Could be the last for some time

It is looking increasingly like I shall not be able to post for a week or so. The availability of this computer is running out with a high influx of visitors. I'll try though.

[ave maria] and italian national bell ringing day

The above sketch is a not very good attempt at conveying the scene on this clifftop. In reality, it is far steeper than shown, more crowded, with narrower streets and not as regular. By the way, if Piazza is “square”, then why is it a triangle?

The road is either cobblestone or pitch and where it is the latter, it’s been rubbed smooth and shiny by tyre tracks and oil, so you can imagine the behaviour of the cars. The 25cm x 35cm stones, making up the pathways and squares, have also been worn smooth and one imagines one fall of rain for an ice rink effect, particularly fun as the square has a gradient of about 1 in 10.

Picturesque? Painfully so and the irregular angles are like something out of an art student’s perspective class or else something from Escher.

Last evening, to drown the sorrows, I went down to M. Bassa and sat, for a while, in Santa Maria di Betlem. You want outrageous baroque? There it is inside. If you’re suffering from church fatigue in your travels, this would cure it. I hope no one from Modica is reading this because … shhhhh … don’t tell anyone but SMdiB is better inside than St George’s or any of the others I’ve seen.

Just now, as I write, sitting on the bed, with the pillow up against the bedhead behind and the Mac on one knee, the bloody bell across the narrow street has started its maniacal ringing. Wouldn’t mind if it was playing a tune but someone in there is just bashing the hell out of it, which is probably the general idea.

Actually, it is quite disconcerting popping out for one’s elevenses and coming face to face with a priest in the middle of the slick, pitch, downhill car racetrack. “Guorno,” one says, wondering if an “Ave Maria” should have been tacked on to the end of that.

Speaking of Ave Maria, last evening in Santa Maria on Corso Umberto, with a little bar in the adjoining piazza for those souls who can’t face the whole Mass, there were two offputting things.

Firstly, there was a sign with two bouncers nearby and it read, in Italian [yes, I can read Italian now] that visiting the church is suspended due to a service being in progress, which it was. To their credit, the double doors were still wide open, unlike the church in Modica Sorda. Quick check of the French and yes, “suspended” was certainly the translation.

Fair enough, methought. Wedged between these was the quite nasty English version: ‘Visiting the church is forbidenn during the service.’

Lovely, simply lovely for all the English speakers, of which most would have been American. Simply charming, along with those bouncers. I went down the side road looking for the little door to the curia or wherever the clergy hang out and I was going to have a word about that translation.

That’s my mission in life, you realize – to see cra--y translations and write better ones for them. 

I was also, as an afterthought, going to mention to the priest that there was a heck of a lot of calling on the name of Maria during the service and not a lot of Father, Son and the Santa Espirita [that’s how it sounded to me but I’m sure scholars will correct that]. Then it seemed better not to, as the girl with the guitar was really getting into the Ave Marias and I felt a bit naked without my rosary beads. It does seem a very cross-generational community thing, all in all.

Don’t see what the difficulty with Catholicism is, really. All right, a bit lighter on the Mary presence, if you wouldn’t mind and the rosary beads and bits of the true cross take a bit of getting used to but it could be cathartic sitting in a little box recounting your sins to a padre, as in The Seventh Seal.

Everything else seems above board in there – lots of crosses and an altar, a pleasing nave to sit in and a lot of people reciting the catechism. In Latin or Italian – take your pick. And as a heretic to Protestantism [I believe in Purgatory – please, please let there be one, otherwise I’m damned], there seems to be some middle ground. Plus, if we left it to the Protestant clergy to uphold the Word round the world, there’d be precious little Word still being spread. My denomination, the C of E, hasn’t exactly covered itself in glory these past decades.

So to today and I’m afraid it’s time for elevenses, so off for some more adventures on this Italian National Blaring Car Horns and Lots of Interminable Shouting Outside Your Cave Day. As the barman and I agreed yesterday, when everyone crams into cars and goes down to the beach for their festa, we stay up here in town. When they come back in the cooler months, we go down there.

One last chuckle. Yesterday, I complimented three Sicilians who were sitting, eating a meal, on their Italian speaking, as I’m struggling with it a bit. ‘Italian?’ spake the girl. ‘Non, he speaks Ragusan and this one speaks Modica Altan.’

‘Oh,’ which is better?’ I innocently inquired.

I learnt a lot from the subsequent ‘discussion’, not least that I must learn when to keep the mouth closed – an Italian ‘discussion’ has no use-by date. They are lovely people, the Sicilians of my acquaintance and they do seep into the soul after some time.



The Mount Grace Lady Chapel at Osmotherely

The Mount Grace Lady Chapel at Osmotherely

According to wikipedia: "A Lady chapel is a traditional English term for a chapel inside a cathedral or large church dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Most large medieval churches had such a chapel, as Roman Catholic ones still do, and middle-sized churches often had a side-altar dedicated to Mary".

However, we like to be different in Yorkshire.



"The Mount Grace Lady Chapel in North Yorkshire is a long established place of pilgrimage. It is situated on a hillside above Mount Grace Priory and within walking distance from the picturesque village of Osmotherley in the North York Moors National Park".

"The Lady Chapel originated as an outlying chapel of the nearby Carthusian priory of Mount Grace, now belonging to the National Trust but managed and maintained by English Heritage. The Lady Chapel site is close to the route of the Cleveland Way and provides a panoramic view across the Vale of York towards the Yorkshire Dales and beyond to the Pennines".

Prior to my release from prison in 2004, I had the pleasure of doing community work at The Lady Chapel, whilst on day release from Kirklevington Grange resettlement prison at Yarm in Cleveland. I was fascinated to read about the connection between Hull and the Lady Chapel during the rescusant pilgrimage, when bodies would be carried over the North Yorkshire Moors for secret burials.

"Built in the late fifteenth century the Lady Chapel stands close to a Holy Spring to to which steps ascended from the Carthusian priory of Mount Grace, down in the woods below. At one time the residence of a hermit named Hugh, Lady Chapel became, at the Dissolution, the pension home of the last prior, John Wilson.

Unroofed and deserted during the late sixteenth century, it had become a lively centre of recusant pilgrimage in the early years of James I, and evoked the attention of the Ecclesiastical Commission of the Archbishop of York in 1614. In the reign of Charles I Mary Ward, foundress of the IBVM, went there on pilgrimage, and in the reign of Charles II a full restoration was even considered when Lady Juliana Walmsley established the Franciscans in Osmotherley for the help and support of pilgrims. The Titus Oates Plot and the fall of the Stuarts put an end to that.

As a regular visitor to Osmotherley in the 1750s John Wesley records preaching at the Catholic Chapel in Osmotherley and visiting the ruined chapel on the hill-top. And pilgrims continued to visit the holy spring even after the Franciscan finally withdrew in 1832.

The ruin came back into Catholic hands in 1952, and excavation was made of the floor of the chapel with the possibility of finding burials there, one such possibility being that of Margeret Clitherow who had been secretly buried after her execution in York in 1586. Burials were indeed found in the chapel, but their identities remain unknown.

The chapel was restored by the Scrope and Eldon families. The arms of the families involved are shown in stained glass in the west window of the chapel, illustrated on the left. The chapel was blessed in 1961 by Cardinal Godfrey and reopened as a pilgrimage centre. Shortly afterwards the Franciscans returned to help and support pilgrimages until they withdrew in 1994".

