati Wolf looks like Mandy off Hollyoaks’ mum. Singing ‘What About My Dreams?’ she’s dressed in what looks like a hastily torn down blue curtain and sports a ring the size of San Marino. The Hungarian X factor finalist does a good job of belting out the song, sadly though this generic piece of dance music wouldn’t look out of place on stage at the local conservative club – Oh well at least the blue curtain will go down well there.

Portugal - Homens Da Luta is a 5 piece, placard waving, megaphone hailing combo, that look like they’re campaigning about the lack of stock in their local charity shop. A pointless piece of drivel about the economic state of their country. Not a chance.

Lithuania – The song is called, C’est Ma Vie’ an French title but English lyrics with a little sign language thrown in for good measure. A dated repetitive piece that would not have looked out of place on an episode of New Faces 1979. The singer Evelina Sašenko is pretty enough to grace the screens of Europe, but quite frankly throughout the performance looks as bored singing along to the plinky plonky piano, as I am watching her.

Azerbaijan – Performed by Ell/Nikki, this boy (Ell) Girl (Nikki) combo have in my opinion the best song of the night. ‘Running Scared’ is a proper piece of pop that has a feel of the successful band Hurts about it. This well crafted song is by far the most polished of the evening, although the performance is a little stiff, Ell doesn’t look like a natural mover. There will need to be something quite brilliant to keep this one out of the top five in the final. A sure certainty to get through this evening.

Greece – The Greeks can always be relied upon to deliver a good tune and this year is no different> In My opinion, the coupling of bland rapper Stereo Mike with hunky Loucas Yiorkas may put a few people off. Loucas; singing in Greek as opposed to Stereo Mike’s English, is strong enough to carry a song on his own. The tall Greek throws his voice out across the audience, and is even at times engaging in a little traditional dancing. Despite this mix of trad/rap it works and I can see the entry from Greece getting through to the final. Although the government will have their fingers crossed they don’t win, after staging the 2006 competition nearly bankrupted the country.

So my top three for the first semi finals are:

1. Serbia. 2. Azerbaijan. 3. Greece.

The ten countries that got through were: Serbia, Lithuania, Greece, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Switzerland, Hungary, Finland, Russia and Iceland.

St. Paul McCartney and the Man from Sasi

2011-05-08T11:35:00.001+01:00

Monday 18 April 2011 – At 06.00 the day looks like it will be a nice one, Lulu sings ‘To Sir With Love’ as I make my way through a bowl of cereal. Thimble and Scratch come over and get a slice of pork each for breakfast.

We take our friends Rozz and Spike into Lanciano for a look around. We are coming out of the Church of the Eucharist Miracle, when I spot a poster of a saint on the wall, and surprisingly the saint, who is nameless is the spit of Sir Paul McCartney. Hence a photo opportunity not to be missed.

We spend the afternoon back at Archi, the sunshine is warming Via Costello, and our friendly and, greedy kittens are here on the scrounge. The iPod shuffles and the unfortunately named ‘Evil Dildo’ by Placebo plays. I have a go at making my first ever pizza, being in Italy i hope to get some inspiration. I load it with garlic, onions, tomato, speck, courgette and mozzarella. The proof of the pudding is in the tasting as they say.

Before

After

We watch a few more episodes of ‘Soldier Soldier’ in readiness for donating the video box sets to the Abruzzolutely get together I helped to organise. People will bring along books, videos, DVDs etc. to swap with others over here. Bedtime comes and I try the orange flavoured toothpaste I got today. It’s weird but not unpleasant.

Tuesday 19 April 2011 – Pendulum play ‘Tarantula’ as I have some toast and jam for my breakfast. The sun is high and the mist over Archi has already burnt off. We drive over to our place, and I set to stripping branches and sorting wood into kindling, sticks and logs. It’s quite an art the Italian way of stacking sticks and logs ready for winter. Every house here has a perfectly stacked square of wood outside, and my attempt is as linear as a dogs hind leg. I make plans in my head for the wood store I shall eventually build outside the front of the house, as the iPod shuffles and Steps. – Yes Steps burst out into the Italian sunshine with their cover of Kylie’s ‘Better The Devil You Know’. (You can’t beat a bit of Steps to lift the mood, although on a day like this, little needs lifting, apart from the logs.)

Lunchtime arrives and I cook pasta and pesto on our little portable stove, it’s the first cooked meal I prepare in our kitchen, or rather the shell that will become our kitchen. Jessie J sings ‘Casualty Of Love’ from her brilliant debut album, Who You Are.

After lunch I turn my hand to some building work, I rebuild a broken piece of our patio, and cement the bricks in place, and find I’m not to bad at it. Although I do think I approach it in a similar way to approaching a painting, maybe I’m too delicate with it, and need to butch up a bit.

Dinner is veal cutlets, (there’s a meat to divide opinion) with potato and veg. Before I begin to prepare the meal I ask, “Is it too early at 17.20 for prosecco?” The reply is, “It’s never too early for prosecco.” The cork pops, Thimble and Scratch drop in for something to eat; for feral kittens, they are quite brave, and will come up close enough for you to almost touch them. Thimble is braver, she will sniff at your hand, whereas Scratch come close, then turns tail and shoots off in a blur.

Wednesday 20 April 2011 - I eat breakfast as Regina Spektor sings ‘Machine’, the kittens have already visited for theirs and have now gone off in search of another soft touch. I go through the photos on my phone: How normal does that phrase sound nowadays? I snigger at a sign I snapped in Lanciano, surely all the touchy feely family fondling is frowned upon?

With my mate Roy, we have organised a lunch party for over 50 people, and the event goes very well. I sit with friends and enjoy a leisurely meal. We start as usual with anti pasti, salami and ham, cheese and small bowls of assorted goodies are brought to the table; the chopped chicory in garlic butter is particularly good. The pasta course follows, I like the ravioli, but I’m not keen on the shape or texture of guitara pasta. The meat course is chicken and pork with olive oil roasted potatoes. Bottles of wine appear, and get emptied into glasses throughout the meal, and when the sweet arrives another bottle of chilled rosé appears on our table. The day seems to have gone well, with old friends meeting new ones, the one thing we all have in common is, whether we’re English, Dutch, Singaporean or Australian, we are all lovers of the area and have homes here. I leave with a lovely bottle of wine, a gift from my friend Jenn.

Thursday 21 April 2001 – Only in rural Italy would you see what I saw today. I called into our local supermarket, and was met by the sight of an elderly gentleman walking home with his shopping, in a wheelbarrow, pure genius.

Driving back to Archi I stop to take a photograph of a sign that always makes me smile. It promises a night out like you’ve never had before, although I can’t see it being the sort of thing a hen party would go for.

Driving up the steep track to Archi, we come around a bend to see another black snake, it’s lying on the road soaking up the late sunshine. As it senses the vibrations from the car, it slithers at speed into the fields,to safety.

Friday 22 April 2011 – The early morning mountain mist has been quickly burnt off by the sun and the promise of a good day beckons. I eat breakfast as Justin Timberlake sings ‘(Oh No) What You Got?’ and Thimble mews in the doorway.

We take a drive, not going anywhere just pointing the car and going. After driving through some tunnels hewn into the mountains we come across Villa St Maria, a pretty town stacked almost vertically against the mountain. From a distance you wonder how it defies gravity and stays there. You’d think that once you’d seen one of these ancient villages, you’ve seen them all. This can be said for most, one piazza surrounded by ochre coloured houses, is pretty much the same as another, however, every now and then you come across one that stands out and takes your breath away.

We take drive in the opposite direction, and once again we see a long black grass snake, soaking the warmth up out of the road. As it disappears I turn on the radio, Kelly Rowland is singing ‘When Love Takes Over’, and as a blue X registered Berlingo, with a dented side door sails along the SS16, I sing along, loudly and possibly out of key.

With restrain we park at S. Vito, a tiny little seaside town that’s very popular with the Italians, in summer it’s a haven for poseurs, ripped and toned Italian men rub shoulders with their over-stuffed counterparts posturing in Speedos – It’s a sight not for the faint hearted. After a walk around, I spot some graffiti under a bridge that merits a stop to photograph it, before radio blaring, we drive to the pebble beach at Fossacessia.

We get back to our place as a man from Sasi the water company turns up to show us how to turn on the water, (stupid Englishmen). Since September we have been telling them we have no water at the house and they been telling us we have, all we have to do is turn the stop-cock on. Despite telling them we’ve tried this eventually they have sent out a man. His bald head shines in the afternoon sunshine, as he strides towards us, wrench in hand. In the kitchen Diana Ross and the Supremes sing ‘Reflections’; I’m sure if I stood close enough to Sasi-man I’d be able to see my reflection in his head.

He kneels down at the water meter, turns the stop-cock, looks at me with pride and asks me to try the taps. I’ve already done this before, but go through the motions again. No water appears and he scratches his head. We take him to the grid in the road, where we assume there’s another stop-cock. He uses a special key to open the grid, turns another handle and we go through the tap turning on ritual again, surprise, no water. Puzzled he goes back to the main tap and unscrews it, no water, “Niente,” he exclaims in disbelief, then just to make sure he hits the pipes with his wrench, as if summoning the water to flow. Beads of sweat now glisten upon his shiny dome, he takes out his phone and gives the person on the other end of the line, our address, then says, “Niente, engineer, engineer, English”. Then without a nod he strides away and clambers into his white van and disappears down the lane. Maybe now they’ll believe us?

We lock up and leave. As we travel down the lane I stop and look back. Now that the last of the trees have been cleared, (thanks to Spike) our house can now be seen from the road, At the moment its a big grey block, but when it’s been rendered and painted it should look better.

Friday 23 April 2011 – Today is the latest I’ve risen, It’s 09.00 and I’m having a cuppa as Marilyn Manson sings (yells), ‘Born Again’; not a particularly cheery morning song, but when you live a life on shuffle you have to take each track as it comes. It’s another sunny day, so after breakfast we decide to spend it chilling out.

We drive the 18 minutes it takes to go from our place to the coast. We follow the coast road to Le Morge beach, the sandy beach has a few families on it enjoying the early good weather. An English family is on the beach and within earshot. A little girl calls over to her mother and says, “Mummy, I don’t like my ice cream.” Mother replies saying, “You’d better get to like it. Mummy doesn’t have any money left, so can’t buy you another one.” What a liar, ten minutes later we see mummy sat in the bar drinking beer as little girl plays on the sand.

