Starvation Diet

Posted on June 20, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Health • Tagged an englishman in italy, englishman, englishman in italy, exercise, fun expats, humour, italian, Italians, Mrs Sensible, Pecora Nera, running, workaway • 55 Comments

Mrs Sensible is being a really, really good girl, she went to the dietician at the hospital this week and was awarded 10 Brownie points and 2 gold stars for being a really good girl and losing another 4 kilos. I on the other hand have not been particularly good and didn’t receive anything.

2 Gold stars for Mrs Sensible

For dinner today Mrs Sensible fed me and our two guestaways a very healthy salad with a little bit of cheese and a little bit of fresh salmon and two peppers stuffed with rice. For some reason I only received one pepper. At about 4.00 pm Mrs Sensible left the house and I went in search of food.

I found a very large packet of crisps and decided to wash it down with one or two glasses of wine. Just as I was relaxing and feeling mellow and contented one of our workaways appeared in her running kit and said she was going for a run. I very nearly asked if I could join her, but sanity kicked in and I took another sip of my wine and another handful of crisps.

This red stuff helps to make me quite philosophical

Twenty minutes later, during my second glass of wine, guestaway number 2 appeared in her running kit and said she was going for a quick run; maybe it was the wine talking but I found myself asking if I could join her…….

How far do you go?

Oh about 45 minutes

Ah ha; do you run the full 45 minutes or do you also walk a little?

I might walk up hills it depends.

So I put on my Booby Charlton running shorts, turned on the Run keeper app on my phone and followed her out the door.

Ready in my Bobby Charlton Football Shorts

As soon as we got outside she started to do stretching exercises, it was at this point that I started to feel a little worried. As she bent over to touch her toes, I bent over and managed to touch my knee caps. As she stretched and put her chin on her knee, I stretched and managed to see my knee caps which seemed a long way away. And then we started running.

Pull that stomach in

I know she is only 19 and in the prime of her life but ‘spiders’ how is it possible that she can run up our road and hold a normally conversation.

So how far do you normally run?

Gasp, pant, gasp, not much! pant gasp wheeze.

There is a really nice breeze, this is nice weather to run in.

Wheeze, cough, wheeze, Yes, cough wheeze pant.

I managed to stay with her all the way up to the cowsheds and then my internal organs started to close down and I suffered severe cramp in my left big toe and had to stop.

“Go Go” I managed to utter as she disappeared up the hill.

Feeling a little ashamed and very old I slowly turned around and half ran and half hobbled home.

My runkeeper app didn’t help me either, I am sure I heard it say “Oye old man get running” and “do you want to change the setting from run to walk slowly”

Tomorrow I have committed myself to another run, I just need to find out if workaway number 1 runs slower than workaway number 2, maybe I will quiz them over a glass of wine.

Mrs Sensible has left me :(

Posted on May 31, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, expat, fun expats, gilda, humour, Italian wedding, Italians, Mrs Sensible, Pecora Nera, Scooby Doo, sicily • 67 Comments

The first thing you are going to ask is “has she taken Scooby Doo the cat with her?” Well the answer is no, she has left the scabby white cat here with me and no doubt we will both starve. Did I drive her mad and force her to leave me? Has she finally said “basta!” (enough is enough!) . All I can tell you is she has flown to Sicily to marry somebody. Before I tell you what has happened, go and pour yourself a glass of wine and then bring your chair closer to the computer screen while I explain what has happened.

Mrs Sensible leaving into the Sunset

Mrs Sensible flew to Sicily on Friday afternoon; no sooner had Mrs Sensible left these golden shores when Scooby Doo and I quickly made an inventory of the bacon in the fridge and the number of cans of cat food in the cupboard. I think I will starve first because I only have 3 packs of bacon left and Scooby Doo has 6 cans of cat food, plus he is not willing to share his food with me.

The cat was well prepared

While I was looking in the kitchen for the emergency stash of chocolates and crisps, I found the following note pinned on the kitchen cupboard.

To Do,

Paint the new house.

Keep this house tidy.

Make your bed.

Water the plants.

Feed Scooby Doo

Do Not,

Have a party.

Mess with the washing machine.

Order more wine.

Eat all the crisps.

Annoy Scooby Doo.

I have already started dropping hints with friends that I am Home Alone and may starve to death over the weekend and to-date,

Pecora Nera & Scooby Doo

I have had no dinner or lunch invitations. Friday night I ended up eating a kebab in a Turkish takeaway in a little village called Fubina. Mustapha who served me said “it good you here, I practice English with you, I want live near Manchester United; Italy hot but no good. England land of Milk and Honey” This might not be exactly what he said, I was only half listening to him while I was eating my kebab whilst wondering if the scabby white cat had worked out how to use the can opener.

If only Scooby Doo had opposing thumbs

Tonight I flipped a coin, ‘heads’ I cook bacon sandwiches or ‘tales’ I go to dinner with a lithe sweet young thing and enjoy a romantic evening for two. It was tales and I had a nice pint of beer, a chilli con carne and a fabulous pack of Brown Bag Crisp whilst staring into the eyes of my guest.

My dates eyes were like puddles, bicycle peddles.

So why has Mrs Sensible left me and flown to Sicily, top up your glass with some more wine and I will tell you. Mrs Sensible has gone to marry someone. Not as in to marry someone, (one black sheep is quite enough for Mrs Sensible) but as in marry two people together. It would appear there has been a new law in Italy, anyone who is deemed Sensible enough by the local council can officiate and marry people and so Mrs Sensible has flown to Sicily to officiate and marry two of our friends together.

She gets to wear one of those Italian banners over her shoulder

She got to wear one of these green white and red things

and ask the new couple the important questions such as:-

Do you take this man to be you lawful wedding husband, and promise to keep the fridge stocked with beer and his slippers and his pipe next to the fire?

And

Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife and always remember to open her car door for her and forgive her when she is short tempered and a growly monster for 1 week in every 4.

So it is Saturday night, I am home alone with only a bottle of wine and my wordpress friends to keep me company. Mrs Sensible will be back on Monday morning, which gives me plenty of time to straighten up the house and hide all the evidence of chocolate wrappers and empty wine bottles.

How is Scooby Doo the scabby white cat I hear you asking, well last time I looked he had given up with the can opener and eaten Gilder’s the short legged but incredible fat dog’s dinner.

Mr Cretino’s Family Tree

Posted on May 20, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, converting aUK driving licence to an Italian driving licence, expat, humour, Italia, italian driving licence, Italian plumbers, languages, living in italy, Mr Cretino, Mrs Sensible, piemonte • 51 Comments

Last year I introduced you to Mr Cretino; he was the wonderful character who exchanged my UK driving licence for an Italian one and it only took him 8 months!!! Not bad for Italy. I have forgiven and almost forgotten about him.

However, yesterday when I went into the local plumbers’ to buy a replacement part for the toilet in our new house, the horrors of the driving licence fiasco came flooding back and flooding is an appropriate word.

It would appear Mr Cretino has a son; we shall call him Mr Cretino Jr.

Mr Cretino’s Family Tree

I met him when I drove down to the local plumbing merchants to buy a new plastic widget for the flush of the toilet. The beginning of my troubles started when I turned on the water at the new house and created a minor tsunami in the upstairs bathroom. Nobody panicked when it happened, mainly because Mrs Sensible wasn’t there to watch the water cascade down the staircase and I was in the cellar turning on the water main and deciding how much wine I could store down there and would Mrs Sensible bother venture down the cold, dark, damp staircase to keep a tally of my wine stash the bottles of wine I planned on keeping solely for when guests arrive.

There was just a bit more water than this

Anyway, after running around the house like a headless chicken, and mopping the bathroom and stairs I drove down to the Plumbing merchants to buy a replacement widget. Had I known the assistant was the son of Mr Cretino, I would have simply stuck an out of order sign on the bathroom door and told Mrs Sensible it was beyond repair and she would have to use the other bathroom.

Do not enter, minor flooding possible.

So using my bestest Italian, it went something like this:

PN: Ciao

Mr C Jr: Yeah yeah, wait a moment.

PN: Ok no problem.

Mr C Jr: What do you want?

PN: OK, That broken, erh, not function good, change for new please.

Mr C Jr: What?

PN: Look, No stop water. This broken!!! Change for new, please.

Without this plastic widget, I would never have met the wonderful Mr Cretuno JR

Without this plastic widget, I would never have met the wonderful Mr Cretino JR

Mr Cretino Jr, picked up my little plastic widget and turned it around in his hands, he made a lot of sighing noises and said “Nope sorry, we don’t sell these”

I was devastated, Casale is a small town and this was the biggest plumbing merchants in the town. They had shelves and shelves of taps, tools, bits of plastic, kitchen sinks and to be honest I am sure they had one of my widgets or at the very least a set of seals for my widget. So I tried again.

PN: OK, This black, you have? I said as I pointed to one of the little black seals.

Please tell me you have these little black seals… Please

Mr C Jr: Nope, we don’t sell them either.

It was at this point that I realised whom I was dealing with. It wasn’t that he looked like Mr Cretino; for a start Mr Cretino was bald and this guy not only had a full head of hair, he also had a beard, maybe he got his looks from his mother.

Did Mr Cretino Jr get his looks from his mum?

While Mr Cretino Jr watched me reassemble my widget, I was suddenly struck by a great idea.

PN: (Holding the little plastic widget up in front of Mr Cretino Jr’s nose) You have similar, but a bit different?

Mr Cretino Jr: Of course we do!

He walked off down the corridor of shelves and returned with a shiny metal widget.

When he handed me the widget, I was wondering whether to give Mr Cretino Jnr a gift of my old plastic widget, maybe not in his hand but somewhere that would require a gifted surgeon to remove it.

Nurse stop sniggering.

Sicily-v-England

Posted on May 5, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • 11 Comments

Driving in Sicily

No this is not a football match or an international game of marbles between Sicily and England, it a post I wrote for Veronica from siciliangodmother.wordpress.com Veronica was the first person to follow my little blog of madness, so you can imagine how excited and humbled I was to be asked to write a post for her.

Please click here to read it.

Disclaimer: Mrs Sensible didn’t check the post, so it will be peppered with ~~smelling~~ spelling mistakes and grammatical errors.

Spectacular Failure #001

Posted on April 22, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, brown bag crisps, conzano, expat, fun expats, humour, Italians, italy, Pecora Nera, piemonte, working in italy • 45 Comments

In an attempt to educate the taste buds of Italy, we booked a stall at the Conzano village fair. We packed 400 packs of crisps into my Mini, one large umbrella to protect us from the blazing Italian sun and five receipt books to help us to comply with the Italian bureaucracy.