Pearson Park 2

Pearson Park 2

C'mon, hurry up, I want to get into the park...

Rocky chewing something in Pearson Park...

Now which one of these ducks shall I have?

Rocky eating ice cream, Lily and me by the ice cream hut in Pearson Park

[exotic views] plum wine and chicken

[Excuse pics 2-4 – they were taken with the Mac portrait cam which decided it was the day for washed-out sepia, so it seems.]

Last evening the edge went off the heat about 11 p.m. and I went for a climb downhill [there’s no such thing as a stroll here] and found a spot stuck out in space, from where the whole valley can be seen in all its twinkling light. To the right was the Church of St George, also lit up.

It’s exotic all right but I see Jailhouse Lawyer has been pretty active too with exotic pictures of Hull. A Sicilian I was speaking with here wants to get out of here at the first opportunity and go to Britain – it’s exotic, he thinks.

I think my cave [pictured right] is also pretty exotic.

Now to food. Welshcakes had given me a bottle of her plum wine the other evening, by the way and it’s superb with some grapes. She should run a restaurant.

I found I could buy a slice of chicken, some beans and tomatoes and put them together with some parsley and pasta, all for under 3 euros and that makes for the meal of the day today and tomorrow. [The result, for what it’s worth, is to the left]. A glass of beer for 1.5 euros does for the evening meal and the trick is to sleep through breakfast.

The Italian National Holiday is upon us this weekend [this afternoon through to Sunday evening] and there threaten to be fireworks, all kinds of festa and a mass flocking to the beachhouses. Should be good back in the old town with only the Palazzo Faillo [pic above doesn’t do it justice, of course] open for piadini and other delights.

This weekend has a special piquancy for me and I hope your weekend is lovely too.

Pearson park

Pearson park

Pearson park lies about 1 mile (1.5km) northwest of the city centre and was the first public park to be opened in Hull. The land for the park was provided in 1860 by Zachariah Charles Pearson (1821-91) to mark his first term as mayor of Hull. He shrewdly retained c.12 acres (5 Ha) of land surrounding the park to build villa residences. Two years later his shrewdness failed him when he bought on credit a large fleet of ships and attempted to run arms through the Federal blockade during the American Civil War (1861-65). The venture failed and all his vessels were captured. Financially ruined, Pearson resigned half way through his second term as mayor and spent the last 29 years of his life in obscurity, living in a modest terraced house in a quiet corner of the park which bore his name.

The park, which covers c.23 acres (9 Ha) of land, was designed by James Craig Niven (1828-81), curator of Hull's Botanic Gardens. Features of the park include a small serpentine lake, a broad carriage drive running around the perimeter, and a Victorian-style conservatory (rebuilt in 1930) - all set in well-maintained grounds with plenty of trees and shrubs.

The main entrance to the park, at the end of Pearson Avenue on Beverley Road, is through an elaborate cast-iron gateway created by Young & Pool in c.1863. The gateway, along with several other structures within the park, is now listed as a building of special architectural/historic interest. The other listed structures include:

* the east entrance lodge (number 1) built in 1860-1
* an ornate cast-iron canopied drinking fountain erected in 1864
* the statue of Queen Victoria created by Thomas Earle in 1861
* the statue of Prince Albert created by Thomas Earle in 1868
* the Pearson memorial - an iron-stone monolith featuring a marble relief carving created by William Day Keyworth junior in 1897
* the cupola from Hull's demolished Town Hall built in 1862-66 (erected here in 1912) and
* three surrounding villas (numbers 43, 50 and 54) built in the 1860s

Construction on the villas began as soon as the park was laid out. Most of them remain today including number 32, the top-floor flat of this house owned by the university, which was the home of poet Philip Larkin for 18 years (1956-74).

Commentary: I am glad I looked this up, because I had assumed that the gates must have led to a mansion in the grounds and that at some stage it must have been demolished. I was particularly interested in Zachariah Charles Pearson's role in the American Civil War.

Photo: wikipedia

[south ossetia] not straightforward

This is my post some time back on the matter.

If you have a long border and if on your doorstep is a tinpot demagogue shoring up his own position and gladly accepting largesse from a traditional enemy by oppressing the people loyal to your country, what do you do?

Tell me any country which does not protect its own interests. This is far more complex than is being presented.

[little gems] to ease the perspiring brow

My little car in Mill Hill during my last "troubles"

Interesting being stateless and destitute because it focuses the mind wonderfully in analysing the situation and some things are borne in on you:

1. You’re not really stateless as everyone has some passport and you’re never really destitute because there is always a little left;

2. You’re not without friends and you find out now who your friends are and whom you thought were but turned out not to be. Blog friends have fallen into both camps and one just notes for future reference and passes on. It’s essential to realize the limitations to this. You can’t depend on the very best person for more than a certain time. He or she would allow it at a pinch but you must not and when it’s time, it’s time. One little addendum is that it’s essential to stress that you go with only deep gratitude and a mental note that this kindness is to be repaid asap, not with any ill will of any kind;

3. It’s essential that when you’ve defined your little living space, you first keep it scrupulously clean and tidy, fighting the depression as far as possible and then start to extend your influence in this to the rest of the space around that. Delighted to see we have a bucket and mop at the ready in this place. Also, you start to see hidden benefits, little gems you hadn’t seen at first. For example, the people I’m with are not here and the automatic washing machine, used once in four days, is a boon. That’s not poverty.

If you lose your housepride, you’re dead or dying in my book – this is what I was brought up to believe. Once, camping in the forest, we put up a bivouac of sticks and undergrowth and then I saw the first thing she did was to put together a brush and sweep the place out – a space which had been forest floor up to that point.

Last time I was in this state I still maintained the vehicle in the above photo and used it once in three days for short hops over to Hendon or to drop into Marks and Sparks food store. It cost nothing to keep it washed and people didn’t really believe I was in the state I was but one tank of petrol was to do a month. On Sundays I walked down to a little group at 8 a.m. at a lovely church, St Michaels and All Saints, for communion. My actual address was “The Moorings” – what had been a stately house and had now fallen on hard times. Still, it looked good on paper;

4. You’re not without your things and you probably came away with your triple-head philoshave, laptop, some nice clothes and so on. So you’re really not living without – the ability to do this post now on my Mac and then try to negotiate getting it on to the net comes later, via the usb stick. Should I have to fly next week, unfortunately over half of this has to be left and stored.

5. Routines become sacrosanct. It’s 10 a.m. now and it’s coming up to Elevenses at the hotel. There is a little side bar with really the most friendly faces [and not just for commercial reasons – they’re staff, not the owners although the owners are good people too]. The main thing for me is to be able to converse in Italian, in airconditioned comfort, in beautifully ornate surroundings, to read La Sicilia at leisure and learn, learn, learn and all for very little outlay. I reason that as I’m likely to be a regular here for years, however small each outlay, it will eventually add up. When I start to accrue again, the ante is upped of course.

6. Possibilities do open up if you have some skills, are prepared to find work immediately and do some praying. The worst thing possible is to close yourself off and start chanting woe-is-me – you have to expand contacts – you’re going to need them to help your own friend sooner or later once you’re set up again.

7. Your health is an absolute essential. If you’ve trained in the gym in the recent past, then even though you’ve atrophied a lot, the body does remember and when you exercise again [impossible not to in this hilly terrain], it stands you in good stead. You have to refuse breads and pastries and stick to meat and veg, beer, water and the occasional treat of coffee and chocolate. Lots of water.