We then move down to Casalbordino, with it’s endless sandy beach, that stretches further than the eye can see. We backtrack and drop in to see the shabby little beach at Torino di Sangro. This is a beach area that’s pretty much made up of campsites and campervans. But has some good music festivals in the summer, I’m told.

I’m walking along and say the following: “I really must lose a little weight, do you fancy an ice cream?” I pop into a bar and buy what I think is a Magnum, but turns out to be a lolly cum choc-ice cum wafer. The lolly bit was nice but the wafer bit was horrid. Note to self: Check what you’re buying in future.

Next on our visit of the coast is the pebble beach at Fossacesia, further up the beach is a small sandy section. We make our way to it, I’m videoing the walk, when we come over the brow and bump into two men in the process of stripping off. “Salve,” says man 1 stood in just his underpants, “Buono sera.” Man two says, as he drops his jeans to the floor, revealing his cream coloured underpants. Now before you think we’ve come to a nudist beach, the guys were getting into scuba diving gear. Further on up the deserted beach we come across another man in his pants. He’s lying on his back and listening to music, beside him is his white shirt, black trousers and tie. I guess he just needs a few minutes to himself after work.

The day ends with another encounter with a beautiful black snake, this one is hiding away from us in the pile of rubble from our demolished outhouse. Back at Archi, the cork pops and a glass of prosecco is poured. I feed Thimble and Scratch as Elbow play ‘One Day Like This’. It’s hard to think that tomorrow we leave Abruzzo once more for the UK.

Since we’ve been here my iPod has shuffled a total of 729 songs, which is 24.3 hours of music.

Kittens, Roots, Translations and More Kittens

2011-04-30T11:43:00.001+01:00

Monday 11 April 2011 - After a wonderful nights sleep, I wake to the sound of stillness, no cars trundle by, nothing but the calm of the mountain permeates the air. It’s 07.00, I rise and make my way downstairs, the kettle is put over the gas and I open the front door and take in a lungful of fresh air. I turn on my iPod and Tanita Tikaram begins to sing ‘Cathedral Song’ as the kettle whistles on the stove.

I begin making a tomato sauce in readiness for dinner, (no bottled sauces for me). A good pasta sauce requires time, and is better when twice cooked. As the red liquid bubbles on the stove I prepare breakfast. Being a ‘Potteries’ lad, I have grown up with oatcakes for breakfast; these are a type of pancake served with savoury fillings, mainly breakfast items like bacon, sausage, egg etc. As I have ‘smuggled’ some over the border, my Italian breakfast today is positively pottery. (Thee kin tack thee yoth ar’t t’Stoke, but ye conna tack thee potter are’t t’o yoth). It’s hard to escape your roots. (Translation: You can take the boy out of stoke, but you cannot take the potter out of the boy.)

We clean out the third bedroom, which is essentially an attic room we weren’t aware of when we purchased the house. We check the roof, a few tiles need replacing, but overall it’s in good condition. Considering the house has been locked up since the end of November 2010, we were surprised to find no mould, and no damp, everything we left here has stayed dry and clean.

In the afternoon we pop into Pescara to purchase a window and stop off at the supermarket to get a few things. We load up the trolley with some essentials (Salad), and some non essentials (Wine). We get to the checkout and the cashier has a problem scanning our chicken, she tries three times, then makes three attempts at punching the barcode numbers in manually, before tossing the package aside and scanning the next item. I make an attempt to persuade her to let me fetch another one to scan, but she has none of it. So chicken-less we pay and saunter out of the store.

We have brought 2 litres of 95% proof alcohol, so back at Archi, we zest and juice lemons to make Limoncello, on May 20 this batch will be ready, making 4 litres. As the lemon begins its absorption into the alcohol, I finish off the pasta sauce, adding some spicy Italian sausage and some good quality linguine (De Cecco No7).

We eat dinner then spend the evening talking as music plays. Tracey Ullman sings ‘Breakaway’, as I think about how things have changed over the last year. Being between homes is an odd feeling, yes I have a base in the UK, but this is just a box to subsist in. 50% of my possessions are in England with the other 50% being in Italy, I have lived with this odd feeling of displacement for 9 months now and guess I shall have to live with it for a while longer, until life sorts itself out and our house is restored and made habitable. I cannot begin to understand however, how people who really suffer displacement feel, we are 2 years on since the earthquake in L’Aquila, and there are families still living in tents, waiting to go back to their homes.

Tuesday 12 April 2011 – I cook breakfast as Atomic Kitten sing ‘I Want Your Love’, the boisterous backing track sets me up for the day, I’m in a boisterous bouncy mood, and itching to be active. As the scouse ‘kittens’ sing I pass the feral kitten we’ve adopted and called Samson a slice of the smuggled bacon. Samson seems to like the taste of bacon; which is one thing most Brits over here say they miss.

We arrive at the house, and Spike takes a look at our chainsaw that refuses to work, he picks it up, and within seconds it’s purring, like a contented kitten. Within seconds the first tree falls, followed by another, we cleared a few of the trees that have been left to grow wild last time we were over, but the chainsaw makes short work of it. Our land has olive trees that are precious over here, you can’t cut them down without permission, however the other trees must be removed to allow the olives to flourish. People talk of these other trees as useless, but us they’re our next few years supply of wood for the wood burner.

I get to grips with the strimmer and within minutes I’m waging war on the weeds that grow along the driveway. It’s hot and the sun takes no prisoners on a day like this, and foolishly I have no hat. I spend the afternoon with music playing, ‘Zombie’ by The Cranberries belts out over the valley, as I use the chainsaw to cut up the felled trees into manageable logs. I move the logs and kindling into one of the downstairs rooms to keep it dry, and also away from light-fingered passers by. I hear Spike attacking the last of the trees that block our view and as it crashes down the slope I take a photo of our view, now unmasked by any trees.

Rozz invites us to dinner, we take the opportunity to shower and afterwards share a few glasses of prosecco. Rozz makes a wonderful lasagne, I have two servings but could have quite happily scoffed the lot it was so delicious, as we chat I craftily pick at the leftovers in the dish. To use an expression from the kids I teach – OMG it’s sick! (Translation: Goodness me, that’s jolly good.)

We get back to Archi, and have a gin and tonic. Dutch says, “You’re hairs going white and you’re head’s like a beetroot.” Note to self: Get a hat and possibly a divorce. At 9.30, The Cocteau Twins are playing ‘Theft and Wandering Around Lost’, I’m finding it hard to stay awake, it’s nice to be tired after hard work rather than from doing nothing. I call it a day, as the wind has an argument with some plastic chairs outside.

Wednesday 13 April 2011 – The wind has been quite fierce throughout the night, and we wake to a wet day, the mist is so dense it’s impossible to see very far. One of the advantages of being high up in the mountains, is on hot days there’s always a cooling breeze, one of the downsides is on wet days, it’s a miserable as a grieving mother. As usual music plays and Yoko Ono sings ‘O’Oh’ as I make breakfast and shuffle a few ideas around my head, for activities for the day.

It’s still raining, although the mist is lifting, so I play around with some video footage taken on the journey over.

Playing with the iPhone in a Swiss tunnel

With the sun breaking through, we decide to go to Megalo, a shopping centre in Chieti, here I find a DVD and book I want, so all in all the trip was successful. We have lunch at Megalo, just pizza slices and a small portion of torta rustica, oh yes and a refreshing cold beer. We then drive back via Lanciano and drop into the shops at the Poly Centre, before coming home via the scenic route over Castle Frentanno.

We stop for petrol, Tiziano Ferro is singing ‘Il Regalo Piú Grande’ from the Live in Rome CD. (The CD being a cure for last weeks music withdrawal). The young man working the pump asks me if I’m English, I say yes, he asks where I’m from. Now I am tempted to say England, in an attempt at Anglo-Italian sarcasm, but decide against it, so just say near Birmingham. He then asks me where do you live, I say Casoli and he becomes confused. I pay and drive off leaving him scratching his head.

When we finally sit down to dinner it’s 08.30, it’s surprising where the days go to, when you’re not governed by a clock. After a couple of glasses of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo Cyndi Lauper, begins to sing ‘I Drove All Night’, I stop her mid note and climb the stairs and collapse into bed, another day completed.

Thursday 14 April 2011 – The sun wakes me today, it’s golden fingers creeping into the bedroom to stroke my cheek. Samson comes for a feed, so I give him some of last nights left-over chicken. I then discover as he turns around that he is a she, so in haste she acquires a new name, ‘Thimble’. As The Human League play ‘Empire State Human’ I poach eggs, before packing some lunch items into the cool box, and leaving for some more honest toil on the land.

Today is made up with wood stripping, I cut the tiny twigs from the branches, these go into boxes, then the kindling is stacked in one place, the thicker branches in another and finally logs in another spot. I have had my first initiation into the Italian peasant lifestyle. I’m on wood duty for 4 hours, with the iPod shuffling in the shade, Ms Dynamite sings ‘Not Today’ from her brilliant second album, Judgement Days, which sadly didn’t do as well as her debut album, as I’m told it’s lunchtime.

I eat my first lunch at my house, it’s typically Italian, salad, olives, bread and cheese, with a cup of Yorkshire tea, non é Italiano tipicamente. (Translation: It’s not typically Italian.)

Our friend Tina drops by, it’s nice to see her as the last time we saw her was back in November, for lunch on her terrace. In the afternoon as Al Jolson sings ‘Swanee’ (Yes I have ‘the worlds greatest entertainer’ on my iPod) I get back to my task. After stripping and collating branches for a further 2 hours I’ve had enough, the boredom threshold has been met, and despite a task like this suiting my OCD, I’m itching to do some demolition. We have a stone outbuilding, that we set about taking down, and with brute force and some blood spillage, (mine) we demolish it.

Exhausted, we drop into the local shop for some pork mince to make meatballs for dinner, standing behind us is another English couple, I’d have introduced myself normally, but am so tired, I just pay and go. Yet another day of hard graft is coming to an end.

Dinner over, Thimble is given some pork, and a gin and tonic is poured,(for me not the kitten) I sit back as Heaven 17 play ‘I’m Your Money’, Saluté questa sera.

