It's been a while since our last blog/newsletter so there's a bit of catching up to do...quite a lot actually. This makes the task all the more herculean. It also means I'm likely to give up ½ way as we did with the last newsletter (the so-called and unfinished 'June Issue', uncensored versions of which are now collectors' items and are making the rounds on some of the seedier file-sharing sites).
So like all anal-retentive, work-shy, issue-avoiding writers, let's start with a list of the things I should be writing about, in the hope that this actually feels like I'm writing something.
The year so far
Energy projects
The Kids
Nightmare guests from hell
Dogs & cat & small furry animals
Sculpture garden
Winter projects
V's cooking
Olives & farming...toys & traps
Wine & harvest
And...err...oh yes, the wedding(s).
See my problem? This is just a start list. I'll probably add a few more lines to it as I remember them, so it's going to take forever to write this lot. I'll try and publish in chunks as I write them. But don't expect miracles. Tomorrow I'll be pouring concrete so my chances of getting more written are slim.
It's been a long, hot summer
It's been a really busy summer for us, that is for sure. We have been to the beach...twice. I've been in the pool...OK, more than twice, but loads and loads less than last year. Bookings have been on a par with last year, if a little bit ahead, so it's not that. I've been rushing around like a eejit trying to get these big projects moving (see below), so that's been taking up quite a bit of my time, but I'm not sure that explains our lack of free time either. In fact, work-wise, I think we've been pretty well organised this year. Ish.
There is, of course, the extra child to consider. That could have something to do with it. Having to deal with a toddler who, up until recently, has not been especially partial to sleep (unlike his parents, I might add), and who has morphed from an angelic, quiet, smiling, giggling bundle of joy, into speed-crawling tanty-satan-child with a scream that can damage hearing, literally, and can destroy anything not nailed down if you take your eye off him for a second (yes, another one...why us?). Max, started out easy (except for the not-sleeping bit), but is not definitely not easy. He's still cute, he still laughs a lot, and he and Sam are hilarious in the bath together as they were tonight. These little moments do make it all worth while. Just. I would be lying if I denied we'd considered the Ebay option on several occasions, both for Sam and Max.
Harv, on the other hand, despite the usual very-occasional preteenage strops, he's been an absolute brick, helping out with everything from looking after his brothers to waiting tables at weddings. (As a small gesture of thanks we bought him a mountain board, and we thank the gods he hasn't broken a limb yet, as we'd be up sh1t-creek without him...come to think of it, maybe we should have got him some Meccano?) Harv – you are a star.
Still, Harv and Sam are now back at school, and Max starts nursery for 3 mornings a week next month, so we'll soon see if we suddenly feel like we have oodles of lee-zure time. As if...
And right on cue, that's Max grumbling on the monitor...will correct mistakes tomorrow!
OK. Let's get something straight right at the outset. I'm no crusty vegan with a chip (no pun intended – see below) on each shoulder. I see myself as practical, direct, even business-minded if I'm going to be hard on myself. I'm not the kind of person who would smash up his TV and recycle the plastic into comfortable clothing. I like my TV. It's mine. Smash your own if it makes you feel better.
But any clear-headed business-minded idiot can see that grinding this planet under our go-gett'em heels does not make good long-term business sense.
When I lived in Bristol, I did my bit. I turned off lights, was careful with water, insulated my loft and windows, bought low-energy bulbs, I recycled. No big deal. But there was never any doubt in my mind that I was anything but a burden to the home-world. Maybe the damage I inflicted was smaller than it could have been, but it was there none the less. And those frequent flights to far-off places didn't help either.
Nevertheless, I slept well. Sure, I saw the same TV programs as everyone else that talked about 'zero carbon lifestyles' but they only served to emphasise how fantastical and impractical that kind of life is. No, you can't live in the real world and save the planet too. C'est la vie, n'est pas?
Now I am lucky enough to live in a beautiful place with lots of space. Lots of space, lots of trees, lots of fresh air. Lots of cold fresh air, lots of driving rain, lots of big horrible gas bills. Yes, finally, ecology has grabbed me by the short and curlies, and I have seen the light. After three winters of forking out huge sums of money because I'm single-handedly burning a big hole in Siberia's gas reserves, I have decided that enough is enough. I cannot go on raping Planet Earth any longer. It's too bloody expensive.
The road to ecological enlightenment
So, no altruistic desire to save tonnes of carbon has driven me to this point, but a simple matter of economics.
However, the scary thing is that once you start along the road to enlightenment, there is no going back. Once you start to do the calculations and realise how positively vile you are being to the environment around you, it's hard to ignore. Sure, I could switch to diesel oil and save a quid or two, but it's no longer enough to save money. Now I want it all. I want lower bills and a cleaner planet.
Read a bit more, study a bit more, and that isn't enough either. Now I know what I really really want. And I want it very badly.
Oh, to be a carbon-negative superhero
Yes, I've made the decision, and that's the end of it. V tries to understand, of course, sympathise even. But then she sees the amount of stress I am under and wonders, rightly, if the very small effect I will have is really worth the effort. Might I not be happier spending more time with the kids, more time on my tractor, more time drinking Chianti? Naturally, she's not actually said any of this. And she might not be thinking any of this. It's probably just the voices in my head. The same voices, by the way, that got me all steamed up in the first place. And they may have a point (so might Verity, but she'll have to tell you that herself – I could ask but I'm afraid I won't like the answer).
But this is what I do. I have big ideas that are very difficult to realise and therefore highly stressful to live with, big ideas that are not always successful. I fret, it stress, I have shout at suppliers, I rant about how unfair life is (see below), stress a bit more, moan a lot more, shout at the kids a bit, and eventually get on with it.
But this time, I may, on behalf of the planet, our children, and our children's children, etc., have bitten off more than I can chew.