You need to get to bed early. I put it to the Sicilians yesterday that they eat at the wrong time – in the middle of the night at 1 a.m. They shook their heads and said no we don’t – we eat at around 10 p.m. when it gets cool and then get to bed as most of us work the next morning early. I’m dropping off about midnight myself and am up at 7 a.m. to do the domestic chores.

Where we do disagree though is in what constitutes a meal. Yesterday I ate with two young ladies and one young man and later I said to one of them that that was my meal for the day. She was horrified – but it was a snack of prosciutto, salad and melon. It was enough for me. A beer in the evening with some nuts is a good supper in my book. I’m not doing pick and shovel work, am I?

8. Lastly, it can all be killed of by the stroke of a bureaucratic, Sword of Damocles, pen of State. You have to recognize reality and certain impossibilities. I have a miniscule retirement fund o/s but first I have to write to them and they must put it to various boards and the thing takes a month but it’s killed off at this moment by the uncertainty of where I’ll be in a week or so from now. Ditto other possibilities which take a longer time than the rate at which the cash is dwindling [slowly but surely].

You can be sure that all possibilities are being explored and attended to and anyway, the thing must resolve itself in the next week, one way or the other – it has to.

The alternative is mindboggling.

What does the jury think?

What does the jury think?

Norfolk Blogger who is a LibDem states the Tories are right on this issue.

Juliet Lyon of Prison Reform Trust states the Tories are wrong on this issue.

What does the jury think?

[count your blessings] it’ll be worse tomorrow

This photo is of Serbia, not Sicily, hence the greenery. Take out the grass and foliage and throw in half a dozen churches and narrow steps running down the hill and you have the part of town I am staying in.

Let me state right up front that there are some wonderful things here:

1. the friendship of people like Welshcakes and others;
2. a most livable cave I’m staying in where the temperature is about 22 degrees when the outside temperature is about 40 and the wind gusts down one’s throat;
3. a lovely hotel nearby where one can relax.

It’s in this spirit I have to warn the reader that what follows is going to sound like unmitigated bleat. On the other hand, posts like the last two are creating the illusion of an idyll which it is anything but. At the risk of blog friendships, I’d prefer the truth to be known – why, for example, I’ve not answered comments, checked my emails or visited you.

Yesterday evening was a perfect example of cause and effect, illustrating that:

1. it only takes one small detail to go wrong and the ramifications can be extensive;
2. there is a “use by date” for every resource, including, energy, health, money and people’s tolerance of you;
3. with the best will in the world, people just can’t, even if they wished to, understand the cause and effect and real implications of one’s situation plus their own is not too hot either and the longer it continues, the more immune they naturally become to wanting to have anything to do with it, fair enough;
4. in the end, you really are on your own unless you can succeed in garnering help from Above;
5. the only face anyone wishes to see is a bright, cheerful one on the other person, whatever the actual circumstances, which becomes less possible as time takes its toll.

Last evening, I was to be met by a friend in the lower town and taken by car to the far end of the city, where I’d meet up with Welshcakes for a natter, visit fellow bloggers, take care of my site, take care of the current need of my friend in Russia [which I can help with as some form of initial recompense] and assure people all is well.

Bear with this, if you would.

Two afternoons ago, I walked, against advice, the two kilometres from this end of town, down the hillside steps to the river course lower town and then the other three kilometres up the far hill to Welshcakes. The result was the upbeat post about hillside beauty.

The distance was nothing and there was no premium on time, so people’s advice that it was crazy to try that stunt in the afternoon heat did not include the real killer – the traffic fumes in the cauldron of narrow streets of the old town in the river bed. They weren’t to know of any allergy, rhinitis and early bronchitis which meant hanging over railings and losing parts of one’s earlier lunch four or five times along the way.

Every action has an effect and even having allowed that paragraph just now, the justified accusation would be that this post is unmitigated bleat, something normal bloggers would never indulge in, British stiff upper lip being more the order of the day.

Maybe so but I sure as hell wasn’t going to repeat that stunt and made an arrangement that Friday’s trek would be done more intelligently. So there I was in the lower town in the fumes, waiting to be collected and as my lift continued not to appear, the bronchial stuff began.

After half an hour of it, it was up the hill again to get away, keeping to the shadows where it was only about 35 degrees and making it, without incident, to the hotel I know, where the positive sides of cause and effect kicked in:

1. I could buy a lovely cold beer and in Sicily they also serve yummy accompaniments;
2. One of the two ladies I know there, Paula, just happened to be coming to the end of her duty time and let me phone, thank the Lord, as mobile to mobile is apparently the only way to phone, landline somehow causing problems in Sicily;
3. I got to meet the amazingly named chef, Accurso Crapato and saw his cavalier style at first hand, which is why his urging to try his culinary skills is overwhelmingly tempting [but bear in mind the rest of this post] and the moment any good news comes through on the passport I’ll have Welshcakes in there with me and we’ll live it up.

Back to reality – having now used up that phone favour from Paula, I can’t very well go and repeat the dose today without making a pain of myself; it’s something I can’t afford to do as these two friends are my only lifeline at this end of town. So everything is a question of dwindling resources, in the end.

As for being collected earlier, that friend had an issue, apparently and as no one could contact me to tell me, there not being a phone in this place and having no mobile phone which they’ve been urging me to get “to make it easier on all of us”, as another friend urged with a race of annoyance two days ago, not understanding that it does not cost “five euros” as she put it but 87 euros to get set up in this town, out of a total of 500 euros left and wondering why the hell I don’t have a mobile anyway, which necessitates mentioning Russia where all my business was conducted from my landline at one tenth the cost plus the email being my main communication channel and then suddenly I had to leave Russia in May, a mobile being the least of the problems at that time [the main problem being that no overseas money can come in here as it needs an account to send it to which one is not allowed in Italy as a tourist, my friend assures me and my Russian account is not accessible here] but now, as lack of mobile is a difficulty, I’ve promised to get one the moment the passport comes through which would mean I can then deploy resources [which I can’t at this moment as, if it doesn’t come through, I’m going to need every euro possible, which in turn makes me currently look like a sponging freeloader in people’s eyes, which in turn reduces their willingness to be friendly and is so far from the truth, as by nature I am not an ungenerous, mean-spirited person, which in turn depresses me more than I can say and leaves me isolated over this part of town, not knowing if I will be collected on Monday evening or not at the foot of the hill].

So the only thing is to do the up-hill-down-dale walk this evening to post this and let you know why I have not been visiting your sites or answering my post comments and generally making people less inclined to visit this site to find out anyway, as you have your own problems at that end and I shan’t be able to reply, as it is, until Monday evening at the earliest, which in turn is more depressing because blogging is what I love doing and there’s a heap of new material to post on. Plus I can only use the internet a limited amount of times out of deference to the friend, despite her saying I could use it as I wished and that is exacerbated by a second friend telling me I should not use it as she’d feel uncomfortable, herself, doing it and I assured her I would never willingly use another person’s resources except sparingly.

Someone asked on the phone two days ago why I don’t use the bus to the far end of town.