Friday 15 April 2011 – The morning is dull, there’s been an attempt at rain, but nothing yet. We spend the morning in Lanciano, then do some shopping for the evenings dinner at Oasi, before dropping in to see Terry and Brenda, we have a cup of tea and a pleasant afternoon chatting. We really will miss them when they move to the USA, but people must make decisions that are right for them, just as it’s right for us to move to Italy, it’s equally right for our friends to move to the US, besides there’s always Facebook and Skype. Talking about the social networking site, I saw a T-shirt in Lanciano that made me smile, the shop window was packed full of ‘Family Guy’ merchandise, which must be becoming popular in Italy at the moment.

Another sign that caught my eye today, made me wonder if this travel company only caters to a specialised type of client

Just before dinner I looked through the videos stored on my laptop and came across The Tempest, performed by the kids from The Action Project. I watched it and marvelled at their talent, however I did wonder if the parents understood my direction and setting, as to a newcomer to the text it could have proved confusing. After dinner I watched another video, this was an old episode of the army series, ‘Soldier Soldier’.

Saturday 16 April 2011 – Nancy Sinatra sings ‘It Aint Me Babe’ as I tuck into my breakfast, a bowl of Kellogg's crunchy nut cornflakes; found on the shelves of Oasi yesterday. Now I’m not normally a breakfast cereal sort of bloke due to a slight aversion to milk. However I’ve been having far too much bacon, cheese and eggs at breakfast time lately, so think it’s time for a change.

We have now acquired another kitten, each morning Thimble arrives with what we think is her brother, who we’ve called ‘Scratch’, he’s one of those cats that opens his mouth to mew, but no sound comes out.

We spend the day at a farmers market, a vast array of tractors and farm related machinery is on show. We stumble into the livestock section, and I fall for a tiny little puppy that’s in a box, near the chickens and ducks for sale. Inside a barn we find the section where farm produce is being sold, We all try the free samples of cheese and salami, I even get to try some awful truffle flavoured honey, that is just wrong, believe me.

For lunch we pop into Lanciano and have a self service ‘Pranzo’, pasta and wine for just €6 per person…..Bargain.

Back at our place I check on more kittens we’ve found, these are in a box in a tin shelter, there’s four of them. 2 white ones and 2 mackerel tabbies, I peer into the gloom and see the mother sat in the box nursing them.

Sunday 17 April 2011 – We just chill out.

The Disastrous Date, a Semi-Naked Man and the Phantom Lavatory

2011-04-26T01:27:00.001+01:00

Tuesday 5 April 2011 – Sorry to begin with a moan this week, but what is it with cyclists. Today I am sat waiting at a red light, when a cyclist comes up my right hand side, and crosses straight into the traffic. He’s weaving in and out of the cars travelling through their green light opposite. Horns sound and the cyclist raises one finger in defiance. I have witnessed many cyclists that seem to either have no knowledge of, or just total disregard for the highway code. In my opinion, I think the law should be changed, and for cyclists that want to ride on the public highways, there should be some form of registration plate, and don’t get me started on the aspect of insurance………Breathe Barry.

Wednesday 6 April 2011 - I am packing suitcases as Muse play ‘Guiding Light’: now I’m not a big Muse fan to be honest, I find they tend to drone on, however I did like their ‘The Renaissance’ album. There’s a knock at the door, which opens to reveal a suited male with a small boy. “Hello,” he says: the man that is not the boy; he looks miserable: That’s the boy not the man. “Would you like to join us to celebrate the death of our lord?” Now I am about to say, “Oh I didn’t know there was going to be a party, shall I bring along the trifle.” But I catch the words in my throat and say, “Celebrate? That’s an odd expression to couple with the word death.” The boy shifts his weight from his left foot to his right, however his expression remains unchanged. “Well?” asks the man. “No I don’t think so.” I say, and as soon as the last consonant of my response has sounded, a leaflet appears from nowhere in the boy’s hand and in perfect unison with the grown up, who says, “If you change your mind here’s some information,” the leaflet is pushed into my hand, and the boy; expression unfaltering says, “Thank you mister.” They leave and the final notes of ‘Guiding Light’ fade.

Thursday 7 April 2011 - I’m wandering around the local supermarket ‘House in My Head’ by Sons and Daughters is playing on my iPod, when coming towards me I see a man. He’s of average height and build, with a pale complexion and the wiry trail of dark hair that snakes up past his belly button and explodes across his chest. Why do I have knowledge of him in such graphic detail? Because he’s walking briskly with shopping basket in the crook of his left arm, naked apart from a pair of red briefs. Behind him at a safe distance are two other men of similar ages, one holds a pair of jeans and t-shirt, the other a pair of socks and trainers. With nothing more than a snigger, the semi-naked man passes me. I watch the two walking in his wake, they are finding it difficult to contain their laughter. I just hope the bet was worth it.

Early evening we go out for dinner, nothing fancy, just a local pub carvery. I’m just starting my meal when a couple walk in, both early twenties, he’s tall, lanky and looks bored, she’s short, squat and looks down at her phone as her fingers flick across its surface writing a text like an over excited arachnid. They sit, he picks up a menu and she continues to send and receive texts. Several minutes pass, he’s now put the menu down and is looking up at the ceiling, checking for cobwebs maybe. She however is now talking on her phone, the conversation as animated as her fingers had been before. The one-sided dialogue I hear is peppered with expressions like like, ‘Nah, and ‘Shat app’. I begin to believe she’s seen to many episodes of the dreadful UK docu-soap-drivel, ‘The Only Way Is Essex'.’ The phonecall over, she puts her phone upon the table and picks up her menu, her boyfriend has moved his gaze from up to down, and is now studying his trainers. Suddenly loudly a telephone rings, it’s ringtone a tinny version of some generic R&B track. The menu goes down to the table and the phone goes up to the girls ear, ‘Nah, shat app.’ The boy now rises and walks away from the table. Several minutes pass, more texting and one more diatribe of fake Essex speak before the girl realises the boy isn’t coming back. She rises from her seat and walks through the diners, and with phone glued to her ear in a thick ‘Potteries’ accent she gives her boyfriend grief for walking away. Oh well, you can’t blame him.

Friday 08.04.2011 – Today is made up of all the last minute things that need to be done before we drive to Dover. Hazel O’Connor sings ‘That’s Life’, a lovely song about not changing a thing if you could live your life again. Life, what a strange thing it is, we are not really sure why we’re here and do we have any idea what our purpose for being here really is. As we shall be away for seventeen days, it seems a shame to waste the vase of spring flowers in the living room, so despite not really having the time to spare, I decide I’ll put them on a friends grave. I open the drawer where her details are kept, but cannot find the sheet which has the map and plot number on it; it always sits in this drawer, so where’s it gone? (I have to have the crematorium plan as it’s so large and is very confusing). I cannot find it, so have a quick conversation with my friend, wishing her well, and asking her to give me a sign she’s happy. The car is packed, sandwiches are made and some frozen items are stored for travel in the cool box. We are ready to leave, so I turn off the iPod dock, halting Jason Mraz with ‘O, Lover’. I point the electronic fob at the garage and the door silently closes, I put the fob back inside the drawer and close it, however the drawer will not close, something is preventing it. I try a couple of times, when I notice a piece of glossy paper sticking out from the underside, I pull the paper out and it’s the crematorium plan. I smile just as my partner comes home from getting a haircut, “Sorry I’m late,” he says, “The traffic was a nightmare, all the roads into town are full of congestion. How’ve you got on?” I look down at the map and say, “Okay, everything is okay.”

Now I’m not some God-bothering paid up member of the life after death brigade nor am I a total sceptic, but it was comfort for me to feel that somehow a good friend had been able to give me a sign she was happy. But like all things read into what you will.

Saturday 09.04.11 – The iPhone buzzes and rouses me from my sleep, it’s 03.10 and with the urgency of an elderly sloth I crawl from the Premier Inn bed and head for the tiny two cup kettle. We are just five minutes from the ferry terminal, so after showers, cups of tea, a short car ride and check in, we are finally ensconced in the DFDS Seaways ferry’s restaurant….. Will we never learn, cold eggs and bacon as per usual? However as we approach Dunkirk, the view of the day breaking is stunning.

We leave the ferry two hours later and are off on our seventeen hour road trip, we are heading towards Namur in Belgium, when the iPod adapter-radio-thingy (I’m not very tech minded), starts to play up and Lady Gaga begins to sound like she has musical Tourette's, as ‘Telephone’ flicks in and out of coherency. the signal keeps flickering and crackling, making it impossible to enjoy listening to the music. So a decision is made, and the iPod is switched off, and for the time being I no longer am living a life on shuffle.

The journey is very pleasant, with nothing of major importance happening to merit a mention here, France looks nice bathed in sunshine, even Switzerland, a country I’m not fond of is appealing to me this trip. However I am beginning to suffer from music withdrawal. I take some photo’s as we drive, but it’s hard to get good shots when there’s nowhere to stop. I do take a photo of an exit sign, just because when you say the word it sounds rude. (Immature I know, but makes me smile, as does the name of one tunnel we pass through. Belcher tunnel).

We cross the border into Italy, having made great time; stopping only briefly en route for a toilet break. We are now just 430 miles away from our destination. The satnav decides to take us a different way around Milano onto the A14, but we are not fazed. We trundle along, down the Italian autostrada until we are just over the Lombardia border when I notice a crack has appeared in the windscreen, it’s about three inches long, and we have no recollection of being struck by anything. We stop at an Autogrill, the Italian equivalent of a motorway service station, albeit with edible food and not hiked prices.

After a bite to eat we continue on with the journey, by now we’ve been driving for fourteen hours and it’s beginning to take it’s toll. We pull into a rest stop for a break, only to discover we’ve stumbled onto a dogging/gay cruising area, cars pull up, men wander about, then disappear into the night. A car pulls up with a couple in the front seat, he gets out to stretch his legs, whilst she flicks the interior light switch a couple of times. I appears it’s also a dogging spot. A solitary police car appears, has a nosy around and leaves, that’s our cue to follow.

We continue to travel down the A14 south, until we come to Rimini nord, here the autostrada is closed for maintenance, so we are diverted via a toll booth. €2,60 later we are driving through the outskirts of Rimini, unaware of which direction we are travelling in. The satnav is no help as all it keeps trying to do is direct us back to the closed junction. Eventually we spot a car transporter, and making a guess that it too is travelling south we blindly follow it. Our assumption was a good one and pays off and soon we are back on track.

Eventually sleep begins to win the fight and we pull into a parking space on a service station, clamber into the back of the car: bringing that futon mattress proves to have been a good idea.