The Plan
OK, those of you who have seen Patrignone know it is quite big. During the summer when we're full, we get through many many buckets of hot water every morning and evening. Sight-seeing is a dry and dusty business, and after a day at the Uffizzi your hair is bound to smell Renaissancey – beautiful but old and a bit smelly. In the winter, it is cold and wet here. Just to heat the absolute essentials means we burn a big tanker full of gas every month or so.
And yet every year we burn small mountains of olive wood from our pruning. For nothing. And the forests have to be kept clean and thinned out regularly to minimise the risk of forest fires. That wood is burned in open fires...pretty, but a total waste. Hugely inefficient.
So, Phase 1: install a large biomass heating plant designed to efficiently burn wood-chips from shredded olive clippings and surplus wood from the 100 acres of forest we own.
And no, burning biomass does not mean we are adding carbon to the atmosphere, because when you burn wood efficiently you are releasing the carbon trapped by photosynthesis. As long as we replace the wood by growing new stuff, then we are trapping the carbon we have released and we will be zero-carbon rated for all our heating and hot water.
Which brings me to Phase 2: install 150 square metres of solar panels to generate 20KW of electricity, all the juice we'll ever need, and more left over to pump back into the grid, so providing clean energy to others.
Put the two together, and it means that we will be completely self-sufficient for all our energy requirements and will have extra energy to sell back to the suppliers to make us carbon negative.
Cool, or what?
And my cunning plan does not stop there, as I plan to reinvest any savings and by more photovoltaic panels, or even a biomass electricity generator, so that I can generate even more green energy.
Not something you can do from a terraced house in Bristol, or a flat in London, or loft in New York, or most places where people live. But I am in a unique position. I have plenty of space and natural resources (sun, trees).
But there is a deep gulf between the thinking and the doing, and this great chasm must be filled before I am deemed worthy of this Holy Grail. And it must be filled with a great deal of money.
Bloody money
Yes, saving the planet don't come cheap. Total cost? Somewhere in the region of €250k to €300k ($350k-$400k) for phases 1& 2. The payback time is around 10 years, which means that going to the Italian banks and borrowing money from them is financial suicide for the project (money in Italy is very expensive). I am applying for EU grants via the local schemes in Florence but they will only pay a fraction of the cost, the paperwork is a bureaucratic nightmare and expensive, and the chances of success are slim.
Selling the dream
So, my next step was to contact a few carbon-offset companies. These companies invest in 'green' projects worldwide, and then sell the 'carbon credits' to corporate giants who need to salve their ecological guilt by buying credits to set against the horrendous damage they are doing elsewhere.
But my project doesn't qualify. For starters, most of these funds have to invest in projects in developing countries. Although Italy is becoming more 3rd-world every day, it's not there yet, al least, not officially. Reforestation project in the Amazon: cool. Renewable energy in Tuscany: cute, but not cool.
Also, my ecological cajones just aren't big enough. The reams of paperwork involved to make sure the funds invested aren't siphoned off to buy arms for the local militia or some drug-baron's new speed boat are severe, which means the projects have to be large before they are worth the overheads. I am a mere snowflake in their eco-blizzard. Simply not worth the effort.
Don't get me wrong. Of course the developing countries should get more help.
But I can't help feeling that something is very wrong. Large sums of money are being paid to agents, monitoring agencies, project managers, and the carbon-offset funds themselves, all of which need to make a decent profit to stay in business, or at the very least, pay for offices and staff to keep the machine working.
And yet, my small project will pay for itself in 10 years or so. That means that the money invested now will be ready to reinvest in a similar project in just 10 years. It doesn't need any special monitoring as anyone can pop in and have a look any time they like (coming to Tuscany is not like popping over to the Congo). And since the Florentine-Sienese wars finished in the 1500's (btw I didn't know this – I had to look it up on Wiki) there are very few risks for a project like this.
Act small, think big
Safe, reliable, sustainable, long-term, and easy when given a bit of cash. OK, small yes, but what if there were 100 farmers like me willing to do the same thing? What if there were 1000? 10,000? There are 2.5 million farms in Italy alone. 10 million + in Europe. 2 million+ in the USA. Farming is hard and largely unprofitable without massive subsidies. And yet what do all these farms have in common? Space, sun and organic fuel or biomass.
Surely some bright spark out there can find a way to get enough cash to just a small fraction of these farms? A safe investment with the capital repaid in 10 years, and you get to help save the planet. Bargain!
That's not a bad deal. If someone had said to me, back when I was living in my terraced house in Bristol, "Hey lard-arse, recycling isn't enough. So how about you put some money in this here 'savings' account? You won't earn any interest, but you can take your money out when you like, and you are actually doing something positive towards cutting greenhouse emissions. Oh, and you get to keep your TV." Being as tight as they come, I might not have put all my savings there, but I might have put some of it.
So where next?
Honestly? I'm not sure. I am determined to make this happen, or have a heart attack trying. If I get a grant I'm 20% of the way there. Getting the rest could be tricky, but I'm not done yet...
I plan to make some noise via Facebook and Twitter, shake a few trees and see if anyone comes up with any bright ideas. Someone has even suggested starting my own fund to collect cash on behalf of small investors and invest them in local schemes, but I think I have enough on my plate as it is.
When I started this blog entry in October (yes, my completer/finisher skills had taken a bit of beating recently) we were looking forward to a long winter break, some quality family time, plenty of crappy films, lots of cake. Since then three months have gone by, and we are open for guests in just 11 weeks. THAT IS JUST NOT LONG ENOUGH! I'll grant you, we have had lots of family time, lots of cake (you should see my belly), and lots of crappy films (God bless Kung Fu Panda). But I've not managed to get much of my big project done so far – getting us energy self-sufficient with solar electricity and bio-mass powered heat. More on that later. Because I'm forgetting something, I know I am. Something important, something big...some reason why I can think straight through lack of sleep. Oh, how silly of me. I remember now.
