NOT EXACTLY A HOST....

Not exactly a host and not exactly golden, either, but I was pleased to see these at last opening on my balcony this morning. It would have been nice if they had managed it for St David's Day, but you can't have everything!

And when you see clumps of borage everywhere - it is late this year, which has been exceptionally cold - you know it's spring in Sicily!

NO HANGING OUT THE LINEN, O

Lines of washing strung high up across ancient, narrow alleyways are one of the sights of Italy that has long delighted tourists. Such a view does not, however, delight the town councillors of Catania, who have just passed a new bylaw banning the hanging out of washing in the old centre - the area surrounding the Parco archeologico greco-romano. 

The aim of the law, say councillors, is to give the area more dignity and to allow everyone to enjoy its true beauty. Under the regulation, air conditioners and tubes that can be seen from the street are also banned from balconies.

Residents of the area, many of whom are elderly, are, unsurprisingly, not happy:  many of them have lived there all their lives and have hung their washing out in the open in the time-honoured way for as long as they can remember. The task is part of their daily interaction with others. And, if they can't hang the washing outside, how, they want to know, are they to dry it? They say their small houses get too humid to dry washing indoors and they also want to know how they are expected to cope with the summer heat if their air conditioners are to be banned.

What do you think? Do you like to see the cheerful lines of washing or are they an eyesore?

The story made me think of this English folk song:

GNOME KIDDING

Those of you who know my politics will be surprised to read that I have achieved 15 gnomoseconds of fame in the expat section of the Torygraph and, for those of you who do not hail from Blighty's shores, I should explain that the Telegraph newspaper has this nickname because of its tendency to support the British Conservative party.

Anyway, on the May Day bank holiday I was mucking about on twitter, as is my wont, when I saw a tweet from @TelegraphExpat asking for pictures of garden gnomes belonging to expats. I sent them [the Telegraph people, not the gnomes] a  tweet asking if balcony gnomes counted and a nice lady replied that they definitely did, so I sent her this picture of Pierre gnome and his pals:

I explained that Pierre is from Cardiff, like me and that the dust on him is from Etna. That information found its way into the caption and, although it is true, I only added it because I wasn't feeling energetic or balcony-proud enough to dust Pierre before taking the picture.

Pierre and his little gang are very pleased with themselves but Simi the dog is somewhat miffed at not being in on the act!

The whole gnome gallery is here.

GECKO AND HIDE

Giorgio, last summer's gecko

Yes, another summer and another gecko!  Giacomo, who I think must be the grandson of Giorgio, has taken up residence indoors and he is driving both Simi and me crazy!  He seems to be living behind the bathroom door - at least, that is where Simi lies in wait for him - but he eludes the camera and us.

Until a year ago Giorgio and one or two of his ancestors lived quietly in the gas metre cupboard on the balcony when they were not prancing and dancing among the plants but last summer Giorgio decided to come out - or in, to be accurate.  I can only assume that we have gay geckos or that they are all as disgusted as we are by Italian gas prices!

Of all the apartments in all the towns in all the world, he leapt into mine and of all the geckos in all the world I had to get one with learning difficulties;   for Giacomo, like his grandad before him, is deaf to my pleas for him to go and complete his gecko education among the geraniums.  If any of you have any tips on cajoling geckos, I'd be glad to receive them!

LOOKING UP

I like balconies and this one in Modica Bassa has cheered me up all year. The vertical plants are artificial but it's no less pretty for that.

AN EXPERIMENT

I am not, as many of you know, a nature-lover: I'm scared of insects, am underwhelmed by the countryside and plants give up and keel over when they see me coming. Whilst I sometimes envy my Sicilian friends who have second homes in the country, especially in summer when a change of air must be pleasant, I could not, as they do, abandon the town for three to five months. I can admire the beauty of their rural surroundings for a few hours but then withdrawal symptoms set in and I yearn for the comforting sound of traffic, the illusory world of a perfumery and an internet connection. Like that heroine of mine, Germaine de Staël, I am "totally urban".