Sunday 10.04.11 – We wake on the service station, groggy but feeling the better for actually catching a couple of hours sleep. Italians mill about the forecourt, dressed in their Sunday best. (Church clothing). The aroma of coffee and sweet breakfast pastries sits on the idle breeze. It’s early in the day and the bright sunshine promises a warm one. An ancient man looks in at me through the rear window, puzzled as what looked like a pile of rags comes to life, I smile, he frowns, I can read his mind; ‘Stranieri’. I have an odd experience with a toilet that appears possessed, it was silent before I entered the cubicle, not now, it keeps flushing over and over and the cold water/testicle experience isn’t pleasant, but enough said of that.

The drive to Archi is pleasant, it’s like meeting an old friend, having stayed in Kati’s house once before, the familiarity is as warming as the sunshine that creeps along the narrow streets banishing shade. We unpack and the iPod is placed into it’s dock, ready to cure me of my music withdrawal. The first song to shuffle forward is ‘Divine’ by Blondie, what an apt title, it completely encompasses the setting and also the feel of the day. My phone beeps and it’s a text from Brenda inviting us over for lunch.

After freshening up, I turn off the iPod mid flow interrupting Siouxsie Sioux, as she sings ‘Further Nearer’ from the Creatures album Hai! I then drive down the steep gradients that make up the road back down to the valley, the fields are awash with borage, and wood smoke fragrances the air. We arrive at our friends laden with gifts and it’s great to see Terry and Brenda. We last saw them back in November 2010, and although only four months and a few days have passed, it seems to have been an age ago. This is partly due I think to the cold winter back in the UK, as both times we have been together have been in good weather. Lunch is Terry’s one-pot pork, a rustic dish of potatoes, vegetable and pork seasoned with bay, fennel and other natural dashes of goodness. We eat outside with the sounds of the valley all around us.

The sound of tyres on gravel indicates that our other friends Rozz and Spike have arrived, and after a few hours we are all sat around a table eating dinner. It’s strange to think how things come together, here on an Italian hillside is a group of people all from different towns and places: Manchester, Huddersfield, Melton Mowbray, Glasgow, Stoke on Trent, somehow the fates have conspired to bring us all here, at this time. But for what purpose, what is our part in the great scheme of things?

Later back at Archi, a game of dominos and a glass of wine is taken as ‘Necromancer’ by Gnarls Barkley plays, at a discreet volume. Very quickly it proves futile to fight it, and I climb the stairs and fall into bed.

Life can be perfect sometimes.

Incidents of Impish Japery

2011-04-04T13:03:00.002+01:00

Monday 04 April 2011 -There are some songs that lift your mood, no matter how old they are and how many times you hear them. One of these songs for me is ‘The Cutter’ by Echo and the Bunnymen, it doesn’t matter how many times I hear it, it just transports me back to a place in time when I was genuinely happy. And today the song shuffled into play and so the day began well.

The past week has passed by quite slowly, but isn’t that usually the case when you’re counting days down to a holiday? Just six more and I’ll be en route to Italy…….Hurrah.

I had an odd experience whilst in our local Tesco last week, I bumped into four different people I knew, and all four were from a different decade and oddly enough it ran in chronological order; (not always a good thing for someone with OCD, as it just strengthens the belief in the oddities you live with.) The first person I met was an old school friend from my time in high school, (1970’s). The next person was someone who used to follow the band I used to sing with, (1980’s). The third person was an actor I had previously worked with, who is on tour at the moment and just passing through Stoke, (1990’s) The last person I met was one of the children I have previously had the pleasure of teaching drama, (2000’s)

I saw a news item recently where supermarkets said they have been experiencing incidents of shoppers rearranging their herbs and spices on the shelves to spell out rude(ish) words. So I thought I’d have a go at this impish japery, and so manipulated a few jars of herbs to spell what is pictured below.

I’m in town walking around and marvelling at the wonders that spring brings, I turn a corner and see a tree completely swathed in blossom. everywhere I seem to turn has evidence of life waking up from winters slumber. Daffodils dance in the breeze and crocus bob their purple heads. Springtime is made so much better by the move into British summer time.

My iPod shuffles, and as I walk into the city centre The B-52’s play ‘Give Me Back My Man’, a song that lyrically contains the wonderfully bonkers chorus:

I'll give you fish, I'll give you candy, I'll give you everything I have in my hand.

And the good news is that the band will this October celebrate their 35th year of being together. I’m glad that my iPod is playing an uplifting fun track as i stumble across another incident of impish japery. Someone has stuck a piece of paper over a local paint store’s sign to change it’s meaning.

As I get ready to post this draft to my blog, The Fears, a really good local band shuffle forward and ‘Memento’ bounces around my kitchen. For those who are interested here’s the link to their myspace page. http://www.myspace.com/thefearsband

Toni Basil and Music for Dead People

2011-03-31T10:15:00.001+01:00

Tuesday 22 March 2011 - As regular readers know, this blog gives an insight into how I view the world around as my iPod shuffles random songs, however today I turned off the shuffle and could not stop playing Nicole Scherzinger’s single ‘Poison’. it took 21 plays to get it out of my system.

Last week I had to collect a urine sample from my dog for the vets to test for diabetes, the test came back today negative for diabetes, but the vet wants to test for other things, so another sample is required. To do this I have to wait for him to cock his leg, and pop the scoop pictured above under him. Now this may sound easy but every time I try he stops peeing, gives me a look of disdain and walks away. I’m sure on the third attempt I heard him mutter ‘pervert’ as he walked away. However as the iPod shuffled in the dock on the kitchen windowsill, and as H.I.M start to play ‘Don’t Close Your Heart’ I see the dog sneaking out of the door. I grab the scoop and wait until he’s mid-flow, pop it under, and bingo the sample is collected, and he looks at me with disgust. It’s an odd feeling being satisfied with collecting a bottle of dog urine. Maybe that’s a new special skill to add to my CV?

Wednesday 23 March 2011 – First shuffle of the day is ‘Nobody’ by Toni Basil. It’s a shame that she’s remembered only for her no1 hit ‘Mickey’, she’s a talented choreographer and recorded many more songs that should have received the attention that the bubble gum cheerleader hit Mickey did.

Last week I was out in town when i stood watching a nun talking on her mobile phone as she walked along the street. She was very engrossed in her conversation and not paying attention, when she collided with a man walking towards her doing the same thing. The collision caused the two people to drop their phones, and the man looked mortified. I guess if you’re going to bump into someone on the street, the last person you’d want it to be is a nun. However it’s not the collision that made me smile, it was the fact that behind her was a poster advertising the touring production of The Sound of Music. (How do you solve a problem like Maria? You take her mobile phone off her).

I drive home and Pixie Lott: yes I have Pixie on my iPod, sings ‘Jack’, a white van pulls in front of me, and I smirk looking at its number plate. Okay I know it’s immature, but can you see what I saw?

Thursday 24 March 2011 – I pop into a supermarket to grab a few things. I’m meandering down the aisles when I see a group of white haired ladies gathered around the fresh fish stall. There’s six of them and with an estimated combined age of 390 I wonder what’s going on. I linger nearby and can hear them chatting and laughing. Suddenly a gem is issued from the lips of a sweet looking lady, she says, “Why is it that just because you have white hair people think you like his music?” There’s a nod of agreement from the group, then she says, “Daniel O’Donnell, that’s not music for the elderly, it’s music for dead people.” There’s a further group agreeing nod, followed by laughter as they move away towards the pickles and chutney aisle.

Saturday 26 March 2011 – It’s a dull morning today, I’m in the kitchen making my second cuppa of the day as the Boomtown rats play ‘the Elephant’s Graveyard’. I look out of the window and spot something weird on my car windscreen. I go outside: dressed only in slippers and pyjama bottoms to investigate. Oddly enough in the middle of the glass screen is a handprint. It reminds me of the Kiefer Sutherland horror flick, Mirrors. I shiver, maybe because it’s cold or because I’m just a little bit creeped out by it.

We’ve all been hearing in the new lately about the austerity measures being taken in local government, councils are making cutbacks all over the country. So why did Stoke on Trent city council waste money on pointless mass produced maps of cycle paths. I mention this because our local paper has been filled with doom and gloom about the proposed austerity measures, and today two expensively printed items dropped through my letter box. One is a completely pointless magazine that doesn’t really say anything apart from telling you which council ward you reside in. The other is fold out full colour map showing you where all the cycle routes in the city are. (Because I lie awake most nights wondering if there’s one near the cemetery in Stoke.) Surely the money could have been put to better use?

In the evening, I’m getting dressed as Toni Basil shuffles to the fore once more, this time it is the insufferable ‘Mickey’ but nothing can dampen my spirits as I’m off out with school mates from way back when.

Two Lunches, Moaning Men and Special Beer

2011-03-21T10:54:00.005Z

Recently I had a week that seemed more food orientated that usual. I seemed to eat out more than usual the week of March 7, more so on the Wednesday. I was out having lunch at The Cherry Tree, with my friend Lara, a lovely time of good company and nice food was being had. As I bade her farewell, promising we’d do it again the following week my phone rang. “Hello,” I said. “Hey Baz,” my friend Colin said, “I’m running late, can we do lunch an hour later?” “Err, yes.” I stammered. I had completely forgotten I had arranged to meet him for lunch weeks before.So with thoughts of that Christmas special of the Vicar of Dibley going through my head, I headed off for my second lunch of the day.

I’m walking through town as the iPod shuffles and Skunk Anansie start to play ‘It Takes Blood and Guts’. I stop to look at the sign in the Indian restaurant window. I have read the sign many times, and it always makes me smile. It’s a list of customer reviews; oddly enough though none of them appear to have been written by anyone who’s native language is English. I’m not saying the owners have written the reviews as a form of self publicity, but here are a couple for you to make up your own mind. “I am coming every week with my family to the ******* and we are never having a bad meal.” and “We are eating here many time, the service is outstanding as are the foods.”

Thursday sees us in Morrisons, (not a supermarket I frequent, for personal reasons) and we decide to have one of their breakfasts. We are sat in a corner, the sunshine is glancing through the window and all is peaceful. That is until six men of pension age gather on a nearby table. The chatter is constant and each one seems to think it’s a competition to speak louder than the previous one. Being a fan of people watching and conversation snooping I take interest in the party. They all seem to be talking about how they spent the winter overseas, and there are a few gems that I hear.

Man 1: “Did you have a nice time in Lanzarote, Bill?”

Bill: “Nah, too bloody hot.”