The baby
Yes, baby Max joined us just a few days after I started this entry back in October. I won't bother regurgitating the never-ending struggle with had with the hospital staff. It's ancient history now. Needless to say V has said "enough is enough", girl or no girl, I have recorded her statement, had it witnessed in front of a notary, and locked the evidence where she can't get to it.
But Max arrived whole, healthy, with a full complement of extremities, and V is fine – that's all that counts. He was a teeny weenie thing when he was born, under 3kg (that's less than a bag and a half of sugar in old money), teeny weenie hands, teeny weenie feets, big head (not a looker I'll grant you – we have no deluded ideas that he might wine any cute baby competitions or earn us any extra cash modelling, worse luck)...I could almost hold him in the palm of my hand.
Not now. No siree. Max is now a brute of a thing. Big. Really big. Remember Insectosaurus in Monsters V's Aliens? Bigger. V has a hard time keeping up and feels like she is being sucked inside out most of the time, but that's nature for you. He's gone from a wee thing on the 23rd percentile to a monster on the 91st percentile in three short months.
V is worried that she's over-feeding him, but I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what he needs, and makes sure we know it. And anyway, how else is V supposed to get through 7 seasons of Sex and the City? I wonder if this is the correct way to subliminally educate a baby...but V is bored of ER, so I guess he's not going to grow up a doctor. Oh well...
Harv, though initially not over-enthusiastic about having another little runt to annoy him (and I can see his point), is now a major help and shows wisdom and maturity well beyond his years. Most of the time. Sam hasn't tried to murder Max yet, but to the most part is pretty ambivalent, though he does surprise us with occasional shows of very cute affection. But he gets bored very quickly, and doesn't yet comprehend that this thing that eats, poos and sleeps (in that order) is soon going to be his very own little brother, someone to play with and torment in equal measure.
All in all, we couldn't be much happier. Max is sweet natured, smiles a lot, and has trained us to respond to his cute smiles and noises rather well. He doesn't cry much, and rarely 'purple-screams', something Sam would do regularly, just for kicks. We're tired, and today we're all home with bad colds so we're feeling a bit jaded, but all in all, things are going well.
Mustn't grumble, eh? Clear it, and they will come...
Despite having a new baby to wear us down, I have managed to get one big project finished this winter. Those of you who have been here before might be aware that well beyond the swimming pool there's an old olive grove, abandoned 70 years ago. It was so overgrown that it was almost impossible to walk through it, filled as it was with lethally spiny bushes wielding 3" wooden spines that would puncture anything short of sheet steel. Even getting the tractor near it was next to impossible. And yet, from above, one could easily see the olive trees poking up above the 3m high brush. This is no small field either. About 5ha (15 acres) by my reckoning.
And it needed to be cleared. Land that is left to go wild can soon find itself reclassified as forest, and if that happened here our ability to grow anything except trees would be lost forever. So one misty morning, armed with my tractor, chainsaws, and 15 tonne excavator (it's big, really big, and very cool) me, my friend Ettore, his brother Stefano, and his cuz Mauro set off for the bottom field to see what could do in 2 weeks.
It was carnage. Image a bloody medieval battle, with all the hacking, gouging and gutting that goes on. This was nothing like that. But imagine instead the sound of heavy machinery bouncing back off the hillside, the insistent constant whine of chainsaws, and the constant smell of diesel fumes. We worked like maniacs, often into the dark (until we realised that walking back up to the house in the pitch black was more dangerous than juggling chainsaws).
By Saturday night when we took stock of what we had done, and what was left to do, we were amazed. The equipment had taken a pummelling (the digger broke down twice and my tractor managed to impale itself on a tree stump, though its injuries weren't fatal) but we'd cleared almost 3ha and resurrected the most beautiful olive grove. Many of the original trees were long dead, but we managed to recover around 100 old trees that, with some heavy pruning, should bear fruit again in 2 or three years. We also found a couple of rows of the original frees they used to use to hang grape vines on (before they started using poles and wires like they do now), with the ancient dead vines still in the ground. We cleared nearly 200m of old dry-stone wall, with some of these walls 2m high...how on earth did they build these things? It must have taken them years! And we may have found an old spring, though we have yet to finish clearing it properly.
On the Monday we moved up the hill a little to start clearing some more rows of olives...and then the rain came. You can't work with heavy machinery in the rain, way too dangerous, especially on the kind of slopes we have here. So we packed up our tools and called it a day. It didn't stop raining for a month, and even now the ground is way too wet to risk going back there in the tractor, but give me a couple of dry weeks and we will head on down there to finish up. I think we only need a couple or four more days, and a field that once looked beautiful 70 years ago will look beautiful once again.
[I'll post some pictures here as soon as I have found them!] And the olives?
In a word, disappointing. We only managed to press 350 litre of oil this year, a third of what we managed last year. Everyone else is in a similar boat, so expect olive oil prices to shoot up everywhere, but when we are such a small producer in the first place, having so little oil is upsetting. We should be fine...there should be plenty to go around, but my hopes of establishing strong links with one or two large buyers is on ice, as no one, no matter how forgiving, can really plan their business from one year to the next when their supply is so erratic. I will need to plant more trees and slowly build up my supply capability before I can seriously position myself as a reliable supplier.
And why was the harvest so poor? Apparently, a strong wind blew in from the sea during the flowering season, and this salty breeze damages the flowers and prevents fertilisation. Allegedly. I know I lost at least 15% of my crop during a hail storm, and this may have been an under-estimate. Plus we had the longest hottest summer in 100 years, and that stopped the olives from growing and maturing. Take your pick.
Still the upside is that the oil is lovely: nowhere near as biting as last year's, but a warm, mellow flavour that I am very happy with.
What else?