I agree, except for one thing. The buses are not running in the late afternoon when my friend is available to see me over there and having waited around in the morning, they are also not running, except on the driver’s whim [which non-Italians will wryly smile at, considering this stretching the truth, which they would not smile at if they actually lived here and that’s why a motorbike is currently being lined up but that’s another story] the reason being that we are coming up to the national holiday on the 15th, when everything shuts down but the Italians tend to shut down one week either side of that and go to the beach which is where I’d go too if I had any sense, any money and somewhere to stay but I’m not complaining about that.

As it is, the cave I’m in is excellent, cool and relaxing as I write this in the recliner chair and would that it could continue for some weeks except that there’d be no friends at all left if it did. There’s a young man living in this labyrinth who is a cheery soul – works for a bank, has lots of friends but finds this place depressing as it is so dark and lonely and he, as a typical Italian, enjoys big company and “lots of light” as he puts it.

Each to his own, I suppose. When I mentioned that this place was great on a hot day of 40 plus, his olive skin showed that that was no problem for him but what he dreads is the cold and I imagine this place would be chilly in winter.

“Doesn’t that worry you?” he asks, incredulously.

“Don’t forget I’ve come from Russia.”

“Ah,” he nods. “Everything’s relative, isn’t it?”

That’s the last depressing post I plan to write for now as it is … well … depressing and to maintain mental health and everyone else’s remaining goodwill, it will be necessary to return to the “don’t worry – be happy” style of the previous posts and assure you the next will be upbeat.

Have a lovely weekend, as I intend to have a ball.

Yes.

[rarified air] the view from the top

Church of St George, showing the steepness of the hill

It was a conjunction of circumstances which brought me to Modica in the first place and it was another change of fortune which found me, still impecunious but savouring the delights of the old town, perched on top of the hill, hunkered down in a cool cave away from the burning summer sun.

This south-eastern corner of Sicily is warm, yes, but that’s no reason to swelter. A lady I know works at the Palazzo Failla on via Blandini and so I thought I’d negotiate the picturesque, steep cobblestone and pitch lanes which wind down to St. George Cathedral and the Castle of Counts, an ideal starting point to visit both UNESCO world heritage Modica and the whole area.

The Palazzo Failla at night

There, between those two baroque classics was a beautiful XVIII century building, “a unique jewel” as the owners put it, “refined to the last detail. An ancient home of an aristocratic family, it still preserves its original charm and the rooms, each differing from the others, retain their own particular floor design, their frescoed ceilings, the genuinely antique furniture, combined with the comfort of modern conveniences.”

You might have read such blurbs the world over but I was privileged to see that every word was true in this case – it is indeed one of the landed aristocracy’s old palaces, an oasis in a sun-drenched land.

The owners, Signori Failla and their traditional welcome

The main restaurant, La Gazza Ladra, sports an amazingly named and renowned Chef, Accursio Craparo, whose use of local ingredients doesn’t appear to hold back his quest for new taste sensations but if you crave still more gastronomic thrills, then adjacent to the Palazzo Failla is the Locanda del Colonnello, offering typical Modican dishes, the local chocolate of Modica, sweets and liqueurs, as well as organising, on request, cooking lessons and tastings.

The most typical room - the Blue deluxe room

It’s said that in Sicily, the question is not “what will we do this evening’ but “what will we eat this evening”? The milder temperatures of late evening are when everyone comes out and enjoys the fare on offer – a time when cares and woes are forgotten and bonhomie is the order of the day.

I took a quick look at the room rate and was amazed that a four star establishment of this kind asks so little. I suppose it’s now time to come clean about this region.

The executive room

Quite frankly, they do not have a tourist mentality down this end of Italy. What you get is unspoiled Italy without the long queues outside duomos, without the fleece the tourist mentality, with magnificent scenery and with what I can only see as an absence of crime.

The relaxation room, because of the hot tub on offer

This is a family town, a town of church bells and Madonnas on supermarket walls. Young people tootle around on scooters [or rather hurtle down narrow paths], everyone smiles and when you walk into a place like the Palazzo Failla, you’re made to feel welcome.

Restaurant La Gazza Ladra

I’m on no payroll saying such things – it’s just one of the best kept secret corners of Europe which is still as it was way back when, whilst at the same time offering EU standard facilities at modest prices – quite a combination and a blessed relief, given my current situation.

Try it.

Cafe Blandini - typical of the service

[up hill and down dale] the best way to lose weight

This is the traditional photo of this part of the world, which shows the steepness of the pathways.

Welshcakes tells me some readers have been concerned what happened in the past few days. I can assure you no one as yet has bumped me off nor deported me – that comes later. It’s just that for bureaucratic reasons I had to move to another part of town, away from the internet until now.

So to today’s post.

By definition, hilltops tend to be quite picturesque when covered with ancient limestone dwellings clinging to the rock face all the way down a multitude of narrow, steep cobblestone and pitch lanes to the central town below.

Different lanes lead off one another, passing under hairpin bend roadways suspended in thin air and every so often giving out onto breathtaking landscapes. Halfway down one set of steps would be a little triangular piazza, where two buildings would meet in an L shape and where old men would sit, sipping on drinks.

Further down, the grand staircase would sweep left and there would be a fruit stall, bar and so on, until the path at the foot of the stairs could split two ways - the steps might begin near the top of the church spire and continue down beside the building to the church entrance.

This is the route I took by chance two evenings ago, eschewing the map in favour of a sense of adventure.

Eventually decanted into the main street in the river bed which could be caught in a torrent should there be a flood, which there won’t be as the climate is too hot and one is more likely to be caught in an earthquake instead, the 37 degrees was beginning to tell and una crema-di-caffe was the only solution. Al fresco, it felt not unlike the way Sebastian Melmoth must have spent the final years of his existence.

A huge heaped bowl of spaghetti later, it was time to retrace the steps, easy enough at the beginning but the tracks spread out like the branches of trees further up so it was going to take more than a little luck and dare I say some divine guidance at these heights.

Made one error and retraced, then, beside a church on some broad sandstone steps, two girls going the other way asked me the way to House Quasimodo.

I explained that I was English and they said it was better to speak English but they weren’t English – they were French so I tried le francais on them, which produced incredulous looks. Further up the cliff, another lady also came up, asking the way to House Quasimodo and I repeated the mantra, wondering if she was French.

No, Italian.

Why had she assumed I was Italian? Do I bear a passing resemblance to a Sicilian? So we spoke in rudimentary Italian [on my side] and parted the best of friends. Every step upwards was a new doorway, some open, with people engaged in interesting pastimes, everyone sweltering in the heat.

And so back to the hilltop cave.

I once climbed Ayer’s Rock in Australia and a very interesting thing happened. We were told we’d need one litre of water to the top and another down again but I’d taken two plastic pint containers by mistake and one of them had been finished halfway up.

Sitting on the ledge, I’d sipped some more and then realized there wasn’t even enough left for the rest of the journey down. Still – it would be OK – that was only a rough guide about water anyway, wasn’t it?

The water finished quickly and maybe forty metres further down, the legs simply cramped and there I was, like a baby, with Japanese tourists in shirts and ties going the other way, politely dipping their heads as they huffed and puffed past and like a baby, I made it to the ground on all fours and crawled the hundred metres to the car.

In hot climates, as you’d know, you have to have constant water and there’s no such thing as not taking it. I’d like a centime for every bottle sold in Sicily throughout a hot summer.

So to yesterday and the adventure of the elegant lunch.

I’d promised a girl I know that I’d go looking for her – she works somewhere near this cave here – and that involved a visit to the tourist office. Armed with a crazy ballpoint line on a map, a brochure for the hotel she works in and a peaked cap, off Higham trotted, only to find the piazza, the palazzo, an airconditioned bar, a cold coffee and her.