Man 1: “Was it your first time there Bill?”

Bill: “Nah, we go every year.”

......................................................................................

Man 2: “Where did you spend winter this year?”

Man 3: “Benidorm, but I don’t think we’ll go again.”

Man 2: “Why’s that?”

Man 3: “Prices have shot up, all down to that bleeding TV show, wife reckons.”

...................................................................................

Ted: “We had a great time in Majorca didn’t we Arthur?”

Arthur: “Hey we did, didn’t we Ted?”

Ted: “Wives liked it too, didn’t they Arthur?”

Arthur: “They did, didn’t they Ted?”

Man 4: “What did you like about it?”

Ted: “They had optics in the bedroom mini bar, isn't that right Arthur?”

Arthur; “Yes they had optics didn’t they Ted?”

And the week was rounded off with a curry with friends in Scholar Green, and very good it was too. So much wanting to lose a few pounds.

Saturday, and with the iPod doing it’s job I walk around the retail village at Trentham, with Angela McCluskey singing ‘Truth Is’ from her 'You Could Start A Fight In An Empty House Album: An album I’ve not made my mind up about yet. I take a trip into the farm shop to grab a few things when I spot some bottles of beer that had been featured on the TV a few evenings before. It’s a beer that is brewed at Shugborough Hall, a historic estate and stately home in Staffordshire. Shugborough Hall Website is here The TV show was saying that the beers called His Lordships Own and Mi Lady’s Fancy are very good, so I purchase a couple of bottles of this special for our special friends over in Italy.

I drive home iPod plugged in with KC and the Sunshine Band playing ‘Sound Your Funky Horn’, the sun is shining and all is good with the world. (Well for the time being, that is.)

Am I a Genius?

2011-03-16T15:30:00.001Z

First I must apologise for letting the blog slip for a few weeks, there have been several reasons, some due to work commitments, some down to my continuing education and others are because of sheer laziness.

During the half term, I was once again working with The Action Project, this time we did a modern version of the classic tale, Pinocchio. We set the story to electronic music and instead of Pinocchio being a puppet, it became a robot names Annie Matronic that is rescued after it refuses to work. The part was played by 8 year old Molly: Her first lead role in a show. She worked really hard; as did all the students, and pulled off a full 45 minutes in front of an audience with no one there to prompt her or remind her what scene comes next. How i get these performances out of these young children in just 4.5 days I don’t know. Either I’m a genius or a hard taskmaster.

My two favourite parts of the show were, Sally and Katya’s rendition of the Dionne Warwick classic, ‘Don’t Make Me Over’ and Dan, Brad and Georgia’s dance to ‘I.C. Code’ by Gina X.

The next blog instalment should be up tomorrow, it’s all about food and overheard conversations, with this weeks hopefully on time on Sunday….Look out for the colliding nun. Ciao a tutti x

Broken Trees, Dirty Cars and 4 for £1.80

2011-02-14T10:27:00.002Z

Monday 7 February – Today I took the dogs to the vets to get their rabies vaccinations, in readiness for them having a passport. My how times have changed, when I was a kid the thought of taking your dog abroad was unthinkable. While I was there a lady came in with an elderly springer spaniel. The owner was crying, it was obvious she was heartbroken. I assumed she had taken the dog for euthanasia. I remembered when my old English sheepdog was too ill and the vet advised on euthanasia. I really felt for the lady. It’s like losing a member of the family.

Tuesday 8 February – I drive to town as Army Of Freshmen play ‘Through The Screen’. I remember when I first saw this American band in 2007, they were the support band, and much better than the headline band. Suddenly the memory is tainted, as I recall who I was with at the time, someone who eventually let me down. The tale of this let down will be published later this year as an eBook. I’ll keep you informed.

One thing that really annoys me is senseless vandalism. Where the new and

ghastly gigantic Tesco store has been built; it’s allegedly the biggest in Europe. The contractors have planted trees, and some mindless vandal has snapped one in half. More than likely some drunken yob, walking home from an evening on the lash.

I walk past the giant superstore, and notice it has some strange pieces of metal fixed along a wall. Obviously some artist was paid a fortune for these random pieces of artwork. Sadly there’s no name, or indication what it’s supposed to represent.

I nip into the store as I need some bread, it’s row upon row of aisles stretching out as far as the eye can see. Just one visit to this store is a good indication of what’s killing off the high street. I decide I can’t be bothered trekking to the back of the store just for bread, so leave it, and walk back to the car, as Opshop play ‘Waiting Now.’ A song that

triggers memories of my stint in New Zealand, and being with the person who let me down.

I think a cup of tea is required(Whinge over).

Wednesday 9 February – I’m out and about, walking along with music playing as usual. Neneh Cherry is singing ‘My Bitch’ from her 1989 Raw Like Sushi album. I pass a new car wash that has just opened: I’ve had a flyer for the business placed under my windscreen wipers every day this week. (Must find somewhere else to park). A young man from the car wash was leaving his place of employment, and in his side windows he had signs advertising the car wash business. I was surprised to see that his car was filthy. Now wouldn’t you have thought it would make good business sense, to drive around advertising car cleaning in a clean car.

Today an advert came on the television that just cracked me up, dogs wearing dentures. I just couldn’t stop laughing when I saw it. The smiling pug gets me every time. So I’ve included a link to it here:

Doggie Dentures

Thursday 10 February – Today as Alessandra Amorosso sang ‘Romantica Ossessione’ my iPhone pinged telling me I’d got an e mail. Checking I see it’s from our Italian lawyers in Lanciano, telling me the water has now been connected at our little house out there. At last things are falling into place.

Spent a few minutes this morning syncing some new songs on the iPod. Whilst doing this, I noticed that if I wanted to play every song, one after another it would take 51 days and 9 hours to do so. That’s a lot of music.

Friday 11 February – I had a very odd run in today with a portly shop assistant with bleached hair. I popped to the local shop to buy some dog food: Now I don’t use this shop very often, as it’s ranges are limited and it's prices are high. I picked up 2 cans of dog food and went to the till with them. The assistant scanned them and said to me, “You can get 4 for £1.80.” I replied telling her I’d just take the two cans please. She then responded by saying, “But you can get 4 for £1.80, that’ll save you money.” I again reply saying I’ll just take the two cans please, I then add that my dogs don’t usually have this brand so may not like it. Her response is, “I’m sure they’ll like it, and at 4 for £1.80, they’re good value.” I smile and pay her, saying nothing this time. I am leaving the shop when she calls after me, “If they like it, don’t forget at the moment you can get…….” “Yes,” I reply, “4 for £1.80.”

Mistaken Identity

2011-02-09T10:56:00.002Z

Thursday 3 February - I was walking through town earlier today, Altered Images were playing the 12” version of ‘Love To Stay,’ when I noticed a sign on a new restaurant, which read, Authentic Spanish Tapas. Nothing unusual with that, it was a Spanish restaurant. So how come the sign next to it read, Pizza and Pasta? Now correct me if I’m wrong but surely the latter is Italian? I pass a Turkish food outlet further on, and they have a sign in their window, which states they sell, Southern Fried Chicken. Where’s it from south Bodrum? A few paces up the road and I come across an Indian restaurant and take away, here they sell the usual curries, but also Doner Kebabs, aren’t they Turkish? Finally I pass a Thai restaurant, and guess what they are advertising for sale? Sushi. I think we must have a severe case of food related mistaken identity in Stoke on Trent.

Friday 4 February – Now I know you shouldn’t laugh at other peoples misfortune, but sometimes it’s difficult not to. I’m walking around Longton; a small and mostly unappealing town. My iPod shuffles and Siouxsie and the Banshees begin to play ‘Red Over White,’ as I spot a scruffy youth coming towards me. He’s dressed in trackie bottoms, with the obligatory hoody, he is holding a tray of steaming chips with beans over the top in his right hand. His left hand is holding a mobile phone to the side of his head, and he’s speaking loudly as he strides up the street.Obviously he’s distracted by his conversation, and he doesn’t notice the bollard indicating the pedestrainised area. The bollard is at crotch height, and he walks straight into it. The mixture of shock and pain is evident on his face, as the tray of chips and beans falls from his hand, hitting the tarmac, and splashing his trackies and trainers. The music shuffles, and Luciano Pavarotti, laughs as he begins to sing, ‘Vesti La Guibba’ and I laugh as quietly as is possible and walk away.

Sunday 6 February – I woke up at 5.15 and no matter how much I persevered, couldn’t lie in. So as we’ve got our friends Rozz and Spike coming over for a late lunch, along with the ex-wife and her brood I get up and start prepping veg. As usual the iPod is in its dock, and halfway through peeling the parsnips, Gina G bursts through the speakers, with ‘Ooh Ah…Just A Little Bit.’ The parsnips and peeler are discarded and my kitchen at 06.14 has a 49 year old man dancing around like a teenager.

In keeping with the food identity crisis, we have an Anglo Italian lunch. We start with Antipasti, followed by Porchetta and a slow cooked beef in red wine, by Antonio Carluccio. (his recipe, he wasn’t here in person to cook it). This Italian fare is coupled with good old English roast potatoes and Yorkshire puddings. For dessert we have Pannetone bread and butter pudding. And very nice it all was too.

Squirrels and the Wrong Shopping

2011-02-01T10:04:00.001Z

This weeks blog entry is late, I say late, not because I forgot to post it, but because I couldn’t be bothered. This week, I have had so much shit going on in my life, I had nothing positive to say.

Keane play ‘Everybody’s Changing’ and I look out of the window. There are two squirrels romping on the lawn. Not knowing much about squirrel behaviour, I am unsure if they are fighting or mating. Today is the third day in row that they have been on my lawn. They are quite cheeky and have no fear of me, however as soon as I whip out my camera, they disappear. My neighbour has a rather portly red cat, it sits and watches the squirrels, but makes no attempt to attack them. I wonder if he’s had a run in with one before, and lost.

I becoming a little concerned about my dog. My little lad is 13 years old, he was born on Christmas eve 2007. Lately he’s become a little bit arthritic and has become very clingy. He’s a lovely dog, but just lately he seems to have lost his spark. I know 13 is quite a good lifespan for a dog, but I don’t think I’m ready for him to go just yet. He needs to have a lazy time in the Italian sunshine first. I think a trip to the vets is in order.