Be that as it may, I could not resist, on Friday, this pretty bougainvillea. So now it is on my bedroom balcony and I rather think it needs a little help. Please wish it good luck!

The hedgehog came from Britain and she's called Henriette Hérisson.

DAILY DOINGS - 23

The water service, I am pleased to relate, appears to be functioning after weeks of being sospeso and the delivery lorries have been darting up and down narrow streets and in and out of queues of cars like vespa scooters in their hurry to get around to some very long-suffering customers. Yesterday I witnessed a fine altercation as a water lorry driver was trying to reverse into this street and found himself blocked by a car whose occupants were waiting to use a nearby ATM. The car driver refused to budge and finally the lorry driver beeped at all the other traffic, turned back into the main road and tore along it at at breakneck speed. I thought, "Oh, no, now someone won't get their water because of the selfish car driver" but the lorry driver did a three-point turn in a very narrow space, sped back, entered our street from the other direction and drove like Enzo Ferrari himself to his delivery address. This time the car driver got out of the way!

Now here's an interesting snippet of information from Rosa, who hears the world's news from her companions on the no. 3 bus. [Forget twitter, the internet and Reuter's - word gets round quicker on Modica's no 3!] There is plenty of work in Italy for donne di servizio or colf [an acronym of collaboratrice familiare - cleaner or domestic helper] and badanti [carers] but it seems that very few of them are willing to work for the elderly, particularly the elderly with dementia-related illnesses. Rosa has heard that people in their forties and fifties are now taking on colf, in the hope that the person will become loyal to their employer and stay on during his or her old age.

There were thought to be about 1 million colf in Italy in June of this year and it is estimated that 500,000-600,000 of these have entered the country illegally. However, under new legislation, from September each family will be able to register 1 non-EU colf and 2 non-EU badanti [provided these are already in Italy and provided the employer meets the income requirement in the case of the former] thus regularising their presence in the country. This will solve the problems of many working women but it isn't going to help the ailing elderly.

On we go: this morning Lucia visited, bearing a jar of asparagi which her husband had picked from their garden and preserved. I'm dreaming of all the nice risotti I am going to make with these and trying not to think of possible after effects!





I would like to be able to show you a photo of Leapy, but he's too fast for me! Leapy is a baby lizard [well, he was a baby when I first encountered him but he's grown some] who lives on the balcony. He darts out from behind my plants when I water them. But at the weekend, when I opened the gas meter cupboard [on another balcony] something moved very fast and I just caught a glimpse of Leapy. I worried myself silly in case he had got trapped in there and it was ages before it occurred to me that he knew the way in [through a grille, presumably] and therefore must know a way out. He didn't appear yesterday and I thought he'd gone back behind the plants but this morning there he was, leaping round the cupboard again. I don't know the first thing about lizards, except that I prefer them to spiders [but then, I prefer King Kong to spiders] so if you do, please could you tell me: is he intelligent enough to get out when he wants to? Is he sleeping in there? Should I put some water in the cupboard for him and, most importantly, should I try to get him out of there?

Raffaele the hairdresser has been working on his publicity again and has come up with a little booklet telling you about your star sign and how you can improve your life [by visiting the salon!] I think it's a neat idea:



As for me, I have at last [thanks to Lancôme] achieved tanned legs! Four years in Sicily and I have not managed this feat previously. I do find it hellishly difficult, if not impossible, to tan, and I really have the sort of skin that you should keep out of the sun. However, dear reader, if you had such pale skin and lived among the bronzed lovelies of Italy, you would want to go out dressed in a bin bag in summer! So this year I braved the tanning booth for 10 x 15-minute sessions [I know it gives you wrinkles and worse!] and the result? A slight tan [a tan on me would be a normal colour on everyone else] everywhere except on my legs and my face [the latter intentionally protected by total sun block and a ton of make-up]. Finally I decided that "the only safe tan is a fake tan" and did the deed this morning, after bathing, exfoliating, moisturising and all the other preparation. I'm quite pleased with the result and can face the world! By the way, in the July edition of Good Housekeeping [to which I have a subscription] a woman has written to the beauty editor to say that her husband hates the smell of fake tan. The editor replies that this "must be a male thing" so do tell me, gentlemen readers, is this true? My theory is that they put something chocolatey in it because I like the smell!