My business partner and his daughter also had a full car; it contained one makeshift table and enough provisions to sustain us through the day. At five-thirty in the morning, I foolishly climbed out of bed, drank the tea that Mrs Sensible had made me while she ironed my shirt, had a bowl of soggy cornflakes and sleepwalked my way to my little mini. When I arrived at my partner’s house he was still enjoying a cup of tea and warm croissants for his breakfast.

Not only was it raining, but some fool was trying to drive down the road as we were driving up it.

In convoy we finally set out for Conzano. The promotional leaflet we had been given advertised clowns, angels, sunshine and dancing girls with snakes. Unfortunately when we arrived, we were greeted by white vans, rain, unhappy looking stall holders and big wet looking puddles; oh, did I mention the wind and the driving rain that was arriving horizontally?

The leaflet promised clowns, angels and dancing girls with snakes.

We convened a management meeting underneath a semi-waterproof gazebo to discuss how we were going to erect our sun-proof umbrella. There were many helpful suggestions, including one or two suggestions that can’t be published.

Brown Bag Crisps Management team. This gazebo cost the owner 1,800 euros, but it didn’t look very high to me

At 7.30 am (I should mention that I ‘m normally still be in bed at this time) we decamped and ran through the rain to the nearest bar for a hot cappuccino and the chance to dry out.

A well deserved hot cappuccino after a mornings work

A well deserved hot cappuccino after a morning’s hard and demanding work.

When we returned to our rain battered umbrella, we had another short meeting with two other stall holders to discuss whether the weather would improve. While I was taking photos to record this farcical attempt at promoting our crisps, I saw arriving through the driving rain, or at least I am pretty positive that’s what I saw, an old man with a beard walking up the hill of Conzano carrying one hammer and several planks of wood; he was closely followed by two cats, two dogs, two ducks and two of every other kind of animal imaginable. Taking this as a sign, we decided to cut down our sun umbrella and head for home.

You can cut this picture out and colour it in on a rainy day.

To see if we are coming to a sunny festival near you, check out or web site and our facebook page.

Pecora Nera, What have you done with my hairdryer?

Posted on April 7, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, englishman, expat, fun expats, humour, Mrs Sensible, Pecora Nera • 73 Comments

Erh! Packed it.

Mrs Sensible: We don’t move house for another 3 months…

Uh Huh,

Mrs Sensible: Go and unpack it.

But!

Mrs Sensible: Do it.

Mrs Sensible’s hairdryer rescued from the box

I have been absent, once again from bloggoland because I am in the midst of a packing frenzy, plus other distractions that I will come to in a minute. We currently live in a house that was renovated by a man who had a fetish for light switches. Honest I am not kidding, in our lounge there are 12 switches on the wall and only one light bulb in the ceiling. Over the past four years we have worked out that we can operate the kitchen, lounge, bathroom, hallway and outside lights from the bank of switches in the lounge.

A bank of 5 switches, we also have a bank of 3 on the other side of the settee and a bank of 4 on the other wall

In the hallway I have 2 lights in the ceiling and another 11 switches, you may be asking yourself what all the fuss is about; well let me enlighten you. In Northern Italy it gets pretty cold in the winter and when I get out of bed to visit the bathroom it can take 5 minutes to work out which switch will operate the light I need, while I am dancing on the cold floor growling at the light switches, Mrs Sensible is telling me off for walking on cold tilled floors in bare feet and all I needed was a wee…. not some sensible advice.

I am also positive that Luigina (the nice lady who lives next door) is well aware that I am about to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, not because she can hear me cursing the light switches, but because she can see the exterior lights flash on and off followed by the kitchen light the lounge light one of the bedroom lights and finally if I am lucky the hall light.

Someone, anyone please switch on the light!!

Over the past 4 years Mrs Sensible has managed to work out which switch where, operates which light; there is however, one switch that even Mrs Sensible doesn’t know the function of. I think it controls the light in Luigina’s bathroom, and every so often I give it a little flick, but so far I haven’t heard her scream.

So we are on the move to our new house, I am very excited and have packed my books, pictures, pots and pans. I have also unpacked pots and pans the occasional hairdryer and one or two other things that Mrs Sensible thought that she had lost.

On top of the grand move to our new house, I have started a new business with an Italian friend. I firmly believe that any person who wants to open a business should be passionate about his product. Mrs Sensible vetoed the idea of importing Bacon Butties, she also vetoed skimpy underwear which left me with crisps.

Maria Grazia Cucinotta from the great Italian film il postino. I am told she wears skimpy underwear.

So here is a shameless plug for my new business.

Brown Bag Crisps

Please come and have a look at us at

www.brownbagcrisps.it and join us at our facebook page

PS. I think I had better go and unpack that Scabby White Cat.

How much is that pussy in the window,♫♪♫ I do hope that pussys for sale♫♪♫

Posted on February 27, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, fat dog, lost cat, Mrs Sensible, Pecora Nera • 81 Comments

~~Scabby~~ Scooby Doo, the Machiavellian pussy cat that has taken residency in my garage has been found alive, hungry and well. This is good news for Mrs Sensible, me and all cat lovers of the world.

Scooby Doo

Scobby Doo the ~~sweet~~, ~~loveable~~, ~~handsome~~, scabby white cat who has been missing since Friday morning, has been found in Luigina’s upstairs bedroom. Yesterday as we were walking towards Luigina’s house, Mrs Sensible said “did you hear that” No, what was it? “Shhh!” she demanded “I just heard Scooby Doo meowing” Without another word Mrs Sensible warbled SCOOOOOBBBBYYYYY DOOOOOOOOOOO WHERE ARE YOOOUUUUUU?

Honest I am not kidding, she really shouted it. We then heard a faint Meow, and Mrs S pointed at Luigina’s upstairs window and said look he is there. While Mrs Sensible went running down to Luigina’s vegetable patch (Luigina spends her life down there digging holes) I went running in search of my camera to catch the wonderful rescue for posterity.

Peek a Boo

It seems that Scooby Doo had given up trying to enter my house and decided to enter Luigina’s house and in the fine tradition of Goldilocks And The Three Little Bears, he had fallen asleep in one of the bedrooms. Luigina had then closed the bedroom door and locked the cat in. At sometime over the past 5 days, Scooby Doo tried to escape from the room by breaking the window, he then climbed through the hole in the glass and found himself stuck between the window pane and the shutter. Don’t ask me how a cat can break a pane of glass, I really don’t know.

I have to add here, that Luagina was very ill during the winter and is sleeping in one of the downstairs rooms, she is also a little deaf so she didn’t hear Scooby smashing the window or meowing to be let out.

Gilda fat dog to the rescue

While I was ~~taunting~~ photographing the cat from outside, Mrs Sensible, Luigina and Gilda the incredibly fat but short-legged dog all ran upstairs to rescue Scooby Doo. Mrs Sensible said “Scooby had behaved himself whilst he was incarcerated in Luigina’s house” She said “Apart from breaking the window and peeing in the corner of the room, he hasn’t left any little or big parcels for Luagina to clean up.”

The first steps of freedom for Scooby Doo

Despite being locked up for 5 days without food or water, Scooby Doo was reluctant to leave the house, I could hear Mrs Sensible ordering the cat to “go, out, out, scat cat” I took the photo on speed mode and it is still a little blurred, so you can imagine how fast he finally exited the house.

Thirsty Cat

After leaving the house, Scooby ran over to my little home-made fish pond (If you want one of these little ponds for your garden please send me your orders. The first order will be supplied with 5 fish and a white cat) and drank 2 liters of water. He then celebrated his release from captivity with a little victory roll.

Freedom Roll

At the moment Scooby Doo won’t leave us alone. He is permanently stuck to either my left ankle of Mrs Sensible’s right ankle. Four times we have had to remove him from the car, when we needed to go out.

First meal for our little prisoner, fresh salmon and tinned cat food

So alls well that ends well.

PS. This cat is still free to a good home or even a bad home. Although Mrs Sensible says he is staying.

Mrs Sensible has Man Flu

Posted on February 25, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged diet, hospital costs, italian hospital, man flu, Mrs Sensible, Pecora Nera, woman flu • 89 Comments

Even woman get man flu

Ok, she hasn’t got Man Flu, she had Man Flu, it was last Friday to be precise. So Mrs Sensible and I trotted off to the doctors to see if there was a cure. While Mrs S went in to see the doctor, I sat in the waiting room listening to BBC Radio 4 on my new phone. I really should write a post about my new phone, I can listen to English radio, play games, count the calories I am not losing. The only thing it is not very good at, is holding a signal long enough for me to make a telephone call.

When Mrs S came out of the doctor’s office, she had in her hand a fist full of prescriptions. 64 Euros it cost for the assortment of pills and potions she needed to get rid of the man flu. She also had a prescription for me.

“Er, Whats this for ?”

“It’s for the hospital, I have booked you a visit”

“Why?”

“To see a dietitian”

I tried to convince Mrs Sensible that I was suffering from just a little bit of puppy fat, or maybe excess winter fat that would go as soon as spring arrives. The problem is, Italians take their health and other people’s health really seriously. In Italy you don’t need to be ill to go to see a doctors, you can go and see him because… well because you think you might be ill in the future. An Italian doctors surgery is more like a community center, it is full of healthy people passing the time of day. The sick Italians are all at home in bed, they just send their husbands to the waiting room with a list of their symptoms.

Today, I went to the hospital to see my personal dietitian. Of course, you now think I am grossly over weight, but I am not, I just need to eat a little less and run a bit more, instead of running a little less and eating a bit more.

So arriving at the hospital, I was greeted by the bingo machine, I asked a women which ticket I needed and after perusing the machine she shrugged her shoulders and said ” no lo so” So I pressed ‘G’ If any of you can understand Italian, please will you have a look at the following and give me a translation for my next visit.

Englishmen, Immigrants and Pecora Nera

While I was waiting for G19 to be called I watched one woman approach the machine and after scanning the list of options, I guess she also didn’t understand the information, because she then walked over to the bingo machine on the left, found out it was identical and walked back to the first machine and took 2 tickets, option a and option b. In the past I was so undecided which ticket to take, I took one of each (see Hospital Bingo)

2 machines, neither made any sense.

Finally my number was called out

G19, Look at the holes in the metal chairs!!!! I wonder if they leave circles on your bum?

And I then wandered over to the cubicle that was flashing the number G19

Payment time

As I handed the woman my ticket (just to prove I hadn’t queue jumped) and my prescription, plus €50.00, yes we have to pay for treatment in Italy. She looked at me a bit strangely, I immediately knew what she was thinking, she was thinking, why does this slim good looking human specimen need to see a dietitian. In fact I had suggested the same thing to Mrs Sensible earlier today.

After stamping my ticket, she refused my money and told me to go and pay next door.