Yesterday I went to our local Tesco, just to get a couple of items. I only had a few items in my basket, so went to the self serve point, where you scan and pack your own things. Everything was going well until it came time to pay. I hag forgotten to bring any money with me, as I’d left home without picking up my jacket. The kind assistant said he’d put my shopping in customer services and I could pick it up later. I drove home and told my other half, and he said he’d go to fetch it for me. Ten minutes later he arrives home with four carrier bags. I tell him that wasn’t my shopping, he replies telling me he didn’t know, just paid for what the girl at the counter told him had been left behind. We open the bags to discover items that we wouldn’t ordinarily buy. Looks like we’ll be having stir fry and noodles tonight. and we’ve enough rice to shake a stick at.

The Robert Knight classic, ‘Love on a Mountain Top’ begins to play as I set about doing some mundane jobs. I’m cleaning the bathroom, when I notice the toilet cleaner is called Bloo, however, ‘blue’ it is not.

The Lego Wig, Junk Mail & an Odd Place to Hang a Shirt

2011-01-23T13:17:00.002Z

Sunday 16 January – first song of the day to shuffle is, ‘Lazy Eye’ by Silversun Pickups and it’s my first weigh in. I have been trying out the new Weightwatchers, pro points, for a week now and have lost 4.5 pounds (2kg). Not bad for a week. I start the day with a slice of toast, and my new discovery, a smear of Gentlemen’s Relish. I love the salty taste.

Today is birthday dinner day, my partner had a birthday on the 15th and my ex-wife has hers on the 18th. We combined the two and had a meal to celebrate, along with wifey’s two children. As it’s a joint birthday we combined the ages, therefore having a cake that sported happy 94th birthday. We had roast beef and roast chicken, a couple of bottles of fizz and obviously cake. (Which, because it was chocolate, I didn’t like)

Sunday evening brings the usual dose of drivel on the TV, so called celebrities dancing; I use the term dancing loosely, on ice. I saunter through the show, not particularly watching the action, because I am waiting for one thing. Robert Van Winkle AKA Vanilla Ice. He may be a one hit wonder and a capable skater, but this is not reason enough to watch him, I watch him because I can’t stop chuckling at his Lego wig. He’s obviously wearing a rug, but it looks like one a Lego man would wear. I hope the tape is good, it would make great viewing if it slipped off mid skate.

Monday 16 January – What is it with junk mail? Is today national post junk mail through Barry’s door? I’m in the kitchen making my first cup of tea of the day. The iPod doing it’s job playing that haunting Raveonettes ditty, ‘All Boys That Rape (Should Be Destroyed), when the first item of junk drops on the mat. A pamphlet promising me ‘inner peace’ if I join a local religious group. Barely ten minutes go by when the letter box rattles and more rubbish arrives, this time ironically the leaflets are for a slimming club and a take out pizza menu. Next to arrive is a catalogue for household products, that I never purchase, but still each week one drops though the door.

Goldfrapp play the atmospheric, ‘Horse Tears’ as the postman arrives. I have several items of legitimate mail mixed with two items of junk, a broadband offer from Virgin and an offer of free membership to a gym.

I spend the day doing some research for a new magazine article, and as the reggae/dancehall vibe of Pentonville Blues by Glide and Swerve, feat: Boy George starts to play, yet another piece of junk mail arrives. This time a scrappy looking piece of paper floats down to the kitchen floor, a homemade flyer for someone named Daz, who apparently will take away any unwanted household appliances.

Tuesday 18 January – As The Eagles finished playing ‘Desperado’ I parked the car just outside town. I decided to take a chance and park on a piece of land that has recently had the clamping warning signs removed. It’s a brisk walk uphill into town, so that should help with the diet. Out of nowhere a voice calls, “Ciao, Barry.” I turn and see my friend Silvana, it’s her birthday so I respond, “Ciao cara, buon compleanno.” It’s nice to have a little nugget of Italian life, albeit in the middle of the Potteries.

With Marc Almond shuffling to the fore to play ‘Empty Eyes’, I enter T-K-Maxx. Like my iPod I begin to shuffle between rails of cut priced shirts. I’m flicking through the stock on show, nothing really catching my eye, when something does catch my eye. My attention is drawn towards a young man with one of those gauging ear piercings; you know the kind that stretch the lobe open. Now the type of body modification isn’t what makes me look, it’s the fact that he’s looking at shirts too, but he has hooked a hanger with a shirt onto his ear lobe to keep his hands free. I smile and mutter the word ‘genius’ to myself.

As I walk back to the car I take a few snaps of the derelict land that’s been left to rot, after the building of the towns’ supersized superstore. No names mentioned, however I do like the name of one of the now impotent streets, ‘Slippery Lane’ I bet it’s a bugger to walk on in winter.

Wednesday 19 January – Why is it that supermarkets have the ability to sensible people into imbeciles? Today I take a trip to our local superstore and the first thing I see is a woman loading her three children into a shopping trolley. The children are aged between 3 to 7 at a guess, and don’t have the ability to stand still. The woman tries in vain to push the trolley as the kids inside it jostle about. The accident that’s inevitable then occurs. As the mother navigates a turn the trolley tips up and spills said children onto the floor, the conclusion being 3 wailing infants and disdainful looks from fellow shoppers.

I walk down the dairy aisle as the iPod starts to play Mr Hudson, ‘Learning To Live,’ up ahead of me is a young man having difficulty reaching an item from the top shelf. Rather than ask for assistance I watch as he climbs onto the bottom of the fridge. It was very hard not to laugh aloud, as he lost his footing and slipped ending up kneeling in the yogurts. I do hope he can get the stains out of his jeans.

I see there’s a statement from Katie Price, AKA Jordan in the newspapers today. Not usually one to spend time here talking about people in the media; notice I didn’t use the term ‘celebrities’. But who out there didn’t think her marriage to Alex Reid would last long?

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/showbiz/bizarre/3359396/Jordan-I-had-to-dump-Alex-Reid.html

Thursday 20 January – I’ve been listening to a lot of Billy Mackenzie the last few days, as I have to write a magazine article and have chosen to write about him. (I’ll publish it here when my lecturer has marked it.) At 14.00, and as Bow Wow Wow play ‘(I’m a) TV Savage’ I click save and it’s finally complete. I’ll leave it for a few hours, review it and then send the final draft by e-mail.

I realised today that I’m a pasta snob, I opened my kitchen cupboards and realised that I only have branded pasta, no stores own brand. In Italy there are hoards of brands of pasta, and my favourite is De Cecco, which is relatively inexpensive there, but is at a premium here in the UK. Another good one is Delverde, however that’s hard to find here and is another costly brand.

I don’t to sound like an old moaner, but at the moment I’m finding being semi retired a bit of a chore. I have endless things that can keep me occupied, but over the last week I’ve become quite an expert at procrastination. (As I type this a menu for a Chinese take away has dropped through the letter box.) The problem I think is I don’t want to be here, I want to be over in Italy sorting out my house and land, and it’s this that’s colouring my moods.

On my way out in the evening listening to, ‘Tell Tale’ by The Specimen, when up ahead of me a lorry slowly pulls out of a side road. The road is a narrow track, obviously the German driver has fallen victim to the SatNav. I stop half wondering why he pulled out when he could see me coming, and half thinking, he’s going to get stuck. He manoeuvres as best he can in the narrow streets and suddenly comes to a halt. The driver climbs down from his cab, comes towards me and asks for directions. I tell him I don’t know the road he’s looking for, and he walks away. Yes walks away, not back to his cab, but in the other direction, leaving his lorry blocking the road. I have several other cars behind me now, horns beep and one disembodied voice shouts out a profanity. I wait, unable to turn around until the driver behind me has done so. As soon as it is my turn to do a three point turn and exit the scene a police car arrives to assess what’s going on. I leave him with my red tail lights disappearing down the road.

Friday 21 January – I have a bacon sandwich this morning as the Apple device I am attached to plays, ‘Jag Vet En Dejlig Rosa’ by Robyn. A quick look on the web and the translation from Swedish to English is - I Know One Lovely Rose.

Very little happens today, I change the look of this blog, mooch around reading other blogs. I’m surprised that so many have people that have clicked the follow box, and are followers of the blog. I check my stats and have lots of people coming back to read this but very few people bother to comment here, or follow. Puzzled??

We take a trip to Trentham Retail Village in the afternoon, to pass the time. Whilst there we bump into quite a few people we know, all of whom seem to be at a loose end too.

Trentham Retail Village 21.01.2011

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Saturday 22 January – I take a trip into town, pulling onto my newly found parking area. (Won’t be long before others discover the lack of clamping signs too, but for now it’s all mine… ha ha ha aha panto villain laugh.)

As I’m walking along it strikes me that when in town I very rarely look up, just straight ahead at shop fronts. Looking up reveals some beautiful old architecture, that is mostly ignored.

Walking through the shopping centre amuses me, as there’s a woman obviously in a hurry heading towards me, and she’s dragging along a small boy. She is oblivious to what is in front of the boy, and promptly drags him face first into a post. I snigger and her response is to chastise the child, asking him what he’s ‘playing at’.

I’m browsing the DVD section at our local HMV, when I catch a conversation that makes me snigger once again. It’s between three young eastern European lads, and goes like this. Lad 1 – “You can’t move for them anymore, can you?” Lad 2 – “I know, and they’re taking all the houses up near us.” Lad 3 – “Yeah, they should all f*** off back to Poland.” Lad 1 – “It’s just too easy to get into this country.”

Enough said.

I return to my car, which has now been joined by two others. Turn on the ignition, plug in the iPod, and drive home with, The late, great Billy Mackenzie singing, ‘Give Me Time’.

Apologies for any typos etc, didn't get time to check it over before posting.

The Food Fiasco and the Pointless Telephone Call

2011-01-16T11:08:00.001Z

Sunday 09 January – The day starts with breakfast as the iPod does it’s job. Randy Crawford sings ‘You Might Need Somebody’, a nice chilled welcome to the day ahead. The sky is that mercury colour that makes it look like someone has set to with a grey paintbrush. I cheer the kitchen up, by standing the novelty bottle stopper I got at Christmas on the windowsill.

The morning eases past with very little effort until we leave for Wolverhampton, and dinner with friends to celebrate Pete’s 40th birthday. Yazoo play ‘Goodbye 70’s’ as we try to navigate around a white van that has been sat in the middle lane for the last few miles. The van is now crossing over the white lines either side, erratically slicing left then right. As I pass him, I glance to my left and see the driver is texting as he drives. That’ll explain his inability to travel in a straight line.