Some of you will know that, after water and the Sicilian post office, the bane of my life is the VBS [visible bra strap] and after that, any kind of inelegant garment strap. So why, oh why, are clothes designers putting straps on every top or sleeveless dress I see, sometimes up to 4 of the things? I could understand it if there was some semblance of a bra within the garment, as the straps would be needed to hold it up, but of course, there isn't and the straps are too flimsy to hold the garment itself up. Most of us will need to wear a strapless bra under these tops or dresses so what is the point of adding any straps at all to them?

Lastly, here is the ice cream of the week - croccantino all'amarena [crunchy stuff with black cherries] at Modica's Gipsy Bar:

TEMPO D'ESTATE

Summer has at last come to Modica: the sky is a bright, cloudless blue, the orange blossom and jasmine are out, their heady scent accompanying you wherever you walk and balconies everywhere are a riot of colour:

The bars again have their own ice creams, made from only the finest natural ingredients [by law] and the granite have appeared:



Women have not yet put away their trouser suits and tights, but that will happen by the end of the month and soon school will finish and people will begin their annual migration to the country or the sea, where they will stay until September or even November.



Seasons change but the Post Office never does, it seems: yesterday Rosa and I gave up after three attempts to pay her electricity bill, for no conto correnti counters were open at all for a good part of the morning. Today I thought I'd cracked it, popping along there at 1.45 and finding only two other customers in the entire place. How wrong I can still be! I'd appeared just as the shift change was happening and this took so long that I sighed and sat down, as usual. No customers were attended to during this process and when a postal counter clerk had taken up position, counted his float, logged on to his amazingly slow computer, attended to several queries from colleagues and finally looked ready to deal with his adoring public, you may imagine my facial expression when I realised that the woman with the ticket before mine was posting several large, fresh cakes [I knew they were cakes as I recognised the name of the shop on the bags] and intended to pack them right there, at the counter! "I didn't know what size box to get", she explained to the clerk, who then disappeared for several minutes, returned with three differently-sized boxes and proceeded to try to jam all the cakes into the first one. "Oh, they might get squashed!" cried the customer and that would never do, would it? What would all the relatives say? So out came the cakes and then they were fitted into the second box. It looked fine to me but not to the seven or so new customers who had by now arrived and gathered round to see the fun. It was not a bad box, you must understand; it just wasn't perfetto. At last the third box was filled with the precious delights and declared to be perfetto. It then took another ten minutes or so for the recorded delivery forms to be filled in, arranged prettily on the box [for their positioning has to be perfetto too - this is, after all, the country of Michelangelo] and for the copies to be noisily rubber-stamped. To be honest, I thought it was quite sweet that the clerk had the pazienza to be so helpful in this instance - I can think of no other country where that would happen. I rather think I ruined his day afterwards, for he is used to asking, "Per la Gran Bretagna?" ["For Britain?"] when I take a package in and is proud of his memory. He looked crestfallen this afternoon when I told him it was for Italy this time! Do you think I should send some cakes off somewhere in atonement?

Summertime - Tempo d'estate [1955]

OF ELECTIONS AND PORCELAIN SQUASH

1st September and the south of Italy is beginning to get back to normal: people are returning from their long sojourn at the sea, the streets are busy again and the smaller shops are reopening after siesta [a lot of them don't bother during August]. My neighbour across the way has arrived back and is enthusiastically hosing everything - but everything- down as I write.

I saw the first fichi d'India [prickly pears] of the season on sale today so decided to personally declare autumn [although it was still 36 C at lunchtime] by displaying my porcelain squash and giving Leonardo the plantholder his autumn load.

Talking of prickly pears, I am quite pleased with the rate of growth of the one on my balcony, planted as a leaf a couple of years ago. And may I introduce you to Simonetta and Claude Cochon, who keep it company out there?