They don’t accept debit cards, credit cards or even Tesco vouchers

The hospital has a bank in the corridor and all payments are made here, despite it being a bank, they don’t accept debit cards, credit cards or even Tesco vouchers. They only accept real Italian Euros.

Following the signs for the dietitian, I found this wonderful sign.

Psychology Dietitian and Competent Doctors

At least I was heading towards the competent doctors, I wonder where the incompetent doctors worked?

When I reached the dietitian Mrs Sensible was already there and waiting for me, she had already helped the doctor fill out my personal data. I was then interrogated as to my eating habits.

Dr. What do you eat for breakfast?

I don’t

Dr. You don’t??? Why not?

I don’t like breakfasts, I just have a cup of tea.

Dr. Ahh, this is going to be difficult, he is English. What do you eat at lunch time?

I don’t, if I am very hungry I will eat some breakfast cereals. I don’t tend to have time to eat during the day.

????????

Mrs Sensible then very helpfully told the doctor that I enjoy eating chocolates and biscuits, in fact she said I like to sit down in the evening with a glass of wine and a handful of biscuits. I didn’t take offence as this is perfectly normal behavior isn’t it?

Dr. What do you drink?

Water, erh also a little wine.

Dr. How much do you drink?

mmm maybe 2 or 3 glasses, but not everyday.

Dr. You will have to drink only 1 glass a day.

Mrs S. When we have friends over, he sometimes drinks more than 3 and he likes grappa.

Dr. Well if you have a fiesta (party) then it is ok to drink more wine, but no grappa.

PN to Mrs S That’s ok then, we will have a fiesta more often.

So after I was weighed, measured ~~and deloused~~ a second appointment was booked when I will receive my diet sheet.

Weighed, measured and de-loused

I have had a couple of thoughts following the hospital visit.

1) If I am only allowed to drink one glass of wine a day, I need to buy bigger glasses.

2) If I am only allowed to enjoy a couple of glasses when friends visit, then I need to increase the number of my friends and invite them over more often.

3) I paid 46 Euros to be told I eat at the wrong time, eat the wrong foods and enjoy drinking too much wine oh and I need to exercise more. Mrs Sensible thinks it is money well spent because I will lose weight rather than be tutted at by the doctor at my next appointment. I think 46 euros would have been better spent on 8 bottles of Marco’s fine wine and a packet of biscuits.

I know this is my second post in a day, but I have been absent for a while. I have a couple more to post over the following couple of days, and a lot of blogs to go and read.

Missing. Scabby White Cat

Posted on February 25, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, englishman, expat, fun expats, humour, italian, Italian cats, Italians, missing cats, Mrs Sensible, Pecora Nera • 82 Comments

Scooby Doo where are you?

Scooby Doo was last seen on Friday morning, when he exited the garage to eat his breakfast. Since then we have not heard him meow once. I know I have offered on more than one occasion to post Scooby Doo to a good home (or even a bad home) but we are missing him and his crazy antics. We have called him and searched the vineyards, but he is nowhere to be seen.

Scooby Doo

Mrs Sensible is convinced he is no longer with us, as in maybe he has gone to the cat heaven. Luigina, the nice old lady who lives next door, suggested he may have moved house again, she pointed out to me that “Scooby Doo used to live across the road, maybe he is now living further up the road”

I told Mrs Sensible that Luigina thinks Scooby is still alive, but just living with someone else. Mrs Sensible said “maybe he has moved back home” “What across the road with the Hounds from the Baskervilles!! highly unlikely I said.

Nice cuddly friendly cat loving dogs. AKA Hounds from the Baskervilles

Mrs Sensible is going to go and ask the neighbors across the street, if they have ~~abducted~~ seen their cat. I am sure it will be an interesting conversation, because at some point she is going to have to tell them, that their cat has been living in our garage for around 4 months.

Gilda, the short legged but incredibly fat dog was also questioned. We know she has a habit of eating anything that is left lying around. She is the only dog I know that can eat a yard of grass and not barf afterwards.

The only reason her stomach is not touching the floor, is because she breathed in when she saw the camera.

So, on a more serious note. Have you seen ~~the cat that lives across the road~~ our cat.

Best e-mail received☺

Posted on January 14, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged agony aunt, an englishman in italy, comments, e mail, expat, humour, italain language. learning italian, Italians, language, learning Italian, Mrs Sensible, translator, wine • 101 Comments

If there is one thing I like better than reading the comments on my little blog of madness, it is receiving an e-mail from someone who has read my blog and taken the time to trawl through my ~~speling~~ spelling mistakes and poor grammar.

Imagine my excitement when I opened and read the following E-Mail, from a lady asking for my advice and help. I was very excited because is not often I get asked to supply advice, normally I supply it whether it is wanted or not, especially after a couple of glasses of wine.

This red stuff helps to make me quite philosophical

I will call Antonella from London, Mrs X to preserve her identity.

On 13 January 2014 17:07, Antonella wrote:

Name: Mrs X
Email: Removed
Comment: Dear Pecora Nera,

What a brave man you are…leaving Uk for Italy, which let’s face it it’s not always sunny and cheerful!

I’m facing a dilemma and I could really do with your advise! My beloved English husband of 8 years keeps on putting learning Italian off. I’m trying my hardest not to take it personally, and while he can mumble the odd word and understand quite well, he says he really doesn’t like learning and he married me because of me and not because I’m Italian. That’s lovely, one’d say, but I can’t help getting frustrated ’cause a) everybody would love to learn Italian b) I’m tired of translating for him when we are in Italy..

My question to you is, do I give up and be happy with my amazing husband the way he is or do I keep on pushing ’till he gives in? Somehow I sense that once we get to spend longer periods it’ll be easier for him to pick up the language…

I’m very sorry about my odd request, but I love your blog and I read that you too struggled with the language…

Warmest Regards,

Antonella

Dear Antonella,

Thank you for your lovely e mail, I am really glad you enjoy my little blog of madness. I have never done the “agony aunt” bit before, so I thought it would be useful to answer your E mail in 2 parts, I will give you my suggestions and then Mrs Sensible will give you hers.

Pecora Nera suggests.

You are fighting a lost cause. Love him lots, make him cups of tea, always make sure his favourite beer is in the fridge and his comfy slippers are next to the fire.

Always leave a space at the bottom for vegetables and butter

You might want to teach him the following key phrases,

1) Quanto Costa? (How much is it)

2) Dovè il bagno (Where is the bathroom)

2) Dovè è mia moglia (Where is my wife)

3) Non me piace seppia nera (I don’t like that gross squid cooked in black ink that looks ikky, so please stop making me eat it)

4) Mi piace il vino rosso, vino bianco, grappa etc. (I like red wine, white wine, grappa)

Other than the above, I find that if I speak slowly, a little louder and add a suitable vowel onto the end of an English word, the locals understand me. In the past 6 years my ability to mime has improved greatly. I am sure I could easily win any Christmas game of charades, with one hand tied behind my back.

John wasn’t playing charades, he had just trapped his fingers in the piano

Mrs Sensible suggests.

I have found a wet wooden pasta spoon is a good way of motivating Pecora Nera.

Mrs Sensible’s tools of motivation

If your husband is like Pecora Nera and is either pigro (lazy) or incapace, (incapable) simple stop translating for him. When I am fed up with translating, I just stop. Pecora will then stand next to me saying “what?, what?, tell me!, Sorry I missed that, what did he/she say?”

I can now hold a conversation with a friend and manage to blank out his voice. After a while it becomes easy, much easier than trying to force him to learn the language. I have tried to teach him Italian but he even forgets the Italian vowels. Pecora is like a mule, I cannot force him to learn, he picks up words and sentences because he has to.

Me, stubborn? I won’t have it said.

Obviously he quickly learnt how to order wine, grappa and corretto.

Make sure there is more grappa than espresso.

Corretto: There should always be more grappa than espresso.

As a last resort, tell your husband he can’t come to Italy next summer unless he takes the language seriously.

Best regards

Mrs Sensible

I hope Mrs X found our advice useful and remember.

A person who can speak 3 languages is multi lingual

A Person who can speak two languages is bi lingual

A finally, someone who can only speak one language is an Englishman.

PS. I have had so much fun with this post, I have decided to become an agony aunt. So if you have any questions relating to living in Italy. Just send them via my contact form. 😉

It seemed like a good idea at the time

Posted on January 7, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, englishman in italy, expat, Falling down stairs, fun expats, humour, Italian Christmas tree, italy, Mrs Sensible, near death experience., Pecora Nera, piemonte • 72 Comments

Marisa and Giorgio live a couple of villages away. They own the flower shop that I visit when I am in trouble with Mrs Sensible. I am therefore quiet a regular customer.

Here is a small collection of orchids I have bought to try to get back into Mrs Sensible’s good books.

They are not dead, they are due to flower and please don’t suggest they need more water, or you will set Mrs Sensible off again.

I am such a regular visitor to their flower shop that we often get invited to their home to dine on pizza and grappa.

Marisa outside her flower shop. Courtesy Google maps.

During the summer of 2011 I was once again in trouble, so I went to Marisa’s shop to buy another orchid or a bunch of flowers, when I suddenly fell in love with a beautiful Christmas tree. So I bought it; it just seemed like a good idea at the time. Marisa asked me how I was going to get it home, I was a little stumped, my basic Italian vocabulary does not extend to lengthy conversations, I usually get by with, va bene ( ok) mi piace ( I like it) and non lo so ( I don’t know). So I opted for non lo so.

Giorgio, who is a bit of a hero, offered to deliver the tree for me, he asked me when I needed it delivering. I pondered this for a moment, I was already in trouble for something and I didn’t think adding a Christmas tree to the house was going to help marital bliss, so I said non lo so.

Marisa said “due settimane?” (2 weeks?) This seemed perfectly acceptable, because Christmas was at least 5 months away, so there wasn’t any rush. In fact the longer they kept it; the more time I had to dream up a plausible excuse for buying a Christmas tree in the summer.

Two weeks later, Giorgio and Marisa arrived with my Christmas tree. I had completely forgotten all about the imminent arrival of yet more troubles. In fact I had forgotten to work on Mrs Sensible; I had forgotten my carefully laid out plan on how to convince Mrs Sensible that buying a Christmas tree in the summer, made perfect sense.

Christmas 2012, the tree sat outside in the snow, festooned with lights. Scooby Doo was still living with the big dogs across the road. Had he decided to move in during 2012 he could have spent his Christmas sheltering under the tree from the snow.

Finding out how large a box I will need to post Scooby Doo to a willing Blogging friend

This year I decided to bring the tree inside the house and hang little baubles and lights on it. It seemed like a good idea at the time. After carrying the tree up 17 steps, I had already regretted buying the heavy and prickly thing. Manoeuvring it through the front door I had to use one foot to keep the cat outside and the other foot to close the door.

