Friday, 24 June 2016
Tuesday, 21 June 2016
I'd relied upon Tuscany to provide me with much blog worthy material
but, as the prevalent exclamatory writing style has it.
There was a cat. Monroe.
On a nice mat.
And a couple of shadow opportunities
when a fitful sun appeared.
But mostly it was about dodging the torrents.
This one at the top of the Torre Grossa in San Gimignano.
And lamenting the presence of chainsaws
in the valley below our house.
Yes down there in the fog.
8.30 until 5.00 unless it rained.
On the plus side, the food is not affected by rain.
And the chainsaws cannot follow one into restaurants.
Also it was very green and the wildflowers were abundant.
And I wasn't once bitten by a mosquito.
Monday, 13 June 2016
We made a nostalgia laden trip back to
a farm in Tuscany.
The roses are still there - just.
The long cedar walks still
criss cross the estate
The bocce ball where we played in the cool shade
of the holm oaks,
has fallen into disuse.
The river where we swam
and sunbathed on the rocks,
was in full spate after torrential rains.
The olive trees recovered well
after the devastating frost of 1985.
The picnic table at the belvedere
looks just the same.
The views over your shoulder to Siena are timeless.
But it wasn't all about looking back.
We found new things
and went to new places
and maybe one day we could take everyone
and make new memories.
Friday, 3 June 2016
Admiring the alliums.
Loving the warm sand.
Watching the tide roll in.
Wearing grandad's hat.
Joining in with the Morris Men!
The perfect end to a Bank Holiday holiday.
Since when it has been unremittingly cold and grey.
We have the heating back on.
Where must I go to find some summer sun?
Friday, 27 May 2016
The apple blossom fell.
A dear friend visited from far away.
Younger son knows London better than I do
and sat me in front of this lovely Thames view.
The alliums began to open.
I made a tiny summer dress out of a
Sanderson curtain fabric dating from the 1940s.
The sky was blue one day.
The Libertia flowered.
The irises bowed and snapped under the weight of the rain.
The lambs are decidedly chunky.
Their mothers look long-suffering while they are being head-butted
and sometimes run away.
The tadpoles I rescued from the ex-pond are doing well.
Their mothers are indifferent to their fates.
But mysteriously all the fox cubs have vanished.
Their mother looks rather lost.