Juliet writes:
Cara amici,
In England, Italy and many parts of the world, 13 is an unlucky number. So please allow me to start of this 13 month blob with a small tale of woe. Our kitten, who shall remain nameless (but is often referred to as Stinky), recently decided it would be great fun to play with a cup of coffee (left to near to Apple Mac by my husband, who shall also remain nameless). As espresso, sugar and keyboards really don’t mix, we were left without any form of communication with the outside world for over a week as boffins near Genova found us new parts. Now it is new and shiny and we are considerably poorer. It was actually lovely not having anything modern to play with for a week. No emails, no Ebay deadlines, no demands or pressures. Just Peter and I making our own entertainment (steady on!). It makes you realise that without other things to distract, candlelit dinners, a spot of opera and decent conversation are the norm. Although we are usually too knackered in the evenings for any such frippery.
Meanwhile, the jinx of 13 had obviously rubbed off on our nunnery abode as the delightful Nino (remember the toothless reprobate who started our garden fire disaster last year?) was back on fine form, setting alight to Giovanni’s shed with the flick of a cigarette. Having just returned from a nice lunch with friends (the rare advent of posh clothes) and spotted the flames, I ran up to our apartment to call Giovanni while Peter ran down to the field to get a hose. Nino, as usual, had wandered off, possibly eyeing up his next victim. 15 minutes later, the Adreanni family, P and I, Iva and even Nino (who returned with a pitchfork but no apology) were all go with rakes, buckets and hoses. And this was done in heels (me) and a smart linen shirt (P). Luckily it was an old shed and there was nothing of import inside. But it made us realise just how easily fires can start here in the summer (especially with pyromaniac locals on the loose) and we really do need to organise a proper watering system at Lecci.
Anyway, enough of tragedy. Let’s talk of jollier things – like
Cooking with Fernet Branca. Thanks to our dear friend Penny, who is an avid bookworm, I received this novel written by James Hamilton-Paterson. And, having no computer, it was lovely to find the time to read. It really is worth a mention for two reasons: firstly it’s set very close to where we live, and where the author has an adopted home; and secondly, it has to be one of the most hilarious books I’ve ever read. I don’t usually laugh out loud when reading but by the end of this I needed hospital treatment. Beg, borrow or steal a copy. It really is a great read.
As to the moneypit; the small, dim light at the end of the tunnel is flickering brighter. Our fireplace is as good as completed (just awaiting the stone hearth front and sides from our local mason). Haven’t dared test whether it works as yet, but will no doubt let you know. Our beautiful stone stairs and window ledges have been cemented in and my Persian window (or at least the hole for it) as been smoothed over with traditional Italian plaster. The electrics and plumbing are now in on the ground floor, with the beginnings of the same in part of the cantina. Water and electrics to the garden will follow shortly. We don’t have the budget to complete the cantina at this stage, but we do need a laundry room/general working space, so Ivan has been busy hacking off the old rendering in one room, cleaning the stone and re-rendering it so beautifully in a much lighter colour. The old stone now shows up gorgeously. We love it, but then so does Ivan, who lovingly strokes it regularly, murmuring ‘bello stasso’ at every opportunity.
Peter has managed to source some beautiful cotto (at last) for our bedrooms and some different, cheaper ones for the cantina. We will hire a van and pick those up next week, along with our wood, new window and doors, washing machine (hoorah!) and hopefully the cantina windows too. Our mullions are coming along, although there was a minor disaster because the rubber mold broke so it is now fragile and much slower to do each one than they thought it would be. Hopefully we can pick those up (or at least those the top 6 that need the scaffolding) next week too. Our wine is also on its way. I’ve cleared out a space in the back cantina (quite a task given the amount of junk we seem to have accumulated). With the warmer temperatures, it should be ready to drink in a few weeks, so the editorial standards of this blob may go further downhill.