Well, Sam started school. Traumatic. The first day was hard. Leaving your screaming little boy behind is unbelievably hard, torture. It is amazing how well are programmed to protect the little sods. The pull is visceral and real, and the need to hang about outside listening to him cry in the hope that he'll stop was too great. So wait I did...and wait....and wait...and after about 3 whole minutes, he stopped. Thank God. And when, as I went back to collect him a couple of hours later, he started screaming blue murder the minute he saw me, how bad did I feel? Quite bad, actually. Again, pure programming, my genetic memory saying "don't you ever leave the carrier of your genes with strangers who might eat him or feed him to sabre-tooth tigers".
But all is fine now, of course. He loves school, is slowly starting to learn the language, and is picking up lots of annoying bad habits from some of the spoilt Italian kids in his class. To be expected.
Kim left us at the end of October. That was really hard...tears all round on that one. She had become a real part of the family and we miss here sorely. However, as I speak V is organising our 1 week of holiday and if all goes to plan, we're going over to France to ski for a week in the same town where Kim is working, so we'll get the chance to catch up with her properly. We wish her good luck cruising the seven seas in super-yachts next year...and why wouldn't you!? Good effort.
Actually, I don't have the heart to bore you with my woes on the heating plant and solar energy front, so I'll save that one until I have some good news for you.
Meanwhile, the weather this winter has been atrocious. Not much of the lovely snow you've all been telling us about (lucky sods) but weeks and weeks of torrential rain. The Christmas break was particularly horrendous, but here is a shot I took when we did get a bit of the lovely white stuff.
I know I promised to keep my blog regular (sounds somewhat intestinal, but needn't be), but I'm sorry, it just can't be done. Even as I write this I have a pretty good idea that it'll never get finished and published today, perhaps never, for the following reasons:
There is quite a lot to say, and I am inclined to ramble and get distracted easily (as you can see)
There are lots of photos to find (and my 'photos to be sorted folder' contains nearly 14 gig of crap to sort through)
V could explode at any moment which means the next time I'll get a few hours free to indulge myself in blogging could be late spring...2012
So I'll try not to deviate or repeat myself. Fat chance.
PS Of course, it's a couple of days later, and in the car taking the boyz to school I had a brain-wave...why not write a para or two every other days and just publish?...forget making it look pretty, spell-ckecking...might try and get everything I wrote yesterday ready, publish and be damned....
Hospitals are rubbish. Doctors are lazy. Nurses are useless.
I generalise of course. If you are nurse, or a doctor, or a hospital, I probably don't mean you. If on the other hand, you live or work in the area of Poggibonsi, then your chances of getting caught in the crossfire are increasing. And if you happen to work at Poggi hospital, don't come anywhere near me as I may just stove your head in for the fun of it, even if you work in the café. It wouldn't do much for you (especially after V has jumped up and down on your life-less carcass a few times), I know, but we would feel a whole lot better. Actually, that would be bliss. Any volunteers?
As we all know, V is expecting. She's due quite soon now and we have a preliminary date for the caesarean of 19th October. Our GP here recommended that we go to Poggibonsi hospital because their obs & gynae (sp?) department is supposed to be one of the best in Italy. Good to know.
And you know what, I am sure most of the doctors there are brilliant. We have certainly met a couple of really excellent ones. Our problem is that we've seen rather too many docs since V got preggars, over 7 that I can remember. And the system here means that although someone is supposed to be following our case, no one has to. So they don't. It makes the NHS look like Nirvana. The doctors run the show completely, and if ever you want proof that doctors make useless administrators, this hospital is it. So if your first doctor happens to be a useless piece of ### that really doesn't enjoy or care about her job in any way shape or form, then you can find yourself in deep shite. Because our first two visits were with a doctor so lazy and indifferent that she really honestly didn't care what happened to us or the baby, from then on we were invisible. We tried to get ourselves back in a sound footing by changing to a better doctor (one that had been recommended to us), but by then it was too late. We were out of the loop, in between the cracks, down the drain.
Now this wasn't a big problem when everything was hunky dory, but during a routine scan they found that V's amniotic fluid levels was too low, and that's when we really started to wish we were having this baby back in the UK. No one, but no one, wanted to take personal responsibility for our case and see it through. This means that every time we had a bank of tests (and there have been lots) the doctor reviewing our notes would be a different one, with a different view. But that doctor would not want (nor have to) make any decision whatsoever because we weren't his/her patient. And when we asked who's patient we were, we'd be told it didn't work like that, and that we weren't allocated a specific doctor. Catch 22. So no one ever had to make a decision because they could all claim that they were not our doctor.
You also have to picture a medical system based on a semi-feudal hierarchy, with the doctors, with their vast intellects and infinite knowledge (because they are doctors and went to university) lording it over the lowly patients and support staff, who, quite frankly are way too stupid (because they are not doctors) to understand what is going on and should consider themselves blessed by God to have even 5 minutes of time with such superior beings. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you, oh great ones.
This attitude is, of course, passed on to all those who work in the hospital so that at almost every point of contact, from doctor to nurse to admin, you'll find yourself on the end if the same arrogant, condescending attitude. It's a real eye-opener. There's not a hospital in the UK that would last 5 minutes without being ripped to shreds by the press, or the staff, or the patients if they behaved like this. But here, I think people must assume that the more arrogant the staff, the better the hospital.
Last Friday was almost the final straw. We'd been into hospital on the Wednesday for more blood work, swabs, scans, ECGs, you name it. We hadn't been given or explained any of the results. We saw useless-idiot 'dottoressa' (the doc that we'd seen on our first two visits) who flicked through the results, and said she couldn't make any decisions because we weren't her patient (though clearly we were more her patient than anyone else's). Bear in mind that V was 36 weeks gone and needed a date for her caesarean. When I pressed her and asked her to at least look at the timetables and book us a preliminary slot, the look on her face was a picture. Honestly, unless my Italian is worse than I thought, I really didn't ask her to eat ### or to take a dive out of the 4th story window she was sat next to. Once her mild shock at being asked to do something had worn off (didn't take long), she told us to come back on Friday to see the doctor who might be carrying out the caesarean. No appointment, just come along and try and get 5 minutes with him. We knew this was dodgy as, but what could we do?