The tree looked wonderful, it didn’t shed many pine leaves, mainly because it was still alive and carrying it up stairs I can testify that it was sat in at least 40 kilos of Piermonte clay.

A little Christmas tree

Today Christmas is officially over. Befana has been and gone and I stripped the tree of all its pretty lights and baubles. Like the rest of us, the Christmas tree has put on some extra weight and it looks a little bigger.

It just fitted through the door.

I dragged it down the corridor and before attempting the 17 stairs I paused to get my breath. As I then started down the stairs, the plastic plate that the tree stood on, broke free and miraculously slid under my right foot that was just trying to find purchase on step number 4. All hell broke loose, the tree, Pecora Nera (Me) and the plastic plate disappeared down the stairs faster than you could say ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time’

Stupid plastic plate

As the tree, me and the @#+??$% plastic plate collided through the front doors, Gilda who is not the best guard dog I have ever come across, decided to attack the strange howling and swearing mess of tree and the creature that was tangled up in it.

Ask Gilda to attack an intruder and she will retire to her food bowl. Fall down the stairs with a Christmas tree and all of a sudden it is an attack dog.

Ask Gilda to attack an intruder and she will retire to her food bowl. Fall down the stairs with a Christmas tree and all of a sudden it is a ferocious attack dog.

Next year when we start blogging about Christmas and decorating our houses, please please please remind me that it is not such a good idea to use real live still growing trees that weigh 50 kilos as an ornamental Christmas Tree.

New Year’s Resolution.

1) To act more like a grown up

2) Not to follow my own advice

3) Not to use any more real and potentially life threatening trees at Christmas

Interviewed at Sue’s

Posted on January 7, 2014 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • 65 Comments

Sue organised a special couch for Scooby Doo and Me

Sue Jones invited Scooby Doo and me to visit her blog to answer a few questions. I immediately thought the scabby white cat had been telling tales again, but Sue just wanted to find out why I started blogging and if Mrs Sensible minds doing the cooking while I chat to fellow bloggers.

Sue’s interview can be found here BIG LINK pop over and say hello to her and maybe help remove the white cat hairs from her couch.

In case you have forgot what the daft cat looks like here he is.

Scooby Doo eating an egg yolk.

Confess: We have ways of making you talk

Posted on December 21, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, awards, Italy Magazine, Italy magazine nominations, Mrs Sensible, Scooby Doo • 109 Comments

Who did it? Was it YOU?

I have been a Pecora Nera (Pecora Nera is a black sheep, for you non-Italian speakers Ha!) for as long as I can remember. I dreaded the days when my mum would angrily shout my brothers’ and sister’s name one after the other, until she finally got her act together and settle on my name. I have found myself in some sort of trouble for most of my 52 21 years.

A classic example was the Ritz Crackers episode.

These crackers got me into a lot of trouble.

There was an unspoken rule in our house. No one was allowed to open a pack of biscuits or Ritz crackers unless my mum had either: a) said we could open them or b) she had already opened them. If the pack was already open, then to a certain extent we could ~~grab a handful and hide in the bedroom eating them~~ eat one or two of them, providing we left more than crumbs in the box. No one ever dared to finish a box of crackers, the consequences were quite severe. My mum would say “Peter, go and make me a cup of tea and fetch the Ritz Crackers”. She knew they had been scoffed, I knew I had scoffed them, we both knew I was in trouble.

One evening, when I went foraging for food, I found to my dismay, that the box of crackers was unopened. But as I moved it to see what delights were hidden behind it (maybe an opened packet of chocolate digestives), I noticed that this particular box of Ritz Crackers didn’t feel very heavy. It should have weighed 225 grams but it felt as though it was missing two or three crackers.

I investigated further and to my horror, shock and amazement, the box had very cleverly been opened from the bottom. A quarter of the pack had been eaten and the box carefully resealed. I knew for sure my brothers and my sister were not ~~stupid~~ brave enough to pull a stunt like that, which left only my mum.

I vividly remember the evening, when my mum decided to eat the Ritz that she has secretly opened and there were only three and a half crackers left and three innocent children plus one suspicious looking black sheep.

Ok so this post is really about one of you out there in bloggo land who needs to confess to a deed most foul. One of you filled out a form on the Italy Magazine. com and nominated my blog of madness for Best Living in Italy Blog.

Cool

I know it was one of you lot, because I have interrogate Mrs Sensible and she denies it. Scooby Doo is not ‘yet’ allowed in the house, (Mrs Sensible keeps dropping hints, and the hints will get big when the snow comes) so he is not guilty which leaves one of you.

Out in the cold and the rain

It wasn’t me, I only found out because I am a stataholic and I followed a referrers link back to the awards. Who ever did it,

THANK YOU VERY MUCH

Merry Christmas

Christmas truce Scooby Doo and Gilda Style.

Posted on December 18, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, cat food, dog eats cat food, englishman, expats, fun, humour, italy, Mrs Sensible, Pecora Nera, piemonte, Scooby Doo • 84 Comments

Can a Machiavellian cat and an incredibly fat, but short-legged dog call a truce over Christmas?

Two months ago Scooby Doo adopted us and moved into my garage. At the moment he is in arrears with his rent, I sat down with Scooby Doo and discussed his lack of payment; the following day he left half a mouse. Obviously I was less than happy with the payment, so I gave him a stern talking too. The following day Scooby Doo left me a small brown slightly warm lump in the middle of my garage floor. I have left further payment discussions to Mrs Sensible.

I am patiently waiting for NHS Supplies to come and collect their cat

I am not really a cat person, I like dogs, big dogs that can chase and fetch sticks. I have repeatedly suggested to Mrs Sensible that we should rescue / buy a big daft dog. Mrs Sensible always points out that we have Gilda.

Gilda is the incredible fat but short-legged dog that belongs to Luigina and lives next door.

Gilda in trouble yet again

Link to Gilda

Gilda and Scooby Doo have a love hate relationship, Scooby Doo hates Gilda and Gilda loves to chase Scooby Doo. In November I posted the pictures of the great cat chase between Gilda, Lila and Scooby Doo. Sadly earlier this month Lila passed away to doggy heaven.

The great cat chase

Last week Mrs Sensible shouted me

Mrs S: PN!! Quickly come here.

PN: Nope I am busy. (I think I was catching up on blogs from fellow bloggers either that or I was chilling on the sofa)

Mrs S: You will never believe it, quick where is your camera?

PN: Uffa! It’s here, why?

Mrs S: Quick look out of the window.

And there it was, Scooby Doo and Gilda eating cat food from the same tray. I was not surprised that Gilda was eating cat food, Gilda eats anything, she is the only dog that eats grass because she is hungry and doesn’t barf afterwards.

Gilda and Scooby Doo enjoying a romantic meal together

I was so surprised, I had to check that it was Gilda, so I called her “Yo! fat dog you are supposed to chase the cat” Gilda looked suitably ashamed.

Yo! Fat dog, you are supposed to chase the cat

Now the real question is, have they called a truce because it is Christmas? Will the truce last till boxing day?

Clearly the fat dog likes cat food

Merry Christmas from Mrs Sensible, myself, Scooby Doo who is in temporary residence and Gilda the incredible fat but short-legged dog.

Mrs Sensible & Pecora Nera, featured on InterNations.org !!!

Posted on December 10, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • 30 Comments

Gosh, the kind lady at Internations.org has added my little blog of madness to their website.

Internations is a web site where expats can meet up with other expats, to discuss job opportunities or more importantly where and when the next ~~pub crawl, beer festival~~ social gathering takes place.

I was asked to submit a photo of sunny Italy so I gave them this one.

Sunny Italy

On hindsight I should have sent this one.

The spare bedroom on the day we moved in

Because this is what the spare bedroom looked like until Mrs Sensible told me to sort it out.

Please go and have a look how I have managed to infect a sensible web site with my strain of madness. LINK

A big red box will appear, either join (which is a good idea) or click the X in the top corner so that you can read my post… and then join.

8 things about a Black Sheep

Posted on December 9, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged afro, cox, drowning, englishman in italy, flying, rowing, Sheffield rowing club, swimming • 63 Comments

I have been tasked with telling you nice people, 8 things you need to know about Pecora Nera. I could keep my mishaps to myself, but then I would have to decline the award that the nice lady at Sandcastles in Portugal gave me.

Ok, here we go.

Number 1

When I was 13 I was asked to be a cox for the Sheffield Rowing Club. It was great fun, I used to sit at the back of the boat and tell a crew of men or women what to do. I loved it! We raced all over the country and the two crews I raced with were very successful, we even won a Gold Medal at the Vesta International Championships.

One weekend it was ~~peeing it down~~ raining rather heavily. On that fateful day we arrived late at Nottingham Regatta. By the time we had rowed to the starting position, my boat was a quarter full of water. We asked the umpire if we could empty the water out of our boat. The umpire told us that we were late and if we didn’t come to the start position immediately, he would disqualify us. I wonder if he is related to Mr Cretino?

So we started the race with enough water in the boat to take a bath in. As the oarsmen took their first stroke, all the water in the boat was forced down the boat and into my lap. As I frantically bailed the water out with my little hat, the crew slid forward to take the second stroke and all the water rushed down to the bow of the boat (the bow is the pointy bit at the front). I was just trying to work out why all the water had disappeared, when two of the crew at the pointy end stopped rowing. So I shouted at them, I told them to join back in as soon as they could. Ronnie, a huge tall Irishman, shouted back: ” We are f&%$ing sinking!!” There was no Kate Winslet to hold my hand as my boat slowly but surely disappeared below the waves.

Pecora Nera sinks at the Nottingham Regatta

Number 2 (can things get worse)

When I was nineteen, I decided to host a Christmas party in my little flat. I invited my friends from the local pub including Sarah and Julie (I think those were their names). Both of them declined my party invitation, because Joy (I am 100% sure I have her name correct) was due to perm their hair on the night of my party. While I was drinking my pint of beer, I suddenly had an incredible idea. I would invite Joy and she could perm and set the two girls hair while we all partying: easy peasie lemon sqeezy. Joy and the girls agreed.

My hair needed cutting, as it was getting just a bit too long. So Joy suggested she could perm it for me (remember these were the 70’s). Obviously I promptly declined the offer; you see… I can be sensible at times, just like my wife. However, after 2 or 6 drinks it actually did seem like a bit of a wheeze to have my hair permed. So, having being asked again, this time I agreed.

Joy, who was no longer the Sensible hairdresser that I knew from the pub, giggled while she poured the solution on my head. We all got another drink and ~~sat down and gossiped~~ danced the night away. All of a sudden, Joy let out a shriek we all turned to her, and she said ” oh my gosh, you still have the perm solution on your head!” I then looked at Sarah and Julie who were suddenly collapsing in a giggling heap. I personally didn’t understand what the problem was, even after Joy dragged me into the kitchen to wash the solution out of my hair.