There are 17 of us at The Mermaid to celebrate with Pete. The orders for lunch are taken and the fiasco begins. One meal is delivered to the table and we wait. We wait and wait more, but it doesn’t look like any more will arrive soon. We all agree it’s best to start eating rather than wait. After 20 minutes two more meals arrive, closely followed by the waitress to tell us they have no pork left. The orders for Pork are changed and the two new meals begin to be consumed; by this time the first meal has been eaten. Suddenly there’s a rush on and three dinners are delivered, one of which is the wrong order. The waitress comes over once again, this time to tell us they’ve now run out of beef. The only child’s meal we ordered arrives and is followed by the sweet ordered by the first diner of the group. Eventually the last meal arrives and we have all been fed, albeit randomly. It felt odd finishing my meal as the person opposite was just being served theirs. As we leave I make a mental note not to book a large table at The Mermaid in the future.

A small group of us retire to the Chestnut Tree pub and have a few pints there, myself just one drink as I’m driving. It’s nice catching up with people, I hadn’t seen most of people there since going to Pete and Gloria’s wedding in Sorrento.

Monday 10 January – I spent most of the day working on my current writing assignment, becoming brain dead around 3pm. To relieve the stress I switch the iPod on and as Joy Division, throb away with ‘These Days’ I get everything together to make another batch of Limoncello. We have 1 bottle left in the freezer, and about a litre and half left of the grapefruit liqueur left. I pop over to Tesco to get some lemons and stand at the ATM behind a man who is coughing so much, it sounds like he’s hacking up a lung. Needless to say I move away and use a different cash machine. Back from Tesco, and I’m zesting and juicing lemons as Marilyn Manson bawls ‘(s)AINT’

I’m back on a diet, trying to lose those extra pounds I lazily put back on during 2010. I’m back on the Weightwatchers program, as counting points panders to my OCD. As Squeeze sing ‘Cool For Cats’ (what a blinder of a song, very clever lyrics), I prepare some salad for our dinner, with smoked haddock fishcakes. I tot up my points and see I have 19 left, enough for some red wine in front of the TV.

Tuesday 11 January – Today I created a playlist of all the tracks that have only ever been played twice and as ‘Tarantula’ by This Mortal Coil fills the house with brooding atmospherics I look at the work I’ve done for my fourth writing assignment. I’m almost finished editing when snoring can be heard, both of my dogs are asleep, one in her bed the other on the sofa. I’m still not happy with what I’ve written so go for a walk to clear my head. (How I ever get any work done is beyond me, my writing area is a complete mess.)

Followers of this blog will already know, I love those snippets of conversation that you get to hear when you’re out and about. Today I heard two women at a bus stop say the following: W1 – “She’s so bloody ugly, she’ll be lucky to get a boyfriend.” W2 – “You can’t say that.” W1 – “Why not?” W2 – “Because she’s your daughter.” W1 – “I know, I blame her father.”

I turn my iPod back on and walk home smiling as ‘Gone, Gone, Gone’ from Gershwin's Porgy and Bess plays.

Wed 12 January - Bobby Thurston sings the 80’s classic ‘Check Out The Groove as I drive home. Behind me is a van that is so close to my rear end that we’re almost intimate. This van has been hugging my bumper for about 5 minutes now and the driver doesn’t seem to think it’s a problem. I indicate to turn left, thinking he’ll ease back. Does he? Does he butternut squash. I slow down, change gear and begin to turn as he sounds his horn, unhappy that he’s now been inconvenienced, and had to touch his brakes. A shuffle takes place and appropriately as I stick my middle finger in the air, Martin Gore begins to play ‘In A Manner Of Speaking’.

Back home, I notice we are out of olive oil, so it’s now time to open the can of oil we helped harvest. (See Olive Picking, Vertical Driving and Remembrance, November 21 2010) I open the can and the smell of sunshine and greenery is released. The taste test comes next, and it’s delicious. It has a grapey flavour at the start and the freshness of long warm summer days, followed by a peppery hit. (It’s too nice to think about Weightwatcher points.)

Sadly the oil just makes me miss being over in Abruzzo, and working on our house there.

Thursday 13 January – First song of the day is Cyndi Lauper with the classic ‘La Vie En Rose’ from the At Last album (2003). It’s a scratchy vocal that doesn’t really suit the softness of the song. Cyndi doesn’t have the best of voices, but having released her 11th album back in 2010, proves she still has an audience. Maybe not the same one that loved her when she was the quirky She’s So Unusual’ singer, but an audience no less. (I like that ‘Unusual’ has three U’s in it.)

I had a message today from friends in Australia, they told me the floods there are quite scary, but they’re safe as they are on higher ground in Darwin, but the devastation all around is dreadful. Thank goodness they’re safe though.

As Robyn sang ‘Fembot’ I went up to town for a mooch around the shops. As usual the touch screen on my phone was playing up, so I went to see about an upgrade. I intended to get something standard, but the prices were ridiculous. So in the end I came away with a new iPhone4. It’s possibly got more functions than I’ll use, and I know I said before I just need a basic one for when I move to Italy. But hey, I succumbed to the lure of a new gadget. So with a picture of Tiziano Ferro for the wallpaper, it joins my Apple/iPod family.

Now all I have to do is work out how to use it.

Friday 14 January – Well as you can imagine I spent most of the morning playing with my new phone, downloading apps and making a new ringtone for it. The iPod once again was shuffling between songs that had only been played twice. Ruby Winters sang her version of the Smokey Robinson classic, ‘The Tracks of My Tears’, as I added photo’s to some of the contacts in my phonebook.

I received a very odd telephone call today, my phone flashed telling me it was an 0845 number. Normally I ignore them, as 9 times out of 10 it’s someone trying to sell me water coolers, or an weeks time share in Dubai. However today I answered it, to discover it was someone from Job Seekers Allowance. The conversation went something like this. JSA – “I’m just calling to enquire, are you in employment?” Me – “No.” JSA – “Have you recently left a job?” Me – “I have recently completed a self employed contract.” JSA – “When did that end?” Me – “Why do you want to know this?” JSA – “Because we don’t have a record of you claiming benefits.” Me- “That’s because I haven’t made a claim for any.” JSA - “Oh, sorry to have bothered you.” Maybe the next austerity cuts should include, the government’s pointless telephone calls department.

I finally complete the third part of my writing assignment, happy with it at last. I just have to come up with an short article now. (500 - 700 words). I’m about to make some notes for the article, when a shuffle takes place. The awesome ‘A Lover’s Holiday’ by Change,featuring the then unknown Luther Vandross. (Many people think Change was an American band, but no, it was formed in Bologna, Italy.)The song has me on my feet and heading into the kitchen, it’s disco beat infectious. So for the time it takes the song to play I’m bobbing along with beat and peeling potatoes for our dinner later.

Saturday 15 January – Today is my other half’s birthday, so we pop up to town to get some bits and bobs for a birthday dinner on Sunday to celebrate his birthday and my ex-wife’s, which is on the 18th.

Boy George is Like Marmite

2011-01-10T16:03:00.001Z

Well the iPod shuffled and the first song of my 2011 blog is Culture Club with ‘Do You Really want To Hurt Me’, hence this weeks title. Boy George is certainly a controversial character, and love him or loathe him I’m sure the vast majority of people would admit to liking this song. It’s well crafted and the production is very good for 1982. I remember it reached number one in well over a dozen countries, and George’s appearance on Top of the Pops caused the ‘He or She?’ media debate. I remember this period in history well, I myself was singing in a band, producing our own material for a healthy local fan base, and at times my appearance during the eighties was dubious. Sadly previous years haven’t been kind to George, and his publicised problems may have lost him some fans, but I do believe he’ll always be remembered as a true British eccentric. In support of Mr O’Dowd, I wish him luck with his new album, ‘Ordinary Alien’ out on January 31.

The first week of the year has been quiet, I’ve buckled down to my studies and written 3 of the 5 assignments I have this month. We had a smattering of snow that was short lived midweek, despite forecasters promising more than we actually got.

On Saturday evening I popped over to Becky’s new place and of course play with Holly, the dog we rescued from Greece. I took some of my homemade ruby grapefruit liqueur, which we consumed with gusto.

Hopefully my next entry will be more interesting, as I get back into the swing of things.

End of Another Year

2011-01-05T14:03:00.001Z

Well another year comes to a close, and what an eventful one 2010 has been. I think the two most life changing events have been, the decision to close my business and the purchase of our house in Italy. It’s been a good year in most respects, I’ve been happy for most of it, however there’s been a fair amount of procrastination, in particular my Italian language studies and my writing coursework. Although I don’t make resolutions; what’s the point? I hope I’ll be able to apply myself better in 2011.

I have decided to focus only on the positive for my review of the year and throw out the negatives; there’s enough TV programmes out there listing the negatives, so you don’t need me to add to The 100 Celebrity Meltdowns or The Worst Hairdo’s of 2010. So here are my highpoints.

2010THE BEST:

Album – The Defamation of Strickland Banks by Plan B

Song – Il Tempo Stesso by Tiziano Ferro

Film – Inception

TV Show – Supernatural

Book – Mister Teacher by Jack Sheffield

Adventure – Operation Jet-set Jackie *

Random Thing – Getting our wood burning stove

Activity – Olive picking in Abruzzo *

Work – Action Project ‘L’amore é basta *

Funny – When Dutch innocently said, “They work really well together, that Fearne and Wallaby.”

* see earlier blog postings for further information

Here’s to you all, I hope 2011 is good to you and that you achieve all you wish to achieve. Health, wealth and happiness to all. Baz x

Filling The Space Between

2010-12-31T10:55:00.001Z

So Christmas is over for another year, and it’s that period of nothingness that subsists between December 25 and January 2. I spent the 26, 27 and 28th of December doing very little, just vegetating in front of the TV watching one banal programme after another; considering it’s the holidays there is very little on the box that interests me. So on the 29th I decided to attack the day, taking into account that on the 27th I stayed in my PJ’s from sunrise to sunset.The highlight of that day was the festive Facebook cull I had. I decided to go through my Facebook friends and delete anyone I hadn’t spoken to in 2010, and those acquaintances that you gather as the year progresses. So on the 29th as Soft Cell played ‘Her Imagination’ I washed up the dishes from the previous night, that lay in the sink. There’s nothing more miserable I think than waking up to dirty plates. As the dishes drain, the iPod shuffles and ‘Make The Call’ from the excellent White Noise album by Aussie rockers, The Living End begins to play. I make breakfast as the kitchen is filled with a beating bass line and frenetic drums.