We had an appointment with the anaesthetist on the Friday in any case, so we went along. The anaesthetist was miraculous. I say 'miraculous': he didn't walk on water, raise the dead, bring world piece, etc. But he was thorough (was the first doctor to take us though all V's test results and explain each one, and it wasn't even his job to do so), extremely gentle, courteous...the first really patient-focused doctor we'd seen, and it was a blessed relief, I'll tell you. The next two hours weren't so encouraging. We waited, and waited, and waited. We tried to leave a note for the doctor with the nurse in charge, asking him to call us so we could come back when he was less busy. But the nurse looked at me like I was insane, as if to ask a doctor to call a patient was tantamount to calling the doctor's mother a camel. (It is considered quite bad form to call anyone's mother a camel in Italy. Apparently.) Rather than risk the doctor's subsequent wrath (and possibly endangering the lives of her, her family, all her friends, possibly everyone she's ever met) by giving the doctor a note, she repeatedly went looking for him to ask him to see us. He was clearly very busy, and we were perfectly willing to come back another time, but sure enough the doc finally came to see us.
And boy was he pissed.
We rushed us down a corridor to a room with a scanner (which didn't work well as a piece of theatre because V don't rush, no way, no how), and while he scanned her he proceeded to rant about his extremely busy and nightmarish day. It truly was horrendous, I'll grant you. And then moaned about how he can't be expected to interrupt his schedule and see anyone who just turns up. Good point I thought. V was nearly in tears at this point, but I don't think it was out of sympathy towards the doc. I'm pretty sure it wasn't. But then I told him how his crappy colleague had told us to come and see him, without an appointment, and how it was her fault, not ours, that we were here at all. And I asked him what other course of action we should have followed? A very pregnant mother who, according to the doc who gave her the last scan, needed watching very carefully. No date booked for a caesarean then needed to be performed in no less than 2-3 weeks. No medical person (doctor, nurse, or midwife) we could talk to help us get on track. Exactly what was the right way for us to go? What alternative (and perhaps more proper) course of action should we have followed?
At this point the doctor calmed down a bit, and actually apologised. He then took us to an office, gave us an appointment for next week, and even gave us date for the caesarean.
Amazing. After 2.5 hours of considerable stress (one of the things all the docs have told V to avoid), and some considerable, semi-heated Italian-style 'discussion', we had exactly what we came for and could go home. Well, actually, we went out for our last supper alone for quite some time. Very nice fish restaurant in Poggi. Brilliant in fact. Lovely salmon carpaccio, amazing sword-fish...sorry, I digress.
And by the way, this doctor is one of the good ones. He actually seems to care. And he's thorough, and when he's not stressed, over-tired, over-worked and annoyed, he really is very pleasant.
But like all the docs here, he's working within a system so dependent on those at the very top (the docs) to make all the decisions, that no one else is willing to take any responsibility, and the docs themselves will duck additional work almost at any cost. Some of the docs, after you've harangued them for the right length of time, will do the right thing and actually help their patients, while others just don't care. Maybe they did one day, maybe they did once care about being good doctors, and the system has beaten it out of them. Don't know. What I do know is that I intend to be as pushy and irritating (I can do pushy, and I could have been an Olympic irritator – it's a gift, ask V) as I need to be to make sure everything happens as best it can. Or maybe we just need to learn to bend over and take it like an Italian...?
I don't think so.
A house in the trees
Ever since we moved out here we've been talking about building a tree house for Harv. Of course, with everything else that's been going on, a shed in the trees has always slipped down the priority list. But one evening, while Harv was in the UK and I was out with my cousin Marcello having a pizza, I mentioned the idea to him. And that was that. Oh, did I tell you he's builds kids furniture for local kids hospitals, custom kitchens, etc? Hand bloke to have around. Over the next hour we had some ideas down on paper. I then worked out some detailed plans and measurements, bought the wood, and one hot Wednesday in August, we started work.
[End of day one]
It took three days of extremely hard labour, and Harv worked right alongside us the whole time, building some muscles he'd never had before in the process. Marcello was amazing, and knew exactly what to do every step of the way. Friday evening and the job was done.
[day2]
[The team]
[Day 3]
[Harv taking Sam up for the first time]
Harv and some of his school mates slept out in it on Saturday night, cooked salciccia on a camp fire, and went wild in the woods until (by way of a walkie-talkie) I told them to shut up and go to sleep. But it was good seeing them all go native in the fresh air.
Stories from Tuscany
To come next time I write....
Manic summer and the heat
Worrying olives
School for Sam
Bookings for next year
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Finally. A bit of peace.
Sorry for the hideous gap between posts. It really was my intention, deluded though it may have been, to post every week. Fat chance. I have tried a couple times, but take last Thursday, for example. I asked V and Kim to look after dinner on their own so that I could babysit and get some writing done at the same time. Made the fatal error of 'popping' into the office to just check email one last time, and found 16 emails I needed to reply to. So as Kim and V were sitting down to a hard-earned glass of Vin Santo (a small one in V's case) near 11 o'clock, I was still furiously tapping away putting the last of the enquires to bed.
You see, 11pm here is early afternoon is the US, so while I'm about to collapse in a sweaty heap, they're just getting going. So I reply to an enquiry feeling all sleepy and floppy, hoping that'll keep them quiet for a few hours, but before I get a chance to log off and sneak out of the office I get a perky and enthusiastic reply back with twice as many questions as they asked the first time! Have a heart!