Never get your hair cut at a party.

I don’t remember much more of the party, I vaguely remember dancing to We are family and Le’ Freak. I remember waking up the following morning with an enormous hangover; as I rubbed my poorly head, my fingers felt a mass and I mean a mass of tight frizzy curly hair, not unlike the picture above.

Number 3

When I was seven and unable to swim, my older brother took me boating in Stamford Park in Manchester. All of a sudden the heavens opened and it started to rain, which is not unexpected in rainy Manchester; knowing that I couldn’t swim, David took the decision to head for the island in the middle of the lake rather than the safety of the landing stage, where the boat owner was waving to us. As we reached the island, David said: “Quick, get out and I will steady the boat”. I really believed him… duh! With one foot in the boat and one foot on the island, the little boat slowly drifted away. It is amazing how quickly one learns how to swim.

My very first swimming lesson

Number 4 (Are you still with me?)

Whereas I was slightly inebriated when I had my perm ‘done’ I was stone cold sober, when it seemed like a good idea to have a tattoo printed on my body. My younger brother had a mermaid winding itself down his leg, whereas I (mainly because I was sober and I thank the Lord I was) decided to have a discrete tattoo done. I wanted Pecora Nera (Black Sheep) printing somewhere about my body; and to this day it is still there. Mrs Sensible has obviously seen it, and the Germans at the sauna saw it.

Painful

Number 5: I ate at the same restaurant 36 times in a three month period.

Three times a week for three months, I went to Maso Restaurant and indulged in their fine food, in a vain attempt to persuade Miss Sensible to go out for a meal / drink with me. She kept turning me down with excuses such as: she needed to wash her hair… she was too tired or had a much more sensible thing to do than going for a drink with a crazy Englishman. Not one to take a hint, I would simply rebook another meal.

Ah! I am sorry Miss Sensible isn’t working tonight, try again tomorrow

Number 6: I have been a pilot taa raaa.

My elder brother is stinking rich; I am poor as a …. well poor. My brother has his own plane, it even has a go faster stripe down the side. One weekend he offered to take me flying. As we flew over Lincolnshire he let me take the controls of the plane and asked: “Have you ever gone cloud hopping”, “cloud hopping?” I asked.

“Yes: you head for a cloud and pretend you are a battle of Britain pilot”. So David and I went cloud hopping, neeeeeooowwww; the plane went as we shot down through the clouds. As we burst out of the cloud into the sun we shouted Rat tat tat tat tat and pretended to blast the imaginary German Luftwaffe. We were having a great time until the local air controller asked in a very British clipped voice “could you please confirm your direction. Ooops! Once a Pecora Nera always a Pecora Nera.

Fortunately I didn’t decide to fly for an airline.

Number 7

I am a dog man. I like pussy cats, but I prefer dogs. I want a big daft dog that will chase sticks; however, at the moment I have a cat that sleeps in our garage and he isn’t really our cat. I had to dissuade Mrs Sensible from putting a collar on him yesterday. We feed him twice a day, he has been deflead and has thanked us by peeing on the stairs and leaving a little parcel for me in the garage. Mrs Sensible said he does it because he knows I won’t let him into the house.

Scooby Doo lives in a box in the garage. Although he is not completely happy with this arrangement. PS dear NHS supplies if you want your box back, you may come and fetch it.

8) I have been awarded The Woman’ Skirt Award, hence the 8 facts about me.

Woman’s Skirt Award

And 8 other people who deserve this award? Very difficult to pick only 8

http://livinginthelanghe.wordpress.com/ Mrs Sensible and I went and visited them a week ago, Mrs Living in the Langhe was wonderful, their little dog Otto was fab, I can’t remember much about Mr Living in the Langhe.

http://ilghepardo.wordpress.com/ This lady is not scared of trees.

http://ytaba36.wordpress.com/ Yvonne from Ytaba. Maybe I will invite Mrs Sensible and I to her part of the world.

http://lifeisbutalabyrinth.wordpress.com/ He makes me laugh even on a Monday. The man has more blogs than I have fingers..

http://bluefishway.com/ Ralf is as mad as me.

http://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/ A really nice blog.

http://1writeway.com/ A great blog for all you budding writers.

And last but not least ANDY, who comments on my blog. Andy, now you have an award, go and start a blog.

You 8 now have to write a post, include 8 things about yourself and nominate 8 other blogs. To read the proper rules go and visit HERE

On the Twelfth day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me ♫♫♪

Posted on November 27, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home, Uncategorized • Tagged 12 days of christmas, Christmas, Mrs Sensible • 85 Comments

Christmas is a coming, the geese are getting fat. Please put a penny in Pecora Nera’s hat.

On the twelfth day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Twelve blogging buddies ♫♫♪

12 bloggers a blogging ♫♫♪ I couldn't narrow it down to 12

49 bloggers a blogging ♫♫♪ I couldn’t narrow it down to just 12

On the eleventh day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Eleven hospital visits ♫♫♪

11 Mrs Sensible and the fantastic bra shuffle

On the tenth day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Ten driving licences ♫♫♪

I should have asked Mrs Sensible in the first place, it would have saved a lot of time with Mr Cretino

I should have asked Mrs Sensible, not Mr Cretino to organise my Italian driving licence

On the ninth day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Nine wines for drinking ♫♫♪

Wine by Marco Bellero, who is a bit of a hero of mine link

On the eighth day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Eight killer snakes ♫♫♪

Scary snakes, Gilda, Luigina and our guestaway

On the seventh day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Seven summer skiers a skiing ♫♫♪

7 Summer skiers a skiing

On the sixth day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Six golden geese ♫♫♪

OK 5 golden geese and a big brown one.

On the fifth day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Five pink elephants ♫♫♪

5 Pink Elephants

On the fourth day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Four Gatwick police ♫♫♪

Hello hello hello, what’s all this then, Mrs Sensible’s mum with a big pen knife?

On the third day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Three scary trees ♫♫♪

I hasten to add, Italians aren’t scared of trees. Only us poor Englishmen

On the second day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ Two fat dogs ♫♫♪

Gosh am I seeing double?

On the first day of Christmas Mrs Sensible gave to me.

♫♫♪ A Scooby Doo in a fig tree ♫♫♪

This is the best picture I could take, Scooby Doo was not interested in being a model.

Merry Christmas to my blogging buddies.

Pecora Nera, Mrs Sensible and a nude selfie.

Posted on November 20, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, expat, fun expats, humour, Italia, Italians, Mrs Sensible, Mrs Sensible and Pecora Nera in the nude, Mrs Sensible in the nude, Mrs Sensible naked, naked englishman, naked Italian woman, naked selfie, selfie • 94 Comments

Selfie – “a photograph that one has taken of oneself, typically one that is taken with a smart phone by stretching ones arm to the limit and then trying to press the camera button, the photo (that you will forever regret taking) is then uploaded to a social media website” – has been named word of the year by Oxford Dictionaries editors, after the frequency of its usage increased by 17,000% over the past 12 months.

One of the few completely dressed ‘selfies’ on google

Purely in the aid of research, I did a quick search on Google images for ‘selfie’ and I was astonished, amazed and even gobsmacked at the number of women who took selfies of themselves in their bra and knickers.

Not to be outdone I have decided that Mrs Sensible and I should post our very own selfie. After searching through the selfies that Mrs Sensible and I have taken over the years, I have decided to push the boat out and post a nude selfie.

If this post is a success, we may consider a 2014 Pecora Nera and Mrs Sensible calendar after all it worked for Rylstone Women’s Institute.

Pecora Nera & Mrs Sensible in the nude

Why does Mrs Sensible buy cat food, when we don’t have a cat?

Posted on November 2, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged Cat and dog chase, italian cat food, Mrs Sensible, Scooby Doo • 83 Comments

Cat food in the cupboard.

During the summer, I managed to lock a skinny, mangy looking cat into one of our garages. It wasn’t my fault, honest; it was raining and the cat had hid in the garage. Three days later I opened the garage to find a cat meowing and winding itself in and out of my legs. I was impressed that the cat had not peed or messed in the garage and I instantly named the cat Blacky.

Mrs Sensible didn’t think the name was appropriate, so she asked Luigina, if she knew who the scrawny cat belonged to. Luigina keeps her finger on the pulse of village life and was able to tell Mrs Sensible that the cat lives across the road with the woman who has the wolf that Gilda torments.

We carried the cat across the road and as we handed it back to its owner, one of her dogs jumped up and tried to eat one of the cat’s legs. While the cat meowed and tried to escape the dog, the lady told us that the cat was called Scooby Doo!!! Now I think naming a cat after a dog is even less appropriate than naming a white cat Blacky.

Blacky AKA Scooby Doo tucking into my salami piccanti

Blacky AKA Scooby Doo tucking into my salame piccante

Since the summer, Scooby Doo has decided to use our house as the local takeaway and we have fattened him up. He arrives at our house at 6.30 in the morning and then after 7.00 pm in the evening. He sits and meows outside our window until one of us gets up and finds him some left over scraps of meat. Last week the cat arrived and started meowing, but the cupboards were bare. We couldn’t find any left-overs that the cat could eat. We couldn’t get the cat to shut up, so we threw it some of my precious salame piccante.

The decision was made: we don’t own a cat but as he prefers to come here and eat our left-overs than share a house with a dog that wants to eat him, we decided to buy some cat food. The problem now is, Scooby Doo likes the cat food so much he wants to eat three square meals a day.

The time of day that Scooby Doo arrives is important and proves this cat is not stupid. From 7.00 pm until 7.00 am both Gilda and Lilla are under house arrest; they are both securely locked up and although it drives them mad to see and hear a cat meowing outside our window, there is nothing they can do.

This lunchtime, Scooby Doo came asking to be fed, but the take away was closed, so Scobby Doo decided to sit on my car and wait for opening time. And then trouble arrived in the shape of Gilda and Lilla. They often wander over from Luigina’s house to say hello. The cat froze. I ran in search of my camera.

Gilda and Lilla arrive to say hello

From my bedroom window, I was taking photos and laughing at the two dogs. Scooby Doo was watching the two dogs and Mrs Sensible and Donna (who became famous following the Vicious snake attacks defenceless woman in Italy post) were trying to distract the two dogs from the lounge window.

Lilla smelled a rat, or more likely a cat and wandered off in search of it.

Lilla scouts the area while Gilda begs for food

The cat never moved.

Dun dun dun…Gilda spots Scooby Doo

The cat looked at the short legged but extremely fat dog with utter contempt. And then Lilla arrived…

Lila arrives and Gilda tries to reach the cat.