Thank goodness for Skype, I call my friend over in Italy, and we chat about the water bill I’ve received, odd considering we have no water. Brenda says our house over there looks lonely now all the trees around it have lost their leaves. We exchange comments about the weather; UK, wet and foggy, Italy, Warm and sunny. With Othello’s green eyed monster looking over my shoulder I console myself with the fact that this time next year I’ll be there to sample it myself. I send an email to our Italian lawyers asking them to deal with the bill and to ask the commune, (Italian local council) to sort out our non working street light.

I begin to tackle the mountain of ironing that has accumulated since I’ve been away on tour. Three hours later, 43 shirts, 32 T shirts and 4 pairs of Jeans are put away. Kirsty MacColl sings, ‘Miss Otis Regrets’ as the iron is stowed away below the sink. I can’t believe it’s ten years since her life was snuffed out in a tragic, yet controversial boating accident in Mexico. I decide it’s time for some TV and a glass of homemade limoncello, the drink is satisfying, however the TV isn’t, on every channel there’s either a repeat or some saccharine seasonal tale. So once again in an attempt to fill in the void left by Christmas I top up the gap by languishing in the bath listening to music.

I look out at the street on the morning of the 30th, everything is still, cars have remained motionless for days and apart from the emergence of grey wheelie bins today, the road hibernates. So breakfast over we decide to go into town and mooch around. I was given a new wallet at Christmas, so before we leave I transfer everything out of my old but now tatty, but well loved Versace one. I throw away now redundant plastic cards that have lived in the recesses of the worn leather and discover I have a Waterstones gift card. I can’t remember who gave it to me or how long it’s been there, so now I have a task for the day, to discover just how much I have to spend on the dull grey card.

The trip up town is hardly uplifting, the so called sales are threadbare, and genuine offers are few and far between. I ponder an offer from O2 to upgrade my phone to an iPhone, I decline as I don’t think I’ll have much call for such a sophisticated mobile when I’m living a life of semi self sufficiency on an Italian hillside. I walk out of the main shopping centre and spot a boy-band lookalike, a skinnier facsimile of Marvin from JLS, a few steps later and I come face to face with a chubbier version of Shane from Boyzone. I enter Waterstones and present the bespectacled red haired youth behind the counter with my card, he checks it, tuts and shakes his head, then says, “Sorry geezer, this is run out.” My first reaction is the need to correct his grammar, and explain that the verb he should have used was has, and secondly I am not a geezer. Turns out that the card only lasts for 24 months and mine expired a long time ago. Note to self: Tidy wallet at regular intervals in future. I leave the bookstore and almost collide with another boy-band doppelganger, this time an older version of Jay from The Wanted. All I need now is to find a taller Mark Owen, from Take That lookalike, and I can manufacture my own pop band: I think I’ll call them, ‘ Wanted, That JLS Zone.’We drive home with the classic track ‘Going Underground,’ by The Jam playing, and as we turn the corner everything is has it has been for days, with the exception of the now removed wheelie bins, the road remains impotent.

One thing I did see today that made me smile, then wince, was a child's toy. This seemingly harmless prop was a pretend MacDonald's drive thru counter. In my opinion toys are supposed to inspire learning and fun, is this one that prepares a child for a life of working in a burger bar? There are so many messages given off and absorbed by children during play and the only ones I feel given off by a pretend Macdonald’s drive thru are negative, e.g. Fast food is good food, or it’s okay not to aspire to greater employment potential, as working for Macdonald’s is quality employment.

So new years eve has arrived and tomorrow we shall be in 2011. As the last colours of 2010 fade, I shall be spending it at a party hosted by my ex-wife. We shall no doubt drink a few glasses of wine and eat a few nibbles before letting off fireworks. I’m not a big fan of new years eve, to me the death of one year and the birth of another has never had much relevance on my life, however this year it’s different, 2010 has seen so many changes to my life and 2011 has so many challenges ahead. So I shall be throwing myself head first into tonight’s festivities and hopefully will have a clear enough head tomorrow to make a start on my first blog of the year, a review of the past twelve months. So all that remains is to wish everyone out there, a happy and healthy new year. Baz x

Gridlock and the Giant Mechanical Snowball

2010-12-25T11:17:00.001Z

Well what a week we’ve had this week, the cast had to continue putting up with the actress who plays Bella, having stroppy, hissy fits over the slightest thing. Now normally I wouldn’t say anything about a fellow actor, but this girl has a fit at the drop of a hat. If she can’t find anything in the props bag we’re subjected to huffs and puffs, and woe betide we say anything to her about it, that then means we endure the silent treatment while she bangs things around and texts people to let them know she’s not happy with us. Suffice to say, as I write this I am thankful in the knowledge that I’ll never have to see her again. This said, I did have a pang of sadness in my chest as I said goodbye to Chloë at Stoke train station.

Monday evening, I’m walking around the local Tesco, iPod playing the 1975 classic, ‘I’m On Fire’ by 5000 Volts, when a woman in a mobility scooter reverses into me, “Oops,” she says, “I was distracted by the bargains.” I chuckle, thinking what a brilliant apology, then walk into a small child almost knocking it over. “Oops,” I mutter, “Bugger off out of my way.” I leave Tesco and am driving behind a B&Q lorry as it exits the car park, the driver misjudges the bend and his wheels catch the railing and twists it, before some plastic wheel trims shoot from it and it’s free to continue on its way. I wonder if the driver said “Oops!”

Tuesday, we are stuck in horrendous traffic for hours, We’re in Ludlow and the A38 is closed and all the traffic is moving through the town. We drop into Waitrose and buy some lunch and sit watching the lines of cars going nowhere. Eventually the shows for the day are cancelled and we slowly navigate our way through the gridlock towards the M5 junction. We are at last free of the congestion that we’ve endured for five hours, and we make our way northwards, finally enjoying a glass of wine at the accommodation at Dilhorne.

At midday on Wednesday, we’re almost at our next venue when we see a car completely covered in snow, at least three inches thick, moving slowly towards us. At first we think the handbrake isn’t on and it must be drifting on its own. It crosses the centre of the road before straightening up and passes us, we are astonished to see an old lady behind the wheel of what is essentially a giant snowball. She’d cleared the side window of snow but not the windscreen. Glad to be past her we head off up the road to entertain our next audience. The show goes really well, and as I’m singing my first song, Jack a handsome boy with ‘Downs’ stands up, takes my hand and dances with me.

Christmas eve arrives and I catch up on last minute gift buying, and visiting friends Rozz and Spike. I drive home as The Pretenders play ‘The Nothing Maker’ and spend the evening warm and cosy with a glass or two of wine, thinking about all the madness that happens so we can celebrate one day of over-indulgence. Short and sweet this week folks. Merry Christmas to you all.

Crotch Grabbing and the Fighting Grannies

2010-12-19T11:05:00.002Z

Monday 13.12.10 – Saturday 18.12.10 – How quickly the working week comes back around when you only have one day off. Last week I talked about in-car dining, and on Monday I saw another incident, this one was truly marvellous. Sat in an Audi was a man in a suit and he was eating noodles as he drove past. The image of him with noodles hanging from his mouth made him look like his car was been driven by one of the Ood from Doctor Who. I can only imagine he reached his destination with his shirt front stained by the trailing noodles.

In between shows we visit a pub for our lunch and I do a spot of people watching. Sat next to us is three pensioners, the waiter comes over and speaks to one of the ladies, after he leaves, their conversation goes like this: Lady 1 “What did he say?” Lady 2 “Who?” Lady 1 “The darkie.” Lady 2 “He said, are you enjoying your meal?” Man “Who said that?” Lady 2 “The darkie.” The older generation have a lot of catching up to do still, methinks.

I’m made to smile as a young girl opposite sits down and a noise is heard, her mother asks, “Have you farted?”, the girls replies in the negative, blaming the noise on her coat, this leads to several unsuccessful attempts to replicate the original sound. The day ends with The Smiths playing ‘Hand In Glove’ as I drive home through the lanes.

The following day during the break between shows we pop into the Bagot Arms in Sutton Coldfield, this time for just a pint. I pop into the gents and am followed by another man. He steps up to the urinal and opens his fly; nothing unusual by this you may think, until I hear him say, “Out you come my little beauty.” I try not to pee on my shoes as I stifle my laughter.

Funny things, actors, what with their traditions and superstitions, you’d think they’d have enough to contend with? Not in our cast, every time anyone says strange fruit, no matter where we are I have to sing the first verse of the song with the same name, I’ve been known now to sing it on and offstage. Equally Chloë has to do the same, every time anyone says, “What’s This”, she has to sing a verse from the song from the Tim Burton film, The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Wednesday is an odd day, as two incidents happen, both of which are similar yet unusual. During one of my songs in the matineé performance, a man reaches out and cups my genitals, shocked I step back and try not to stumble over the lyrics of the song. In the evening performance, I’m halfway through my duet with Chloë when a woman grabs my crotch, once again I’m shocked and try to hold it together, as Chloë sings with a huge smile across her face. Needless to say when we exit we can’t hold the laughter in.

On Thursday we all revisit our childhood, and recount tales of our favourite TV shows and songs. We are talking about the song by Peter, Paul and Mary. ‘Puff, the Magic Dragon’ when someone looks up the lyrics and what we remember as a happy song turns out to be a sad tale of a dragon who loses his best friend and spends the rest of his life hiding away in a cave. As I drive home in the evening with CSS playing ‘Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex’, I spot a small puppy in my headlights. I stop the car, as it’s strange that a puppy would be in the country lanes, so far from any houses. I get out and look for it but alas it’s gone, I climb back into the car hoping it wasn’t lost and had headed off to where it come from.

Once again during my duet with Chloë another incident occurs, this time it’s during the Friday evening show. Two elderly ladies begin arguing and the argument spills into a fight, with them both jousting with a walking frame, we continue on with the son; now experts at singing ‘I Know Him So Well’ whilst laughing

Saturday and we perform our first show only to venture out to the car park to find the van beneath a huge snowfall, we dig ourselves out and head off into the snow covered streets. Essentially what should have been a 40 minute journey back to Stoke took us 4 hours, as we crawled along at 3 miles an hour, eventually due to road closures reaching an almost deserted northbound M5. With more snow forecast for the weekend, we can but hope it doesn’t prevent us completing our last 4 days of shows.