I guess I shouldn't grumble, and in fact I'm pretty sure I'm not. (Or am I?) We're already picking up some great bookings for next year, and those are the kind of things that mean I'll be able to put my new biomass heating system in this winter and still afford to feed the dogs (rather than eat them).
Anyway…tonight V and Kim and Lucy are cooking up a storm, so I'll try and get some stuff published and add the photos tomorrow. Onwards. [Though need a beer first.]
And now, the weather
Fcuk, it's hot. Really really hot. It's dark outside (9pm here), and I swear it must still be in the 30's outside (that's nearly 90 to any Shermans out there in Blogville). Yes, the guests are loving it. Yes, the kids are loving it too when they can get in the pool (which by the way, is like warm tea). I don't mind it at 6.30 when I get to take Sam to the pool for a swim, but frankly, the rest of the time it's a major pain. My office is like a really dirty, untidy oven in need to some serious filing (there, sadly, the analogy is a little thin). And unfortunately (see non-grumble above) I am spending rather a lot of time in my steamy cell at the mo, so it's hard to get outside. And even if I could get out, the land is bone dry and harder than Harvey's Italian homework, so completely unworkable. We need some rain out there pretty badly, but the forecast is for sun, sun, and more sun, though hopefully the temps shouldn't be quite so punishing.
[Now that's what I'm talking about – just been brought a plate of V's broccoli orecchiette by Harv – starvin'!]
Of course, all this heat is even harder on V, who is at least 2 or 3 degrees C hotter then everyone else; a normal side-effect of being consumed from the inside out by our as yet un-named parasitic offspring. It also means it's a little bit like having a quite sizeable (though I hasten to add her bum is still in great shape) hot-water bottle in bed with me, at a time when a hot water bottle (especially one that has to shift and change position every few minutes…again, struggling with my analogies this evening…more beer) is somewhere near bottom of the list of things I'd like in bed with me on a hot, sultry mid-summers night. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers.
Dogs
The dogs are a bit poorly today. They rather stupidly followed a guest on a run that took them onto the Poggi-Castellina road (!!) before they decided they'd bitten off more than they could chew and decided to head back. They've both lost large chunks of skin from their paws and are hobbling around feeling very sorry for themselves. No chasing cars for a while. Poor stupid mutts.
But at least they are alive. Anyone following my equally infrequent Twitter/Facebook entries recently will know that these dogs have been skating on thin ice recently. They have always barked at night. Those cheeky pesky night-time critters know the doggies are well and truly locked up, and do tend to tease them somewhat. One night when the dogs were going more nuts than usual and I was on my way out to terminate their all-too-short lives I found a porcupine digging up stuffright outside their kennel! I mean! Fair's fair! That's just plain cruel! No wonder they were going ape!
Anyway, a couple of weeks back we had four nights in a row when the dogs woke us up every half hour. No amount of beating with a heavy steel rod would shut them up. I was seriously considering the shallow-grave option, but we decided to risk letting them loose all night instead. See if they would go and bark elsewhere, like deep in the woods maybe?
First night: OK, so they weren't barking outside our window, but we could definitely hear them barking outside someone's window. So we slept even less because we were worrying about how many of our guests were going to bawl us out the next morning and demand a full refund or Lola's head on a silver platter. As it happens, I tentatively asked each and every guest, and not one of them complained of losing sleep. The cheerful bastards! So second night V and I did hear them, but we weren't nearly so worried so we slept better. And the third night, we heard them even less. Great! Carla's theory was that the dogs would scare all the critters away and that these night-time beasties would then learn to keep their distance from the house. This in turn would lead to less barking. Everyone wins.
Except that on the forth night a poor young couple who had to be up at 4am to drive to Rome were in fact woken at 1am by an excitable Charlie who'd found a hedgehog in the Tinaia garden, and said hedgehog being somewhat spikey and impregnable, so exasperated Charlie that she insisted on barking at the f'ing hedgehog for the next 2 hours (and possibly beyond). The guests were lovely about it, and said it was OK, and they didn't mind too much (likely story), but we can't risk pissing off guests (not too much anyway), so the dogs are once again locked up.
And actually, they've been pretty good since then. I mean, they wake us up at least once a night, but nothing like the all-night barkathons we'd had before. Maybe they got all that chasing-things-in-the-dark business out of their system and are happy to just snooze? We'll see.
Guests
I know I'm not supposed to mention current or recent guests, but someone I used to work with back in my advertising days has just spent the week here with her acquired-by-marriage Irish family. It was lovely to catch up with Jo after several years, and to meet her beautiful kids and wonderful outlaws. They left this morning and we were very sad to see them go. However, I've hunted high and low for any remnants of that bottle of Irish whiskey but the gits must have polished it off! How dare they! Come back! Bring more whiskey!
He's back!
Harv has been in the UK for 3½ very long weeks, but he got back yesterday, and we're all over-the-moon about having him back. None more so than Sam who spent all afternoon climbing all over him and repeatedly hugging him and giving him kisses. Very cute. Welcome back Harv!
The Swallows
They came, they bred, they had four fat chicks, and now they're gone. We still see them all catching bugs all ar
ound the house, but when I looked this evening their nest was empty for the first time. Very sad, though frankly how all six of them managed to fit on one tiny nest I'll never know. But it's been lovely to watch them do their thang from so close up…a new experience for me. Let's hope they make the massive migration to Africa and back without a hitch and all come back to make new babies (and fresh piles of swallow poo) next year. Bye birdies!
No more oil!
Hard to believe, but the last of this year's oil is all boxed up and ready to make it's journey across to Canada. I have around 50 litres of liquid gold left, and that should just about last us the season (as long as no one gets greedy and snaffles more than their fair share). Let's hope November's oil proves just as popular! I have3 or 4 5-litre tins left if anyone wants them...? Going...going...