Lilla arrives while Gilda inspects whether there is sufficient tread on my tyres .

It was at this point that Scooby Doo decided it was time to take a leisurely walk home.

Scooby Doo tests the water.

And then Scooby Doo launched himself into the air and Lilla did a back flip and attempted to catch the flying cat.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it superman? No Its Scoooobbbbyyyyy DOOOO

And then the chase was on. “GOOOOO Scooooby”… shouted Mrs Sensible and Donna.

Run, rabbit, run erh cat

Despite the fact that Gilda has short stumpy legs and is carrying several excess pounds and was also late at setting off, she soon overtook the trim Lilla. The only sound was the crowd shouting encouragement to Scooby as he ran for home.

Gilda the short legged and incredibly fat dog overtakes the Lilla

Gilda, the short legged and incredibly fat dog, overtakes Lilla (These photos are not photo-shopped: Scooby Doo is so confident he is only using one leg)

As I precariously hung out the bedroom window, capturing the race for posterity and Mrs Sensible and Donna cheered the cat on. I did wonder if the high protein diet we are feeding Scooby Doo helped him in his escape from the terrible twosome.

Scooby Doo widens the gap and heads for the garden fence. But just look at the fat dog fly…

The excitement was almost too much to bear; even the Grand National or Formula One is never as exciting as this.

Gilda who realises the race is all but over, decides to show off by imitating a kangaroo

Scooby Doo raced around the corner of the house, while Gilda who couldn’t corner as fast (due to her short legs and excess weight) ran directly in front of Lilla. The race was starting to resemble an episode from the Keystone Cops.

As Scooby Doo disappears around the house, Gilda deliberatey tries to hamper Lilas efforts

As Scooby Doo disappears around the house, Gilda, with flapping ears is unable to corner and runs in front of Lilla.

And with that, the race is over. The cat clears the fence and Gilda and Lilla screech to a stop.

Scooby Doo escapes. The dogs sulk.

This evening at twelve minutes past seven, Scooby Doo came around for his evening meal.

Way to go Scooby

Hunger

Posted on October 27, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged diet, dieting, food, italian food • 37 Comments

Don’t ask

Forced to eat vegetables.

Posted on October 20, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged englishman, hunger, Italia, Italians, italy, Mrs Sensible, naughty children, vegetarian food, wine • 37 Comments

Cabbage, it is green, it’s healthy and good for you. Uh huh

9.30 pm Sunday 20th October 2013

PN : I am hungry.

Mrs S. You’re hungry? It’s a bit late.

PN: uh huh.

Mrs S: There’s some cabbage in the fridge go and nuke it.

PN: It’s ok I’m not that hungry.

Mrs S: You’re like a child, you eat with your eyes and your ears.

PN: Where are you going?

Mrs S: To nuke the cabbage.

PN: NO, REALLY IT IS OK. I AM NOT HUNGRY

3 mins later……. PING

munch munch munch

PN: How come this cabbage is so nice, what did you do to it?

Mrs S. I cooked it in some of your red wine.

PN: Is there any more?

Mrs S: See? You should listen to me more often, you are like a child.

PN: Uh huh.

Mrs Sensible’s Cabbage, cooked in my best Barbera with onion, carrots and love.

What’s small pink and takes 8 months to arrive?

Posted on October 19, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Driving • Tagged an englishman in italy, converting aUK driving licence to an Italian driving licence, driving, DVLA, englishman, expat, fun expats, humour, italian, italian driving licence, Italians • 84 Comments

No Mrs Sensible is not pregnant.

After 8 months of waiting, my Italian driving licence has finally arrived, it was a very simple process and only took.

1 medical
10 visits to Mr Cretino at the Italian office (they now have 10 photocopies of my passport, licence etc)
5 Emails to the Italian office
6 phones calls to DVLA
4 nice e mails to DVLA
2 snotty e mails to DVLA
1 letter to the Chief Exec of DVLA

and of course 120 Euros

Small pink and takes 8 months

After 8 months of shouting at Mr Cretino in Italian and the DVLA in English; I now consider myself to be a bit of an expert on converting driving licences, so I have written a book.

My new book, available from all good book shops

If you can’t find my book in your local book shop, have a quick read of the following.

Part one

Part two

Part three

The letter I e mailed to DVLA

I am working on my next book titled How to gain Italian Citizenship. It should be available in 5 years.

The face behind the blog

Posted on October 14, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • 52 Comments

Mrs Sensible and I really enjoy reading your comments so a big thank you to all of you out there in blogger land.

Pecora Nera and Mrs Sensible check the latest comments

Mrs Sensible vs Ipercoop

Posted on October 13, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, Casale Monferrato, englishman in italy, expat, fun expats, humour, Ipercoop, Italia, italian, italian customer services, languages, Mrs Sensible • 52 Comments

Mrs Sensible was most unhappy

Mrs Sensible had a little bit of a fall out with Ipercoop today. She was studying the cost of a bottle of fizzy water and found Levissima, a premium brand, was priced at €0.48 for a pack of 6 bottles and underneath was marked the price of €0.05 a litre. This was truly a bargain, it was almost as cheap as tap water, so much so I nearly ran out and fetched a couple more trolleys so that we could take 500 litres home. I was already dreaming of what a bath in fizzy water might be like.

Mrs Sensible asked a shelf stacker if they were really selling fizzy bottled water at 5 cents a litre; he looked at Mrs Sensible as though she was stupid and said “of course it was an error: nobody would sell water at 5 cents a litre” Mrs Sensible was still talking to him, when he turned his back and walked away!!!

Now, Mrs Sensible is normally a calm and controlled person, but in circumstances like these she tends to quickly switch to teacher mode, so I was surprised that without commenting on the shelf stacker’s manners, she turned on her heel and wheeled her trolley off towards the entrance like a Formula One 1 racing driver.

The smell of burning rubber as Mrs Sensible accelerated down the grocery aisle was quite amazing

Unaware of what was going on in her mind all I could do was to run after her trying to catch up. At the Punto Ascolto (Customer Care Desk) she explained to the supervisor, a tall and kind lady who looked a little German, that the shelf stacker had been very rude to her whilst Mrs Sensible was really only trying to do them a favour.

Mrs Sensible said she looked like a German woman. So I saw beer

A typical German woman

She explained that if they didn’t change the price tag quickly, a hundred people (because we would phone them all) would rush here and demand to buy fizzy water at €0.05 a litre given that under a European law, shops are bound to sell their merchandise at the marked price, despite any spurious pricing errors that might have occurred.

The German looking Customer Care lady tried to contact the head of the water department and said to Mrs Sensible “a shelf stacker has not the power to change price tags, but yeah, he shouldn’t have been rude, sorry….”

As the person in charge of the water department was nowhere to be found, the lady at the Punto Ascolto headed quickly towards the incriminated area, followed by Mrs Sensible and her trolley, followed by me, still a tad confused.

We followed Mrs Sensible in an orderly procession

Together we examined the price tag and, yes it did say 9 Litres of water for € 0.43. The tall lady said “it is a big error and thank you for pointing it out, but only my colleague can change the tag, that is when she arrives from God knows where…” At that point a small woman who looked no more than 25 appeared panting and puffing: she had obviously just run from her office or just finished a marathon. She started babbling something that sounded like a lot of nonsense to me.

The argument about the cost of a bottle of water once again escalated: the small woman tried to justify the mistake saying that the tags always show the price of one bottle, trying to convince Mrs Sensible that she was wrong and they were right and therefore it was no problem; Mrs Sensible, on the other hand, was pointing at the price tag arguing that it clearly showed 9 litres for € 0.43 and said € 0.05 a litre; the small woman was still trying to explain a simple maths equations to Mrs Sensible not knowing that my wife teaches maths.

Keep calm Mrs Sensible is a maths teacher….

As Mrs Sensible broke into teacher mode, the little woman was producing ma, però , ecco, (but, so, maybe) sounds whilst the helpful assistant kept repeating “Togli il cartello! TOGLI IL CARTELLO!” (Remove the price tag!) I was enjoying the tennis match between the three of them when suddenly I heard Mrs Sensible shout “Cos’ha da guardare così in cagnesco?!?!” What are you glaring at me for? Now, it’s not often I hear her shout at people, so horrified and wide eyed I turned toward the direction of her words, where I saw the shelf stacker half hiding behind his boxes and glaring at Mrs Sensible.

He glared from behind the tins of tuna

“Io vi sto facendo un favore!” I’m doing you a favour she shouted, before people realize they can demand to buy water at the marked price! He was bellowing back angrily when the small lady was struck by a bolt of pure inspiration and decided to remove the price tag and the tall helpful lady yelled Grazie al cielo! Finalmente!

As we wandered off towards the meat counter I asked Mrs Sensible: “So how much was the water?”

I have quit the booze…

Posted on October 11, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Health • Tagged an englishman in italy, dentist, doctor, expat, fun expats, humour, illness, Italia, italian, Italians, languages, man flu, Mrs Sensible, wine • 90 Comments

On Tuesday the 8^th of October in the year of our Lord 2013 I supped my last glass of wine.

I have quit drinking this lovely stuff

I am yet to notice any significant health benefits. In fact my health took a downward turn last Friday when I complained of some sort of manflu. Mrs Sensible examined me and said it was probably a bad case of asthma. She promptly prescribed an antihistamine tablet, after a lot of protesting that they only send me to sleep, I dutiful took the offered pill and promptly fell asleep. I slept from Friday evening straight through to Saturday evening, only waking up long enough to take another pill and then immediately became comatose until some-time on Sunday.

I lost two days of my life to sleep

You guys know I don’t trust or like doctors or dentists, but under threats of severe repercussions, if I didn’t do as I was told, I was finally persuaded by Mrs Sensible to go and see the local medicine man, mainly because my coughing at bedtime was worse than my snoring and was keeping both of us awake.

My Doctor is not quite like this, but then again..

The doctor diagnosed that I was suffering from Brontosaurus or some other dreaded disease probably related to cervical. He prescribed an intense 5 day course of antibiotics, a little bottle of clear liquid to stop my coughing, pastels for my sore throat and not wanting to be left out, my good wife Mrs Sensible made me use an inhaler for people who are suffering from asthma. We agreed to disagree on the added benefits of using another antihistamine tablet.

I am sure my Italian doc said I had brontosaurus

Last night, which was three days into my treatment, I suddenly suffered a coughing fit. Tears were rolling down my face and the only sound I could produce was whuu whuu whuuuu. My lungs finally decided to go on strike and as I staggered into the kitchen while trying to bang my back in a vain attempt to re-start my lungs; I heard Mrs Sensible drop her mobile phone and come running into the kitchen to help me: she immediately joined in the banging on my back; as she slowly bludgeoned me to the floor I could hear her friend continuing to talk on the phone through the loud speaker, totally ignorant to the fact that she was talking to herself and that my wife was trying to save my life.