There is a tradition in all hot countries [of a certain decency] of the midday siesta but in my case, it’s been refined to prima siesta, [following elevenses] and seconda siesta, [following lunch]. Only right, wouldn’t you say?

In the prima siesta, having traipsed up that hill again, I thought it meet and right to go through the hotel’s brochure and correct the mistakes in English, which would either be welcomed or would brand me forever as a smarta—e in their eyes. Back down the hill to the hotel once more, I met the owners, was shoved into a chair and forced to eat a delish piadina lunch with two young ladies who’d just come off work.

But the piece de resistance was later, around 5 p.m., when the great trek with backpack to the other end of town took place, up hill and down dale, to meet up with Welshcakes and be presented with a flask of her homemade wine – is there anything that lady can’t turn her hand to [?] - before the return hike in the cool of the evening, around 9 p.m. which didn’t actually occur as I was kindly given a lift.

Today the task is to try to get an internet connection again and visit you at the same time. Bet you’re holding your breath in anticipation.

[things] which define who you are

One of the primary differences between Welshcakes and myself, apart from the obvious gender disparity, is that she has virtually all the things she was ever given or ever collected and I don't.

I've suggested she should open a sort of gallery and charge admission but that horrified her for some reason. I found the above pic at the embedded link and hasten to add that this is not WCL's style at all - after all, we're living in the heart of baroque down here and her things are ... well ... ornate.

Mine are functional, compact and there are not many left with me - they tend to be strewn across the globe. Don't know about you but I was never sentimental about "things". There is a rabbit's foot letter opener and a little jewellery box with a friend in Russia plus a Toby jug in Australia. That's about all I'd absolutely have to set eyes on again.

Paintings, electronic gear including a home studio, cars, houses and so on - they're all so many memories now, memories I daren't dwell on.

My goodness how things seem to accumulate. I came down here with one case and a cabin bag and to be honest, a friend did fly down with a second small wheelie pack some time ago but now I'm at the packing stage, somehow it won't all go in the packs. How on earth did that happen?

So once again it's a case of posting things to myself or else donating them to the poor. My PC in Russia at least found a good home with a friend's girlfriend.

To tell you the truth, I'm tired of this Flying Dutchman stuff and just want to buy into a base where they're not going to throw me out of the country, where I can set up and start to earn again. Advancing years put a different perspective on what, for a younger man, would be a great adventure.

So "things" don't occupy pride of place in the bookshelves in my mind but the mindset is to be admired in those for whom they're quite important.

[sunday cappuccino] and other things

At a time when the special "Home cooking World Music Festival" has kicked off on via Grimaldi in this town, it's time to do the film meme.

It was tough. For a start, are we talking "great" films or just "enjoyable" ones? Are we talking celebrated, historically significant or classic films or maybe those of an actor or actress we admire? The hotch-potch below is the best I could come up with, I'm afraid. In no particular order:

# Snatch - great Guy Ritchie vehicle and a multi-layered example of film making;

# Any Leslie Nielson, e.g. the 1st Naked Gun;

# Some Bonds, e.g. the first Daniel Craig one of 2007;

# Any Max von Sydow, e.g. Condor or Seventh Seal;

# Manchurian Candidate, esp. the original version with Sinatra;

# Either Twilight's Last Gleaming or The Parallax View - great film-making;

# Lord of the Rings Russian Goblin version - takes the p--s mercilessly;

# Di Nero, esp. out of character in a way - e.g. Analyse This;

# Russian "staroye kino" - old feel good films such as Queen of the Petrol Pumps or Little Red Riding Hood;

# Beluchi and Ackroyd - take your pick, e.g. Blues Brothers.

I pass this meme along to the first five people in the Mybloglog pic gallery in the sidebar. Have a lovely Sunday. It's hot here.

[bits and pieces] while it is still possible

Trouble in the blogosphere

There does seem to be something going on. Today I could not access Sicily Scene [perhaps it's not a problem for you]. JMB had troubles yesterday with posting. There were troubles with accessing Bloghounds some days ago.

Entirely conceivable that the problems could be local server issues or even the computers themselves. There has been an increase in blogs coming up as potential spam also, so it seems. One to keep our eyes on.

The sphere itself appears to be under assault, doesn't it? Look at China for a start but the U.S. is going in for this big time as well. If you were a betting person, how long would you say independent opinion on the web can exist for? One month, one year, one decade?

Trouble in your sphere

I really dislike how some people go in for the Four Yorshiremen Syndrome and feel obliged to respond: "You think you have troubles. You're in paradise, my son. Oh what I wouldn't give to be in your position. Now, as for me, I really do have problems," as if it were some kind of competition.

We can't assume anything about how genuinely bad other people's circumstances are. I happen to know of some fellow bloggers' current woes and though they're different in nature, they're no less debilitating in their own way. I'd not like to be in their shoes and wouldn't swap mine.

What can we do? Help can only go so far, though we'd wish to help indefinitely. If I ever get to find some sort of peace and stability myself, one of the first things I'll do is try to repay the many kindnesses.

Trouble in my sphere

My N1 difficulty is apparent statelessness and so Monday, on current reckoning, will be the last day I can reliably post on my site. I've been able to keep the blog going since late May only through the good grace of Welshcakes, for whom it has been a real imposition, despite her never once complaining and to her go eternal thanks.

A quantum shift in my status sometime next week will bring the current phase to an end and if posts appear, then they will have been due to good luck but at the same time can't be relied on to continue. There is a point soon when they will stop altogether, possibly to reappear a week or so later, possibly not.

Government bodies

Much is written of DEFRA, the NHS and so on but I'd like to mention the FCO. One can only report as one finds and whatever the outcome of negotiations with this body, possibly not to my liking, possibly a blessed relief, I have to say that they have been courteous and helpful to a fault and should take a bow. Our diplomatic missions in other countries really are a pleasure to have to deal with.

Sicilian friendliness

I'm not in a position to judge the Milanese or Florentines but I can report that the people of the deep south here are rather special. It's just been one friendly face after another and my time would have been even more of a pleasure, had the official difficulties not pressed down so on the brain.

The scenery, the panorama and sweeping vistas are a sight for sore eyes and the dusky landscape burns itself into your psyche after a time.

Small pleasures

Today, we'll go down the hill to the Consorzio for our regular Saturday repast. We printed out the post Welshcakes did on the staff and she'll present it to them - the last opportunity before their own hiatus-vacanza. It will be hot out there today, if yesterday is anything to go by - it was 38 degrees - but the olive tree is a boon.

The whole town closes down next week and those who have not already left town for the country will most likely do so.

Readers of this blog

Have as good a summer's end as you can under your current circumstances and I do mean it sincerely. I'll post when I can.

[12 movie meme] hmmmm

Ordo's tagged me here and I'll try to get mine up [no, that didn't come out right] tomorrow.

[restructuring transport] some vision, some willpower, some money

In a BBC article in 2000, Alex Kirby reported:

A £500m revamp of Britain's ageing canal network has been unveiled. The two-stage scheme by British Waterways will restore or build over 300 miles (480 kilometres) of canals and waterways. It has been estimated there are between 20,000 and 25,000 boats on the British Waterways network and a similar number on the River Thames.