Well... big for us, that is. And a huge week for the happy couple. And a very happy they are (phew). Yes, our biggest week of the year so far is over. All the planning and tension gone. I'd like to say it's a relief, but the truth of the matter is we had a great time last week. It really was fantastic fun. And getting back to 'normal' life (whatever that means in this highly unpredictable environment) is nice but a bit sad at the same time.
OK, now I know back when I started this blog that I was not going to get personal, that I was going to avoid talking about current or recent guests on the grounds that I might incriminate myself, embarrass people, get sued for libel, and so on. It's going to be quite hard to talk about last week without bringing a few real people into the story, but I'll do my best.
Here comes the bride, and our first foul-up?
So first off the bride and groom arrives. This was a week ago last Sunday. Said hello had a bit of a chat, and then a bit of a panic when another car turns up that we weren't expecting. As they wind down their car windows to say hello, I smile back, and then my heart freezes when I see the arrival instructions I must have sent them at some point.
This is one of the things I fear most of all: the dreaded Booking Cock-up - someone turning up having booked a lovely 2-week stay with us, only we have a wedding party arriving and we're full for the week, for example. So I smile, and try not to look too startled, while I quickly dash back into the office to check just how serious this cock-up is. At this point my heart is beating like a jungle drum and the sweat is starting to gather at the back of my neck. My pants are feelin clammy too - it's hot!
Of course (of course!!??) there is no cock-up, just a slight mis-communication between V and I about a new booking that I had failed to warn V about. In fact, the newbies are here for only 3 nights, and they leave just as the full wedding party arrives. But for a minute, V and I both thought we were going to start our first day of this wedding week with a snafu. That was a close one.
Let's taste some wine
So the next couple of days is taken with me ferrying the B&G around to the British Consulate and the Siena Comune to sign various bits of paperwork. Again, each of these small but significant steps is a potential bear trap, as I approach each hurdle with a not insignificant shortness of breath which I mask by pretending to be unfit (not hard, or even untrue, so not 'pretending' in the strictest sense, or any sense at all). Anyway, the system as it is works well as it usually does, and the small inherent risk that always comes from having a brush with bureaucracy in Italy doesn't in fact cause us any problems. By Tuesday lunchtime, everything is in place, and we know without a shadow of a doubt that barring some natural disaster, there's going to be a wedding on Friday. Breathe.
So that evening, we celebrate by tasting some whites for the wedding receptions. Three bottles, so be precise. So we spend a very pleasant evening under the stars drinking beautiful white wine watch kestrels and bats flying acrobatics over our heads. Mustn't grumble.
The invasion begins
The next day is not quite as relaxing. 28 friends and rellies arrive throughout the day, and meanwhile we're preparing more pizza dough than Patrignone has ever seen in one day. That night everyone gets together and while we try and keep people plied with antipasti and pizza, the two wedding families get together and get to know each other on the Terrace. And you know what, I love making pizza, really I do, but I have now firmly crossed Pizza Chef off my list of potential back-up careers. It's bloody hard work! We churned out 30 pizzas using 2 ovens in around an hour and a half, peanuts compared to most good pizza restaurants! We were knackered by the end of the night!
Still, everyone seemed to have fun, and that's what counts. They app partied until the early hours. We went to bed and slept like corpses.
(Until the f-ing dogs started barking at 4am at some random night-beast in the woods!)
Finally, the big day
Well, to be fair to us, we were pretty well prepared. Ettore had arrived with the lamb(s) the night before, and beautiful it (they) looked too (though, of course, not as beautiful as they would have looked bouncing across summer meadows, but that's life, innit). V had organised the food down to the last detail and was raring to go. The tables and chairs were in place and just needed decorating (just!). The only thing we were missing was a married couple and their entourage to feed.
So I did my bit and took them all to Siena for a wedding. A convoy of 7 cars and a minibus, with me at the front with the bride and her parents, all snaking our way through the tiny streets of central Siena trying reasonable hard not to clip startled tourists as we drove past. There is a pre-defined route that all cars must follow into the Piazza del Campo for a wedding ceremony, and I promise you it is NOT easy. It really is like being a rat in a maze. But when we suddenly rounded a corner and drove right into the Piazza del Campo, well...wow, what a sight. Takes your breath away every time. And driving into it feels so naughty! I pulled up right in front of the Palazzo Publico with the bride, while the other cars parked in the Piazza del Mercato behind: here's an aerial view for you...
So, a short wait outside, the excited procession to the Wedding Chamber in the 1st floor, and then the wedding itself, presided over by the Mayor and translated by yours truly (yes, I was nervous, yes, I did sweat a little, no, it wasn't too bad - no damp pants). I won't go into too much detail because it was their day, not ours, but it was a lovely, moving experience in the most amazing of surroundings, and I felt completely thrilled for them both.
Hello. My name is...
Now the next bit I will talk about because it was pure theatre, pure luck, and pure magic. After the ceremony, lots of cheering, lots of clapping, confetti, smiles, tears, hugs, kisses...and then we all troop off across the Piazza del Campo for a post wedding drink in a bar, cheered by crowds of clapping tourists (thank God they weren't hungry and it could have got nasty). Prosecco and beer, and I'm not ashamed to admit I went for the latter. It was hot!
So, we're all drinking and chatting and smiling, when suddenly there's a bit of a murmur, and it spreads through he group like a Mexican wave, finally getting to me. I stand up to see what the fuss is, and someone says, "You know what, it's really is him! That's Michael Caine!" Sure enough, the G is smiling away and chatting to the most famous British actor of all time. And next, the big man (he really is very tall) is standing up and moving out into the Piazza, to be joined by a very smily B and the G's uncle (official photographer). Photos are taken, Sir Michael shakes hands with the G, kisses the B, and waves to us all as we clap and cheer from our tables before returning to his table. Very cool. What a nice bloke. The G told me later that this is more than a special moment for him. Mr.C. has been his idol since he was a small boy, and he even has a large canvas picture of him in his flat at home. To meet Sir M ever would be a privilege, but to bump into him in a bar on the Piazza del Campo, 20 minutes after he's got married, and have a wedding photo taken with Alfred himself? Not possible. The G said he's just had the two best moments of his entire life in a half-hour period, luckily, in the right order.