As to our work, my veggie patch is now crammed full of small leafy green things. I’ve managed to grow most things from seed but had to admit defeat with the tomatoes and peppers and a few other bits and pieces and bought young plants from a local shop when no-one was looking. Going on the premise of being clueless and not knowing what works and what doesn’t, I have tried to grow a little bit of a lot of different things. So we are now the proud owners of:
In rows: baby sweetcorn, peas, 5 different types of tomatoes, cucumbers, English green beans and 4 types of pepper (red, yellow, green and blow your head off)
In quarters: sprouts, yellow and green courgettes, aubergines both round and long, beetroots, radishes, sunflowers, artichokes, onions, 3 different types of potato, 2 types of lettuce, leeks and – most exciting of all for me (as impossible to grow in Blighty without cover) – watermelons and honeydew melons.
Thanks to Jim’s hole-digging expertise, I have also planted a pair of baby pear trees, two cherries and a couple of plums in our little orchard.
Fingers crossed that my fingers are green enough to produce adequate comestibles for a soup and salad lunch, followed by a small fruit compote.
P has been busy strimming (as ever), rubbing down the metal shutter catches and covering the vines in copper sulphate (blue stuff approved by the Organic Society). All grapegrowers in this region (if not Italy?) do this because the leaves are very prone to disease. I spent hours plucking off all the rotten leaves last week ready for the spraying. The locals also use the spray for some veg as well and a little goes a long way, but Peter is covered in bruises as a result because the spray canister strapping was too short, the liquid too heavy and hence all too tight/brutal on the shoulders. Why can the man not survive one day on our land without some form of injury?! His whole body seems to be cut, bashed, blistered and bruised. Good inspiration for a make-up artist working on a horror film.
We are united in our latest venture – painting the outside of the house. Because we love the warm tones of the old villas in Lucca and south Tuscany, we (well, L’Artista, as P calls me) have opted for a pale yellow first coat base, a stronger yellow applied on top with a special glove, followed by highlights of ochre dabbed with a sponge. I don’t make things simple do I?! But my philosophy is do a job well, do it once. And scaffolding is very expensive so we’ve had to crack on with it. It’s been so exciting choosing colours, although tricky because each side gets a very different light throughout the day. Much as I’m not frightened by snakes, creepy crawlies or flappy flying things, I do confess to vertigo. So I’ve been trying to conquer my terrible fear of heights for this task – not easy given the 4 levels of scaffolding, but I’ve managed to complete two top levels with the help of my wonderful hubby who holds my hand on the highest parts. If the final effect is rather wobbly, I apologise :o)
Our dearly beloved felines have been having great fun in the summer weather accumulating ticks on a daily basis and catching lizards or parts thereof. In the last fortnight, we’ve had 4 tail-less lizards, 3 lizard tails and 2 dead whole ones for presents. Aren’t we lucky? Other than that, they are fine. Still sworn enemies, but well enough. I do wonder how they will cope with the move to Lecci in a few weeks’ time, especially poor Weed who will have moved 6 times (original home, Battersea, Teddington, Carreggia, Carmine and Lecci). In a quick nature report, our beautiful eagles have returned, colourful butterflies flutter by frequently, the cicadas are in full chorus every evening and, two nights ago in childlike awe, we watched our first fireflies of the year. As they are out early this year, by Peter’s birthday our back garden should look like Blackpool Illuminations.
It’s certainly been amazing weather. 90 degrees or so most days. We have been pining for the grand pool, but it may take years to materialise at this rate. So our best buy of the year has been a rather large paddling pool (or dip pool as they, rather pretentiously, call it on the box and we have, rather pretentiously, adopted). I put it up the other day after some initial help from our builders (as always, taking great interest in everything we do) who advised us to put down a sand base to prevent tears. It has been a joy these last three days to hose down after a hot day of hard labour and jump in to watch the sunset with prosecco in hand. What are these accusations of a permanent holiday and luxury retirement? Ah, I think you may be right.
Baci ed abbracci (kisses and hugs), Juls XXX