The first phase, to open some 220 miles (350 km) of canals and structures, will be completed in 2002 and includes the Anderton Boat Lift. The 115-ft- (35-m-) high Falkirk Wheel in Scotland is the world's first rotating boat lift and will open on 1 May.

A programme of nine further canal restoration and new waterway schemes is being announced by British Waterways in partnership with an independent charity, the Waterways Trust. Covering 100 miles (160 km) of waterways, from London to the Lake District

George Greener, chairman of British Waterways, said:

Canals were catalysts for economic growth two centuries ago, and with our partners we're restoring and opening them as fast as they were originally built. Our current programme is set to deliver £100 million into local economies every year, from Scotland to the south of England, and to create 13,000 new permanent jobs.

The other restorations were:

• Chesterfield Canal
• Huddersfield Narrow Canal. This involved reopening the Standedge Tunnel - the UK's longest, highest and deepest canal tunnel
• Kennet and Avon Canal.
• The Millennium Link reconnecting the Forth & Clyde and Union canals between Glasgow and Edinburgh and coast-to-coast across Scotland.
• Rochdale Canal
The nine new building and restoration projects are:
• Bedford and Milton Keynes Waterway
• Bow Back Rivers, a network of tributaries of the River Lee navigation in east London
• Cotswold Canals
• Droitwich Canals
• Foxton Inclined Plane, on the Leicester Line of the Grand Union Canal
• Liverpool Extension to the Leeds and Liverpool Canal, which will link the national network to the port's spectacular waterfront
• Manchester, Bolton and Bury Canal
• Montgomery Canal, an internationally important habitat for floating water plantain
• The northern reaches of the Lancaster Canal
• Sapperton tunnel will reopen in May

Yet Anne McIntosh, Vale of York MP and Shadow Environment Minister, reported something a little different in late 2007:

[There] is growing concern among those who use the canals that cuts to government funding for British Waterways will adversely affect the maintenance and enjoyment of the UK's canal network.

Through no fault of their own, British Waterways, the Inland Waterways Association and other agencies funded by the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, have had their budgets cut. This has been largely due to the fact that Defra has overspent by £115m … following animal health crises such as foot and mouth and bird flu.

It costs £125m annually to maintain our canals. Even after the cuts that have been imposed, British Waterways has only 85 per cent of the money needed to fulfil that obligation.

It has been suggested that boaters will shoulder much of the burden, with mooring fees set to rise dramatically and annual licence fees to rise by a third. … Maintenance of the canal network has been further hit by the effect of the flooding this summer. British Waterways has admitted that £3.8m of maintenance this year has been deferred.

This is particularly pertinent at a time when the Government would like to see fewer foreign holidays made and greater encouragement of the holiday opportunities in this country. The canal network is also extremely useful to transport freight. Moving freight by water in this way is several times more environmentally sustainable than doing so by road, and this method takes lorries off the congested road network. Water freight makes a major contribution to the UK's economy and employs more than 200,000 people.

A reader, Keith L, further commented:

Canals and waterways are among various parts of Government which have unfortunately been lumped into the mega-dept of DEFRA and are unjustifiably losing out because of the massive incompetence of the Agriculture part of the dept. Canals would be better classed as Transport, or even Culture, out of the hands of the non-farmers who run farming. They are too important to fall victim to this unfair funding penalty.

Clearly, the canals are suffering from “interesting” accounting at the DEFRA level. Add to this, Gallimaufry’s comment in the last post on the matter on this blog:

The problem is gradient and your photo of a flight of locks illustrates the point. Motorways and trunk roads can have steeper gradients (yet additional climbing lanes are needed for lorries) than rail and canals. Massive areas of land would need to be turned into locks and reservoirs to satisfy their demands for water. It would be easier to flood the whole country. Also the canals (except Manchester Ship Canal)are too small for lighters carrying standard containers and are crammed with leisure users.

… and there is food for thought. I’d be the first to agree that the British terrain, particularly in hilly areas with very steep gradients pose engineering problems but query whether the sum total of water used would necessarily increase if it is using annually renewable sources.

A glance at the map of original canals and rivers shows that water can be diverted and not at any greater cost than laying miles of new motorways. I suspect, from Calum’s comment:

James, the Sicilian sun and/or wine has softened your brain. :-)

… that it is more a case of mind set, of our dependence on the fast, jet powered lifestyle where we can’t bear to be without the things we believe we need for even a short time. Yes, the hilly areas might well be better served by rack rail – if the Swiss can do it, why can’t we? Yes, airship might well be the way forward to transport people over longer distaqnces.

Look, this might be an idea from cuckoo land and yet that’s precisely where we’re now headed with soaring fuel prices and the whole infrastructure of society readjusting to more contained lifestyles.

Just a thought anyway. And how beautifully sustainable such a rearrangement of transportation would prove to be.

[sicily scene] culinary report card

Some readers out there might like a straight-from-the-horse's-mouth, inside report on Welshcakes' cooking after a certain time experiencing same in this sunny part of Sicily.

By way of establshing some sort of bona fides on the matter, I've eaten my way through France, most of Europe, Mexico, the North American continent, Asia and the antipodes and can safely report:

My goodness, this lady can cook!

Sicilian cooking likes strong tastes and uses a lot of sea salt. This latter doesn't particularly agree with me but the other essential ingredient - the olive oil - does and is vital to the success of many dishes, particularly the homemade breads.

Welshcakes does not just produce bread - she produces breads of varying textures and styles, each strictly according to recipe. Whereas you or I might slap in this or slosh in that, our Sicilian chef here measures precisely, times equally precisely and allows pots of comestibles to slow cook or stand as the case may be.

This allows for inventive touches, of course and many is the time that a dab of honey or the use of oranges has added that extra little something to the dish of the moment. If Welshcakes could be called "wicked", it is at these times when she adds the unexpected to the mix with a wry smile.

There is no rushing of any kind allowed. After one particular lunch, Welshcakes opined that she'd have to get a rope to tie me down to the table at lunchtime. You see, I'm one of those eat and run types - most certainly not the done thing in Sicily.

Having said that, I do like the things she just "whips up", such as the chicken and artichoke salad on a bed of greenery last evening. If we need a snack, she might take some prosciutto and greenery and wrap it round grissini or breadsticks.

This evening we are invited into the countryside and will experience Sicilian pizza of a different variety. Though looking forward to this, I am more than happy to stay home and eat what the lady here produces in her ever-planning mind. Wish I had a euro for every time we sit down with a glass of fruit juice and she has the pad out, thoughtfully thinking out which ingredients need to be bought the next day.

Incidentally, I'm not a total drone. As kitchen hand and scullery maid, I'm sometimes brought into the process and have even been known to chop a few vegetables on occasions, on the road to some new culinary masterpiece emerging from the oven two hours later.

Nigella eat your heart out. [Well actually, best to delete that last sentence.] Next report - the hairdresser, the cosmetician and the sheer elegance of Welshcakes' Italian dress style.

[fuel crisis] why not go maritime?

There was some great reading yesterday with Jam's story of the Cagots but today is equally interesting, with Gallimaufry's take on steam-powered vehicles. William Gruff came in with an interesting comment and an idea occurred to me, spurious at first, I admit but then I saw the possibilities.

It might just work.

1. All new road projects become canals, which take far less investment to construct - not the narrow canals of the past but broad "four lane" jobs with locks for the hills.