My lungs decided they couldn’t withstand any more of the punishing Mrs Sensible was meeting out to them and with a loud gasp of air they started to work again. I managed to squeak “basta basta” enough enough to Mrs Sensible and she stopped her onslaught.

Basta basta I can breathe honestly.

As I slowly got back up to my feet, I cast a quick glance to make sure Mrs Sensible hadn’t taken too much pleasure from beating me to the floor, fortunately all I could see in her eyes was love and concern.

I know Mrs Sensible loves me, really she does.

OOOH! I have news from Mr Cretino allegedly he has my new Italian driving licence, I wonder which name it will be in. When I get my breath back I will fill you in and when I finish my antibiotics I will raise a glass or two of wine to you all.

Bye for now

Pecora Nera

The largest Cannabis party in the Med.

Posted on September 20, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged 30 tons cannabis set alight on a cargo ship, cannabis, cannabis party, italy, malta, splif • 31 Comments

A cargo ship containing 30 tons of hash was set alight in the Mediterranean creating a massive drifting cloud of marijuana fumes. A group of smugglers set fire to their cargo ship to stop the Italian Finance police and Maltese police from gate crashing the party confiscating their hash.

MV Gold Star Smoking…..

The slightly charred and smoking MV Gold Star, was sailing under the Tanzanian flag, and had been monitored by police for 3 days before boats and aircraft were sent out to gate crash the party apprehend the ship. The ship’s nine-man crew then began to set fire to the cannabis concentrate before diving overboard into the sea.

As the Italian police escorted the smugglers to the cells, Giuseppe, with a big grin on his face, said: “Hey man, was that cool or what? Did you see all the big black kinda wavy smoke coming out of the ship, like pink elephants in da sky?” His partner replied: “ yeah man, this was the highest point of my career, like, way high man, way high.”

Pink Elephants in the sky, Crazy Man!

Despite several calls to the helicopter to tell them they were no longer needed, the helicopter continued to fly round in circles and an awful lot of giggling could be heard over the airways.

Hey dude copy you, going around for another sniff erh, look. Tee hee hee

A police spokesman could not be drawn on why the smugglers dived into the sea several miles from the nearest land; his only comment was: “It was very strange behaviour and we are trying to figure out what exactly made them do it”

The smoking ship was towed to the Sicilian port of Siracusa where people partied the night away the soggy smugglers are being held for questioning.

The people of Siracusa partied all night…..

One police officer lamented: “It took 3 showers and a lot of soap before Fleabag, the sniffer dog, would leave me alone”

Fleabag the sniffer dog

I am a Domestic Goddess

Posted on September 18, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged Italian house husband, Italian housewife, looking for work in Italy • 65 Comments

I am a domestic goddess

Housework is easy peezi lemon squeezie

I have had a fall out with the guy I was working with, he is an Ace person, and funnily enough the word ace translated into Italian, is asso (which believe it or not Ripley) is pronounced asshole.

So at the moment Mrs Sensible goes to work at two different schools to teach her little chilblains how to tie their shoelaces and generally educate them; so that they do not grow up to be the next Mussolini of heavens forbid another Burlusconi.

One Berlusconi is quite enough thank you.

I on the other hand am learning how to make the bed using nurses corners, mop the floor, cook the evening meal (I have bought several packets of indigestion tablets) and be a good housewife house-husband.

I have drawn the line at waiting at home ready in a negligee to greet my hard working wife.

I am not doing the stockings or the negligee

and until the diet kicks in, I am not doing the Chippendales either.

If I upload a pic of Dita van whatever her name is, I thought it only fair to upload the chippendales

In-between sending out my C.V, dreaming up get rich quick schemes and polishing the bookcase I have produced tonight’s evening meal,

I didn’t burn it

I have put a bun in the oven

A bun in the oven, tsk!! really all I have done is put a loaf of bread in the oven

Changed the bed and tucked it in with nurses corners.

Oh Matron!! she knows how to tuck in your corners

And it is not even 1.00’ clock, so I can now sit down with a glass of wine, put my feet up and watch daytime TV.

Only day time TV in Italy is appalling.

An open letter to the Chief Executive DVLA

Posted on September 17, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Driving • Tagged an englishman in italy, Chief Executive of DVLA, complaining DVLA, driving, driving in italy, DVLA, DVLA complaints, englishman, exchanging an english driving licence, expat, how to exchange an English licence to an italian, italian driving licence, Oliver Morley, Poste Italia, Simon Tse, swapping an UK licence to an Italian licence patenta • 51 Comments

Dear Sir,

Re case no XXXXXXXX licence no XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Please will you help me to convert my UK driving licence to an Italian driving licence. I have requested your help because the process is becoming a farce and would be worthy of any Italian opera.

Opera

During March 2013, I started the process of exchanging my UK driving licence for an Italian licence. I knew this would not be an easy process, because it involves Italians and their wonderful bureaucracy; however I was politely surprised when it only took four or five visits to their office and a medical to get the process started.

In May Dott: Giampierro Allegro from the Italian Ministry for Transport wrote to the DVLA (UK) requesting two pieces of information; he asked if the DVLA would confirm that my driving licence was authentic, and the second question was, is Pecora Nera (original name changed) born in Malta on the 3/11/1961 and Pecora Sensible-Nera (changed again) born in Malta on the 3/11/1961 the same person? The confusion has arisen because I adopted my wife’s surname when I married her and updated my UK driving licence. In Bella Italia changing ones name is unheard of.

Since then the process has halted, DVLA (UK) denied receiving the letter, this may be true, because Poste Italia is exceptionally unreliable, you have more chance of a letter reaching its destination if you put it in a bottle and throw it from the Naples ferry into the sea.

Quicker than Poste Italia

Since July I have contacted DVLA on several occasions including, one letter, two e mails, made four telephone calls and filled in two DVLA web based complaints form. Today I phoned Angelina at the DVLA call centre and was told they are still looking at the attachments that I sent during August!!!

Please will you ask someone to write to Dott: Giampierro Allegro at the Italian Ministry for Transport and confirm that my licence is authentic and that Pecora Nera and Pecora Sensible-Nera are the same person.

The ongoing saga

Part one

Part two

Part three

Please…..

Yours faithfully

Pecora Nera

Post updated because Mr Simon Tse is no longer the Chief Executive of DVLA, Oliver Morley becomes the new Chief Executive in November. I wonder if this will be sorted before then?

Nebbiolo, Barone di San Pietro

Posted on September 5, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • 1 Comment

I have re blogged this post, because Marco makes the finest wine in Monferrato. Marco is the wine producer who not only refilled the antique wine bottles that I found (see post here ) but he also refused payment for the wine and his time.
So a toast to Marco and his wine. 🙂

La Cà Nova

Con oggi cominciamo a raccontarvi in modo approfondito le schede degustative dei nostri vini, in modo che anche i meno esperti possano capire le caratteristiche, i profumi e i sapori dei nostri prodotti.
Iniziamo con uno dei nostri prodotti più all’avanguardia: il Nebbiolo.

Colore: Rosso rubino più o meno carico, con riflessi di granato.
Profumo: Profumo caratteristico, tenue e delicato, ricorda la viola, che si attenua e perfeziona con l’invecchiamento.
Sapore: Secco, di buon corpo, giustamente tannico da giovane, vellutato, armonico.
Vitigni: 100% nebbiolo
Vinificazione: Fermentazione in acciaio a cappello sommerso per la durata di 12 giorni a contatto con le bucce.
Maturazione: La maturazione avviene in piccole botti di rovere per la durata di 18 mesi.
Abbinamento: Ideale con tagliolini al sugo di salsiccia o con tartufo, agnolotti con sugo di arrosto, piatti a base di carni rosse, stracotti e selvaggina in genere, nei formaggi mediamente stagionati o solo leggermente erborinati.
Epoca…

View original post 14 more words

The whirling dervish from Vileda

Posted on August 31, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, fun, hoover, humour, Mrs Sensible, Vileda • 43 Comments

My mum bought me a train when I was five, it had flashing lights and made a whoo whoooo sound. I was quite impressed with my present, mainly because it wasn’t another pair of mittens connected together with string. My mum was less than impressed with my train. She said: “The man at the market said it was supposed to move.” Picking the train up from the carpet, my mum carried it through to the kitchen and set it down. It immediately went Whooo whooo, screeched across the linoleum, swivelled around 3 times on its axis and came haring back towards me. Being a bright boy I had spotted the imminent danger and decided to go running back into the lounge screaming and shouting and looking for my dad.

Whoo whooo

I hid the monstrous train at the bottom of my wardrobe with my collection of mittens.

Despite the string I usually managed to loose at least one of the mittens

Fast forward to present day and imagine my horror when Mrs Sensible arrives home with a battery powered hoover. Although it doesn’t have flashing lights or go whoo whoo, it does drive me mad. It is a fiendish gadget developed by Vileda, who, in my humble opinion, should stick to making mops.

Vileda Whirling Dervish

Before my wife leaves for work (she leaves at stupid o’ clock in the morning) she switches the hoover on and lets it wander up and down the hall, thus saving either of us the task of cleaning the hall. This would have been a really wonderful idea, except I hate how just as I am halfway through a nice dream, the hoover bangs into the bedroom door and wakes me up; I just manage to drop off to sleep and engage in my dream just in time for the robot to travel down the hall and return to frantic crashes against the door. It doesn’t go whooo whoo, like my train, it goes mmeennnnhhuuummm, mmeennnnhhuuummm, BANG, mmeennnnhhuuummm, mmeennnnhhuuummm, bang, bang, bang, mmeennnnhhuuummm.

Fortunately a couple of months ago it developed a fault: the stupid hoover forgot how to steer in a straight line; all it could manage was to swivel on its axis and clean a perfect circle. In my infinite wisdom I decided it was beyond repair and hid it at the back of the garage. Mrs Sensible did wonder if it was an act of sabotage.

Yesterday Mrs Sensible came home with the latest housewife cleaning aid: another battery powered hoover (notice I didn’t use the term house-husband). At least this one can only work when it is safely attached to Mrs Sensible’s hand.

Mrs Sensible’s hand assisted mop

Just another Tuesday

Posted on August 27, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged concorso, dog meat pasta, englishman in italy, fun expats, humour, Italia, italy, Mrs Sensible, piemonte, porca meseria, wasps in Italy • 42 Comments

Well… I am not sure what to write about today. I flicked a Euro in the air to help me decide and it rolled under the chair, never to be seen again. So, today I will only give you a little flavour of a day in the life of an Englishman living in Italy.