My voting card arrived today. Some of you may remember that I had quite a palaver getting registered to vote in the local elections and was finally issued with a piece of paper, which was torn up by the presiding officer as soon as I'd cast my vote! I couldn't be bothered going through the rigmarole again when we had the subsequent run-off for the position of Mayor so did not vote in that round. Anyway, now I have my permanent tessera [card], which was delivered to me by hand although there are no pending elections. [However, this is Italy so I probably won't have to wait long before using it!] Pazienza.

Blognote: I will probably be offline tomorrow as I have to have a non-serious [I hope!] medical procedure and may be even dopier than usual when I come back.

A MEAL AND A MYSTERY

A delightful lunch at the Altro Posto today, consisting of this new creation of theirs of chicken breast cooked in an orange sauce served with a contorno of lightly cooked baby carrots - just what I needed between classes.

This morning a pair of knickers fell from the balcony [a hazard of Italian life]. They hadn't actually been put on the line as they would have been destined for the outdoor drying rack, only they went and escaped from the fold-up part of a fitted sheet. I saw them land on the ground below and, it being a morning when nobody was about and there was no wind, I decided it would be safe to collect them on my way out later - at which juncture they were nowhere to be seen. Where are they, reader?!

SATURDAY MEANDERINGS

This balcony, beneath which I pass every time I am down in Modica Bassa, particularly caught my eye this morning, perhaps because the sun was on it. Just looking at it lifted my heart.

Then I bought this prickly pear liqueur in order to get the cute, hand-painted ceramic drinking vessel that came with it. [I’m the lady who brought 912 ornaments with her to Sicily, remember!] All my life I have been fascinated by pretty, little ornaments and kitchen paraphernalia.

That, in turn, reminded me that I hadn’t shown you this: the completed pineapple liqueur. It needs to be left a couple of weeks now before drinking. If you look at the bottle on the right, you will see that the metal ring around the neck is still there: I used to remove these before reusing [sterilised] bottles but last time I tried to cut one off the scissors slipped into my thumb and I ended up in ER! I still have the scar from that one and years ago I nearly minced my little finger in a Bamix. What kitchen accidents have readers had?

FINALMENTE..

.. I have acquired some summer plants for my balcony. The geraniums and other balcony plants have been "arriving" in the shop domani for three weeks and, when they did come on Thursday, I had got distracted with clothes shopping, as you know. Yesterday morning the plant shop owner said that if I went along there in the afternoon he would give me a lift home and deliver them. By the time I got there, though, he was busy, so the plants didn't arrive until this morning. I brought my Bill and Ben planters from Britain - I just couldn't bear to leave them behind - and Ben's pot was the only thing that got broken during the move. I have now stuck another one onto him and it's nice to see both Bill and Ben filled with blooms again. It's good that shopkeepers here will deliver, very willingly and without charge, whether your purchase is large or small. I remember having a terrible row in a Debenhams store in Britain once because they wanted to charge an outrageous price to deliver a small item of furniture.

I'm not much of a gardener - I hate it, in fact - so I have to have plants that can cope with benign neglect. But could that be a flower that is appearing on my one and only fico d'India [prickly pear plant]?

LIVING AND LEARNING...

Whenever I am out and about and it's safe to look up I carry out a reconnaissance of what people have on their balconies for whole lives are lived on them, much as the British use their back yards or gardens. Air conditioning apparatus abound, as you would expect but you also see old fridges and washing machines, toys, vegetable racks, shoes, bicycles and rubbish bags which will later be taken down to the communal bins. Some people have built little glass -covered utility rooms and others have sun lounges reminiscent of British conservatories on their balconies. Others have patiently grown pretty gardens enclosed by trellises, especially those who live on first floors where the terrace extends further outwards, or those who live on top floors. And of course you see lovely, trailing plants all year round.

Today I reconnoitered the balconies opposite and for the first time it occurred to me that my portable clothes drier , about which I wrote here, has higher sections at either end so that you can place one of those ends over the shorter, lower part of the balcony wall. How you do live and learn when you move to another country - and yes, it has taken me nearly two years to work this out!