2. Existing roads can be converted over a twenty year period, thereby spreading the cost.

3. Small craft of the catamaran and junk sail [or lug sail] variety would be built cheaply, far cheaper than new cars and can ply the canals which link major waterways.

Objections

1. The fuel and construction sectors would never abide it.

Answer: They would if they had a stake in the canalization of the whole country ... plus fuel is simply losing all appeal as an investment. For those who didn't want to sail, crop fuelled putt-putts could be used as well.

2. The transport and cargo sectors would be decimated.

Answer; Why? Look how much more could be moved by water.

3. The whole pace of life would slow down unbearably, transport times, ordering of goods from another centre would triple in time and so on.

Answer: Yes. And what?

4. People would be forced into the very new-feudalism which libertarians are now railing against.

Answer: Yes, that's so. Three acres and a cow again. So, for that very reason, the globalists might just go for it, with available fuel swung into defence.

If one thinks about it, you could see how it would improve the whole mood of the nation - the noise, pollution, stress for the average person ... plus the globalists would be happy.

Also, Britain has a maritime history, the people are no strangers to inland waters. So why not?

[one question quiz] are you educated?

Who is Google's biggest client? [This means single user and including any new clients of the last few days.]

Answer is below in white.

The NSW Department of Education

[suez] end of an empire

This is the Wiki article abridged and paraphrased . You can read the whole thing through, view the summary below or just click out with a sigh. :)


The Suez Canal was opened in 1869, having been financed by the French and Egyptian governments. Technically, the territory of the canal proper was sovereign Egyptian territory, and the operating company, the Universal Company of the Suez Maritime Canal (Suez Canal Company) was an Egyptian-chartered company, originally part of the Ottoman Turkish Empire.

To the British, the canal was the ocean link with its colonies in India, the Far East, Australia, and New Zealand and the area as a whole became strategically important. Thus, in 1875, the British government of Benjamin Disraeli bought the Egyptian share of the operating company, obtaining partial control of the canal's operations and sharing it with mostly-French private investors.

In 1882, during the invasion and occupation of Egypt, the United Kingdom took de facto control of the canal proper, finance and operation. The Convention of Constantinople (1888) declared the canal a neutral zone under British protection. In ratifying it, the Ottoman Empire agreed to permit international shipping to freely pass through the canal, in time of war and peace.

In 1948, the British Mandate of Palestine ended, the British forces withdrew from Palestine, and Israel declared independence. Britain's military strength was spread throughout the region, including the vast military complex at Suez with a garrison of some 80,000.

[Then came the Islamic rise in Egypt and increasingly frosty post-war relations between Britain and Egypt.]

In October 1951, the Egyptian government unilaterally abrogated the 1936 Anglo-Egyptian treaty, the terms of which granted Britain lease on the Suez base for 20 years. Britain refused to withdraw from Suez. The price of such a course of action was a steady escalation in increasingly violent hostility towards Britain.

[Now followed the removal of the Egyptian monarchy, increasing Arab obstruction of the canal and a 1953-54 attempt by Britain to mend relations. They would withdraw the garrison gradually if they could influence the canal zone. Nasser was unpopular at home for this agreement and Egypt also saw Jordan and Iraq as a threat, those two being friendly towards Britain.

Now came Nasser's civil unrest and obstruction of Britain across the arab world, coupled with the Czechoslovakian arms deals, bringing vast weapons reserves to the middle-east and cutting the reliance on western arms.]

On May 16th, 1956, Nasser officially recognized the People's Republic of China. Washington withdrew all American financial aid for the Aswan Dam project on July 19th. Nasser's response was the nationalization of the Suez Canal.

After the American government didn't support the British protests, the British government decided for the military intervention against Egypt to avoid the complete collapse of British prestige in the region.

However, direct military intervention ran the risk of angering Washington and damaging Anglo-Arab relations. As a result, the British government concluded a secret military pact with France and Israel that aimed at regaining the Suez Canal.

[Now followed various meetings and then ...]

Three months after Egypt's nationalization of the canal company, a secret meeting took place at Sèvres, outside Paris. Britain and France enlisted Israeli support for an alliance against Egypt.

The parties agreed that Israel would invade the Sinai. Britain and France would then intervene, instructing that both the Israeli and Egyptian armies withdraw their forces to a distance of 16 km from either side of the canal.

The British and French would then argue that Egypt's control of such an important route was too tenuous, and that it needed be placed under Anglo-French management.

[Britain failed to inform the U.S., expecting that it would accede to the fait accompli. Israel began the attack on October 29th, 1956. It was messy but came to this point ...]

On November 3, 20 F4U-7 Corsairs from the 14.F and 15.F Aéronavale taking off from the French carriers Arromanches and La Fayette, attacked the Cairo aerodrome. Nasser responded by sinking all 40 ships present in the canal, closing it to further shipping until early 1957.

[However ...]

The operation to take the canal was highly successful from a military point of view, but was a political disaster due to external forces.

The Eisenhower administration forced a cease-fire on Britain, Israel, and France which it had previously told the Allies it would not do. The U.S. demanded that the invasion stop and sponsored resolutions in the UN Security Council ...

Part of the pressure that the United States and the rest of NATO used against Britain was financial, as President Eisenhower threatened to sell the United States reserves of the British pound and thereby precipitate a collapse of the British currency.

[Various embargos and the criticism by the Commonwealth at a time when this represented the last vestige of the Empire also pressured Britain. The pound was pressured and Eden resigned.

The main fallout was that France and Britain were weakened in international eyes, world power effectively shifted to the superpowers and France fell out with its allies, with some justification this time, promoting its own interests and supposedly giving nuclear secrets to Israel.

Could Britain have played it better?

Yes, of course. The leadership relied on the old Empire clout too much but that was understandable, given the history of Britain in Palestine and Suez. In this blogger's eyes, the most significant factor though was the refusal of the U.S. to help, coupled with its out and out obstruction in the end.

If Britain had brought the U.S. into the game, I doubt it would have altered much. There would have been equal hostility to America and though the military operation still would have been successful, Britain would have to have conceded the whip hand to the U.S. This was a slap in the face of Britain's prestige, which MacMillan acknowledged was the new reality in his willingness to accommodate the Americans from that point forward.

It would be nice to think that a Churchill, Thatcher or Ian Botham type could have steered a better course with a lot of "side" to it but one wonders how much better they would have done.]

[non news] sky beats it into shape

We were watching Sky News last night and this Anna Jones was trying to beat up the Los Angeles quake yesterday.

Well, it's not as if it is the first time its happened - I mean they were sort of forewarned, weren't they?

She had a local radio station type online and was asking if people were terrified or injured or whatever and he kept replying with words like "mild", "normal" and so on. She tried a few more descriptive words like "major quake" and "loss of life" but it was clear the local wasn't buying so she brought out her trump:

"Is this the one before the Big One Los Angleles has been expecting?"

... or words to that effect. We were smiling at her attempts to beat it up, all the while nice scenic shots of the city and environs were being shown. Suddenly the camera zoomed in on a puddle at a crossroads - could this have been due to the quake?

Giving up on that, Sky cut to Belgrade and waited for the 50 or so hooligans to attack the riot police. Again the reporter wasn't buying the sensationalist line. He spoke of expecting it and that it was far fewer people than the last time, mostly well behaved.

Poor old Sky went to commercial then came back with the 7.5 seconds when the police actually were using truncheons on hooligans who'd thrown bricks and a line like "violent clashes on the streets of Belgrade".

