AND ANOTHER SANTA CAME FROM ALBANIA...

Rosa and her husband had to go to Albania to see a sick relative before Christmas and then, because of a rough sea, could not get back to Italy in time to spend Christmas Day with their children [who stayed with their aunt]. I think we can all imagine how stressful and disappointing that was for them.

However, Rosa was in good spirits when she came to see Simi and me yesterday morning and it was like Christmas all over again: I shall treasure these intricately carved ornaments and the one on the right represents a çiftelia instrument and a sheep, a symbol of good luck in Albania. Rosa tells me that my good fortune will be assured if I fall asleep looking at the object so I have placed it beside my bed and am now full of hope for the New Year.

Then, when I tasted this Albanian dessert, I thought I had gone to heaven. It is called tulumba and consists of fried pastries in syrup - but what a syrup, reader!



Thank you, dear Rosa and family. I hope you have a wonderful New Year's Eve together and that you have the happiest of new years.

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.

LITTLE THINGS MEAN A LOT - 2

By far the most interesting item displayed in my printers' trays, for Italian and British friends alike, though, is the Jeu des 7 Familles, also given to me when I was about 5 and from which I have selected a few of the less offensive images above, though they are so stereotyped and grotesque that I hesitate to show even these. Such an item would never be sold in a western European country today.

Now, I scoff as angrily as the next blogger over the madder excesses of political correctness and an example of this is here. [Thanks, James.] But I also believe that we should be reasonably careful of our terminology and if altering it slightly can spare others pain, then why not do so? For instance, a directive was issued in some British secondary schools a few years ago stating that we should no longer play that old standby, hangman, as it could bring back terrible memories to pupils who had recently arrived from countries in which there was no respect for life. It is easy enough to draw a "stop" sign on the board instead, so why not comply, if you can save a child's tears for one day? So I keep my politically incorrect jeu as a reminder of why political correctness was necessary in the first place, reader.

Beaman wrote yesterday about Holocaust Memorial Day [which is observed and respected all over Italy] and I cannot help but wonder how many lives might have been saved if more people everywhere had spoken out against the grotesque images that were used as propoganda at the beginning of that terrible era. My wish for the world in this, as in every other year, is that we do not make the same mistake again.

LITTLE THINGS MEAN A LOT - 1

.. and can teach us a lot, too. Bear with me, for I am going to have to do this post in two parts.

When Sicilians visit my apartment, once they have come to terms with Simi sitting on their heads and the fact that there are books everywhere, two of the items which fascinate them are my printers' trays, filled with nick-nacks, on the wall. Some of you will know that I am a lover of ornaments and little things, and I have possessions displayed in these trays that I have had since I was five years old, including the "hatbox" ornaments I used to save my pocket money up for, buying them in a dark little shop in Stapleton Road, Bristol. Then there is my "Coronation crown" which, like all good children , I treasured [till I found out that you could only become Queen if you married Charlie - how I cried at that thought!] and a child's dictionary given to me before I could even read. I love my mini-tea-chests and later I saved my political campaign badges. [There is a "Free Nelson Mandela" one which I can't take even a passable photo of because the background is white, a Greenham Common one and a "Don't Attack Iraq" badge - much good that did!] There have to be Sicilian carts, of course and I bought the silver one some years ago in Agrigento [apologies for the photo quality.] There also has to be a depiction of my favourite Dickens character, Mr Micawber [my attitude to money being perilously akin to his, reader] .

In the next post I'll get to the point.