Amazing.
[Photo copyright Patrick White 2009]
Food, more food, and a party
The reception in the afternoon was a breeze. It was bloody hot out on the Terrace, but there was breeze to cool things off, and plenty of ice-cold wine and water. V put on a fantastic wedding banquet, half a dozen different hors d'oeuvres and antipasti, home-made ravioli, fresh Sardinian lamb, Kim's amazing lemon tart...all spread out over around 4 hours or more. I was head waiter, and I swear I must have walked around 10 miles. I can't really do the plate-balancing thing too well (never head silver-service training) so that increased the number of trips needed significantly. And there would have been a whole load more too if the helpful guests hadn't helped by stacking plates for me! They were all so sweet!
And then, once we'd cleared everything up, put the final plate in the dish-washer, polished the last glass, and straightened the last chair, we collapsed. A shower, feet up on the sofa, a large icy screwdriver (not my usual, but it was all I could lay my hands on with minimal effort).
Then V went to bed, while I popped over to the party in the woods to say hello and have a quick drink before I hit the hay. Only, it didn't quite turn out that way. People kept giving me beers, more beers, Prosecco, more beer, and so on, which meant I didn't get to bed until 2am, and by then I already had a headache!
And Sam woke at 6.30am, little darling, so V had a bit of a lie-in while me and Sam watched Charlie and Lola on TV.
Since then....
Well, of course it's nice to get back into a more evenly paced existence, but you know what? I really liked being flat out, 100, 100 degrees hot manic for a while, and being part of making this week such a special one for the B&G is a big buzz, more fun even than winning a big advertising pitch back in the old days. We all felt very proud of the work we'd done and enriched by the people we'd met. We'd got though the biggest week of the year with flying colours, and had fun in the process. Now that I like.
I'll post a few pictures with this when I get a mo...now fly away, little blog, fly.
OK, this is probably going to be a short entry, and there may not be another for a while. We have a big wedding here next week...well, big-ish...OK, not that big really, but we're still 'brickin' it' (as they say back in ol'Blighteh) a little. It's not that we're not well, organised, or that we're not on control, or that we're worried much about the practicalities. There will be a wedding (at which I will act as official translator, and despite years of doing large stressful business presentations to many big important people, I will probably be extremely nervous and sweat buckets), there will be a reception banquet here on the Terrace for 30 (and V will cook some amazing food, and they will drink not indecent quantities of good Tuscan vino, and everyone will be happy), and there will be a rave in the woods (OK, this isn't usual, but each to their own and I'm thinking it might be great fun so I'm definitely going). All pretty normal, not especially risky, nothing to get too worried about.
And yet there is the knowledge that this is probably one of the most important days in this young couple's lives thus far, and its success is largely down to us. If we screw up, we ruin their big day, and possibly their entire lives. One slip from us and they probably get divorced in three weeks, she looses her job and ends up working in a supermarket, he gets a serious alcohol habit and a gambling habit to boot and ends up penniless and destitute.
That's a lot of responsibility. A lot. Of responsibility. It's a BIG deal. And this is what is making us nervous with less than a week to go (err...actually 3 days now - yikes!). So we have had two project management meetings in two days, have several charts and tables, and many many lists. And if one small thing slips through the crack, someone is going to pay.
Anyway, if you don't hear from me for another 10 days or more, it's either because it all went really well and we had a few days down-time (ha!) after the wedding to recover, or it's because I cracked under the strain, went to the rave in the woods, and have not been seen since (though I'll let everyone know I'm OK by howling from the woods every now and then...I wouldn't want V to worry, that would be inconsiderate.) (PS So far so good! All paperwork for the couple is in order and they love it here. The rest of the party arrives tomorrow...should be fun!)
Other news?
I did say this is going to be a short entry, and I meant it. So here's a brief summery of other stuff that's happened:
Just shipped my first small shipment of oil to a deli opening in Vancouver. There was a tear in my eye as the courier took the tins away...make be proud boys, make me proud. [By the way, the tins are male, the bottles female...is this wrong?] Also packed another 10 tins off to Kathleen today - those East Coasters are hooked good and proper. I bet they've started smoking it, or even main-lining it maybe...they are HARD-CORE.
Big winds last Friday night ruined my planned quiet Saturday by pulling down a huge chunk of the lovely wisteria on the corner of the Villa, which also took down the drain pipe it happened to be tightly coiled around. So I spent my Saturday (with the help of Kimbers) hacking the felled wisteria and replacing the drain pipe. Both are now doing fine.
As is V. According to the Beeb the alien parasite is 25cm long. It's still rather quiet, and this is leading V to mistakenly believe it's a sweet quiet girl. Fat chance. The women in my family aren't a meek and quiet lot. So it's a boy, bound to be, just maybe the quiet thoughtful type?...naa, they don't run in the family either. We'll find out soon enough.
V ran her first Tuscan cookery class a couple of weeks back and all went swimmingly, though I can't say I was a huge fan of the grappa panna cotta. Definitely had a certain kick to it.
Our two lots of nesting swallows are both not keeping eggs warm. Cat hasn't shown much interest yet, but maybe she's waiting for the nest to produce something more filling?
OK, forgot to press 'publish' when I wrote this [idiot - Ed] so sorry it's a bit late!
Oh, and here's that interesting paragraph again. Thank you for all those who took the time and considerable effort to comment on how it was, by far, the most interesting part of last week's blog. This one [wink, wink] is for you...
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