Reminds me of Python's Ralph Mellish sketch:

Scarcely able to believe his eyes, Ralph Mellish looked down. But one glance confirmed his suspicions. Behind a bush, on the side of the road, there was no severed arm, no dismembered trunk of a man in his late fifties, no head in a bag – nothing - not a sausage.

For Ralph Mellish, this was not to be the start of any trail of events which would not, in no time at all, involve him in neither a tangled knot of suspicion, nor any web of lies, which would, had he been involved, surely have led him to no other place, than the central criminal court of the Old Bailey.

Quality Aussie Poems Mate

I know that James likes poetry, so I thought he might like this.

While lions have their pride
Elephants take you for a ride
But a llama could be calmer
For a farmer who seeks karma

Beaut Mate

More here and thanks Authorblog: Verse And Worse

Whilst we're on a theme of roses...

Whilst we're on a theme of roses...

I proudly present the White Rose, the Yorkshire flag.



Further to this, John, here.

Griselda writes of rugger, roses and rubbers

Introducing Griselda again, readers. You can catch her previous two posts here and here. Her website is here. A very warm welcome again to the columnist from the Greater Titcup Echo, in the west country.


More advice for the lovelorn

Dear Griselda,

You seem like a sensible sort of girl, a good sort a man could get along with – a girl with common sense. So perhaps you could explain my lady love’s recent moods.

I just don’t understand her any more. Only the other day, for instance, she went into a sulk forever because I hadn’t noticed her change in hair style. All right, it used to be waist length and brunette and now it’s cropped and a golden colour but still … how is a busy man supposed to notice these things?

Lately she keeps asking me what colour her eyes are – well, how should I know that? I hardly stare at them, do I? Even last weekend, she went beserk when she found that the Aber Rugger Club’s annual do was players and officials only and she’d gone and spent £500 on some dressy thing which hit the wallet pretty badly, I can tell you.

It took ages calming her down and I missed the sports results on the Beeb, damn it.

Everything came to a head yesterday when she asked me if I loved her and I said she was a part of me, almost part of the furniture, in fact. For some reason I had a chair thrown at me for that and it just missed poking my eye out.

I really don’t want to make a mistake now her birthday’s coming up sometime (she keeps dropping hints) and I’m at a loss what to buy. I thought maybe some Aber Rugger Club earmuffs might go well with her new evening dressy thing.

What do you think, Griselda? I’m at my wits’ end. If you can sort this one out for me, there’s a pint of Brains coming your way.

Dai Llewellyn-Jones

Well, Dai

I think I too would have been a little put out to be compared to furniture and you were probably quite lucky it was only a chair. My best advice is to watch this video below and by the way, mine is a Pimms N1, boyo.

Griselda

Dear Griselda

I’d prefer to keep my identity to myself if you don’t mind but the thing is, it’s all so tedious.

Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning, yes. It’s all well and fine, you know, his ex-wife moaning about three in a marriage but those were exciting times, being the other woman, you might say.

And now?

I knew public life was never going to be a bed of roses, what with his sense of destiny and so on but I feel more than a little sympathy with Cecilia Sarkozy, I can tell you.

You’re probably wondering why I would be writing to a provincial rag like yours but your fame has spread beyond Lower Titcup, you have to understand – my son and yourself are both budding cookery writers, after all.

So the thing is – what to do? Perhaps you could throw this open to your readers.

Ex-Gloucestershire Lady

Dear Ex-Gloucestershire Lady

Well, as you say, it’s best to throw this open to the readers and without further ado, over to you, readers.

Love and kisses,

Griselda


And finally, Griselda’s household tip to sign off with, stolen from Woman's Realm: Tips and Wrinkles [Pan, 1972]

Rubbers and how to use them. Make rubber gloves last twice as long: turn them inside out and stick plasters on the tips of the fingers. Before throwing them away, cut the cuffs into strips and they make wonderful rubber bands. Lastly, if you put a few drops of glycerine in water, this makes the rubber more flexible.

See you soon.

[illegal immigrants] to exclude or to house?

Please look at Welshcakes' current post on the incidents in the Cathedral. Illegal immigrants went into a church and occupied it, from which action police were then involved. Welshcakes concludes:

Does a country have a right, or even a duty, to look after its own citizens first? On the other hand, surely everyone has a right to be treated with some human dignity? What would any of us do if we suddenly found ourselves homeless through no fault of our own?

Many, many questions to think on and I have others too. I was reading in La Sicilia [dead wood version] how in Genoa there is also a bunfight over a proposed mosque being built.

Phew!

Am I an extremist? I hope not, I really do, as I lived among muslims for 13 years, worked with and for them and can only say they were fine people in my eyes. There's no ingratitude here. There were mosques everywhere and I sometimes went into them with muslims and discussed their religion.

More recently, some readers know I was close to some Indonesian friends [and still consider myself a friend.]

One of the reasons for the Italian intransigence on Islam coming in is their observation of what went wrong in Britain. Having said that, I have now invited trouble upon myself. So be it. On the other hand, the plight of the refugees is a humanitarian one - these people need to have something to eat, they need to have the dignity to be able to just wash or lay the head down somewhere.

They are mainly muslim and their desperation to flee their countries or die is an indictment of those countries. I strongly suspect that the powers that be in those countries know full well what they're doing through their oppression - both offloading excess population and indirectly bringing Islam back into southern Italy.

Welshcakes took the point of view - how can a country say yes to a Christian church, yes to a Buddhist and Jewish but no to a mosque? My answer is that you have to look at the track records of each of these. I ask you now - would most Brits feel that the Jewish synagogue was a major threat to Britain? How about a Christian church? And so on. Of course not.

And why not? Assimilation of the group - most groups coming in do assimilate with the local society. Not necessarily adopting all so-called "British culture" per se but certainly willing to get on with life here as a Brit.

They don't demand special rooms during Ramadan or refuse to accept public housing because it is not to their specifications. Most religions and other groups coming in don't have houses of worship in which trouble is stirred up by extremists. Most don't even have extremists.

And don't forget the question of sheer numbers.

In the end, this question comes down to two things - firstly, are all religions and cultures equivalent or are there, possibly, some groups which really do have a track record of trouble coming out of them and export that trouble en masse? Secondly - is democracy their inalienable right, the right to incite etc.?

Or does the classic liberal maxim apply - freedom to do anything as long as it doesn't impinge on anyone else? The Italians have a fierce attachment to democracy but they've drawn the line at Islamic inroads along the British pattern. That's their decision. Democracy yes - but for registered citizens.

So to return to the poor boat people in the cathedral. Why would they have chosen to go to a Christian cathedral and not, say, to the local police station or hostel or mission for homeless people? Why would a group of muslims choose a Christian church to occupy? Minor point perhaps.

I don't believe we can trot out relativistic and equivalent positions without also considering track records of certain populations. For example, the Somalis are well known here for their intransigence. They can argue this out with the Italians - I'm just mentioning it. I'm certainly not getting into the Roms.

Whilst reasonable people would surely concede that the trouble comes from a small proportion of a population, it still happens though, doesn't it?

The Italians have decided that they don't want a bar of it and this is a proud nation which reveres its tolerance in these matters, which is evident in all other dealings with the Clandestini. But now a state of emergency has been declared in this country and no one really knows what to do.

I certainly don't know either.

You might like to look at my previous post on the Clandestini and Tony Sharp's post link within it.