Bring back Sterling

Mrs Sensible left the house in a happy mood this morning. She had just learnt that she had been awarded the Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award by 1write way.wordpress. Personally, I am gob-smacked. I am not sure why she won the award, because this is my blog. Mrs Sensible is the cook and the woman that keeps me out of trouble, she doesn’t put ink to paper. A couple of months ago during a glass of fine wine, I did suggest to Mrs Sensible that she should start her own blog. She thought it was a good idea and started to discuss the possibilities of “Living with an Englishman” and “Living with the man who burns Pasta”. Fortunately, I managed to steer the conversation onto more pressing matters and away from a blog discussing her life with me.

Mrs Sensible’s blog award.

(There will be a post about the award later…..) Massimo, the builder who had come to look at our roof and gutters, following the tornado that wandered through my garden, nearly fell off his ladder this morning. We, me and him, propped a rather large ladder against the side of the house and while I did the technical bit of putting my left foot against the bottom rung of the ladder, Massimo climbed to the top.

A rather long ladder

My conversation with Elsa (the landlady and daughter of Luigina) was abruptly interrupted by Massimo shouting a lot of rude words and waving both of his hands in the air. Damn fool I thought, he is supposed to be using one of his hands to hold on to the ladder. “Vespa!! Aiuto!! Porca miseria” he shouted as he waved his hands about. I calmly suggested that maybe he should descend the ladder before he fell off and squashed my pot plants. He took my advice and came to ground zero, sporting a few rather nice wasp stings to the side of his face.

I forgot to give him the can of Zig Zag until it was too late. The ammoniaca was for the stings

Oh!! I nearly forgot, earlier this year Mrs Sensible entered a national competition organised by the Italian government, (I wrote about this in March). The competition was to organise who would get full-time contracts within the Italian School system and who would continue on temporary contracts. The Government has decided that their competition is far too complicated and they can’t add up who has won, so they will now announce the winners in September 2014. Fortunately Mrs Sensible has found a place for this year at the same school she taught at last year, so we will make it through another year. PS. I made lunch today,

Dog meat pasta

I used onions from my vegetable patch, some cans of meat that resembled dog meat, but I am assured it is the Italian equivalent to corn beef (as I said dog meat) a clove of garlic, a bottle of wine (I always cook better with a glass in my hand) and some tomatoes. Through gritted teeth, Mrs Sensible said she enjoyed it. If you are lucky I might upload the menu.

Click oops!!

Posted on August 24, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged Black sheep, englishman in italy, weekly photo challenge • 69 Comments

One of our neurotic hens woke me at 6 this morning, it was laying a remarkably large egg and decided to shout about it; this started Gilda, the remarkable fat, but short-legged dog barking. Between the two of them it became impossible to sleep. So I gave up all hopes of a Saturday morning snooze and spent 10 mins trawling my wordpress reader.

If it wakes me up again at the weekend we will have a talk over Sunday dinner

And I found a great photo titled The eye’s (or rather eye) have it By THE NUMPTY WITH A CAMERA AND A LAPTOP for the latest wordpress Photo Challenge.

I have a nice camera, in fact two years ago I bought myself a Canon 1000D. I carefully wrapped the prezzie in Christmas paper and added a tag with the words : Love from Mrs Sensible, thereby giving both of us a surprise on Christmas morning.

Unfortunately none of my photos are ever likely to match one of Steve Currry’s who is the master of photography.

However, today I have entered the wordpress photo challenge with the following photo, and after careful deliberation I have titled the photo Click oops!

Click, oops

Because, I was leaving the house with the camera in my hand, when the damn thing when off, nearly blinding me with the flash.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/08/23/weekly-photo-challenge-focus/

Bloggers European Bunfight

Posted on August 19, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged awards, bloggers, budapest, European bloggers bun fight, Party, weekend away, wine • 60 Comments

Montgomery Fest (that is the the couple that go around holding hands a lot) and Mrs Sensible and I are considering the possibility of organising a weekend meeting in Budapest for bloggers.

So we are testing the water to see if anyone is interested in joining us for a weekend of madness fun.

We are thinking of springtime

This is the only picture that I could find of spring flowers

A fun Awards Ceremony

Awards we will try to get Charlize Theron

And either a dinner

A light lunch

and or a dance.

A little tea party

So if you think you might be interested either send me a message with how many people, using this form, or contact Montgomery Fest using this form

or stamp your feet and shout very loudly

Stamp your feet and shout

We have created a second site where we will upload more details, as soon as we get some feedback and numbers. Please go to http://bloggersbunfight.wordpress.com

It’s black frock time.

Posted on August 17, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • 70 Comments

I am nearly at the end of my first year of blogging, It has been great fun and I have exchanged comments and e mails with some fantastic people. Last month I nearly stopped blogging, but thanks to a couple of e mails and the odd prod I am still here.

When Jennifer from My Sardinian life nominated me for the Affidable Blog Award, I was totally gobsmacked, and Mrs Sensible couldn’t believe it. So today I would like to nominate the following people for the Pecora Nera Award.

The Blacksheep Award

As always there are a few rules that you must follow and they are as follows:-

Give yourself a pat on the back. (you must stand on your left leg while you do this)

Don’t link back to this post. The award is just a thank you to you from Mrs Sensible and I.

Don’t nominate another 15 bloggers. It is a just my way of saying, thanks for the fun or your pictures are fantastic or even just for being a nice person.

So without further ado, here are the winners.

The crazy Irishwoman who lives in Latvia. Expat eye on Latvia

An American who writes about her childhood with Humour 1950 Suburban Adventures

Lynne who takes wonderful pictures of England Lynne Revette Butler

Montgomery Fest who are obviously still in love and hold hands a lot Mongomery Fest

A new blog that looks like it will be good The Chef and the waitress

I wish my vegetable garden looked like Debb’s Digging wiv Debb

Another crazy woman I used to be indecisive

Pictures, really good ones The Amateur Camera

A ginger minger Ginger Fights back

Yet another crazy woman, this one lives in France Multifarious Meanderings

A remarkable lady who turns items that have been thrown away into useful objects. Living Simply Free

Dean who blogs about life as a mother Little Steps

The Sicilian God Mother. You are probably already following this blog, if not why not Sicilian Godmother

Crazy woman in Croatia. Oh and she has a holiday home for rent Our Adventures in Croatia

I am sure I have missed lots of great blogs out, but it is time for a glass of wine.

So thanks to all the great people who have taken the time to say hello to me, and all the people who spend time creating blogs for other people to read.

Ciao PN

As easy as ABC

Posted on August 13, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home, Wine • Tagged an englishman in italy, englishman, expat, fun expats, humour, italian food, Mrs Sensible, Spaghetti aglio olio e peperoncino • 43 Comments

Are you the type of person that burns a boiled egg? Then have no fear, you are in good company.

As easy as ABC

Mrs Sensible decided that today was my cookday and I was to cook spaghetti aglio olio e peperoncino. My cookday? “It is easy” she said, “there are only 4 ingredients. Olive oil, garlic, chilli peppers and spaghetti”. This is fine, but I cook bacon, eggs, mushrooms and fried bread, that is when I have supplies of Bacon from the UK in the freezer. I don’t do Italian, even my Sicilian aunty turned her nose up at my tuna and pasta spaghetti concoction, and she loves me to bits, plus I laced it with wine.

“Okay” I said to Mrs Sensible, “how do I cook it?” “Pan fry a little garlic in the small frying pan and a little chilli pepper. While you are doing this, cook some spaghetti when it is done add the spaghetti to the frying pan add a bit of water from the spaghetti, fry until it is done and serve.” she said as she watched her latest Inspector Morse DVD.

Easy peesy lemon squeezie!! What could go wrong?

Lots

I know that before putting any ingredient into a pan, it is important to open a bottle of wine. I chose a fine bottle of Sovrana from the cantina of Marco Bellero.

Sovrana by Marco Bellero

“How much spaghetti?”

“200 grams”

How much oil should I use?

Enough to cover the pan bottom, don’t burn the garlic !!

Uh huh!

Where is the spaghetti?

Bottom cupboard.

No it is not.

yes it is, I will come and get it for you.

Thanks!

The Spaghetti is here and you have burnt the garlic!!

Do I bin it?

Deep sigh, “Yes start again”.

So I started again, I fried a little garlic in a bit of olive oil and started to boil the spaghetti. When I thought the spaghetti was cooked, I wandered into the lounge with a bit of spaghetti hanging from a fork. Just as I waved it under Mrs Sensible’s nose and said “Is this cooked? Inspector Morse shouted “You have killed her, you were his doctor”

“No” she said.

So I wandered back into the kitchen. The garlic looked a little too brown so I took it off the flame.

Mrs Sensible shouted from the lounge “Have you grated the cheese for the spaghetti”

Erh! No

So she came in to rescue me and the spaghetti.

As she chased the garlic around the pan she said “I have never seen garlic so well-burnt”

“Uh huh” I replied

She threw the spaghetti into the frying pan, added some water, fried it and served it into two plates.

What can I say… the wine was very good, however Mrs Sensible declared that she had eaten better pasta.

So here is the recipe if you want to try your hand.

Spaghetti aglio olio e peperoncino

Spaghetti with garlic, olive oil and chilli pepper (and a glass of wine)

Difficulty

Allegedly very easy

Preparation time

2 minutes

Cooking time

15 minutes

Serves

Ingredients:
200 grams of spaghetti
1 small red chilli pepper – seeded & chopped
2 medium cloves of fresh garlic (squashed but unpeeled)
2 -3 tbsp of extra virgin olive oil
Salt, to season the pasta and to throw over your left shoulder for good luck.

1 bottle of good wine to drink while you cook.

Specialist Equipment

A large frying pan

A deep pan

Sharp knife

A good cook

A glass for the wine

How to cook:

1) Discard the seeds from the chilli pepper and chop the pepper into small pieces.

2) Cook the pasta according to the pack instructions and season with salt. If there are no instructions, E mail Mrs Sensible.

3) In a shallow pan, place 4 tbsp of olive oil and heat until hot, then add the garlic and chilli pepper. Cook over a low to medium heat until the garlic starts to turn golden (do not allow to burn)

4) When the pasta is ready, drain & transfer pasta into the shallow pan with the oil, garlic and chilli. Toss together and allow to heat through for approx 2-4 minutes. Serve immediately.

If you try this and it works, let me know. If you try this and you fail, please do not feel bad it is a very difficult dish.

You have visitors coming? Ok, then I will huff and puff and blow your garden to bits.

Posted on August 13, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, driving in italy, expat, fun expats, humour, mosquitoes in italy, Mrs Sensible, piemonte, storm, storm protection, wind • 54 Comments

Today started as any Monday morning… with a groan. I rolled out of bed, wandered into the kitchen and started to boil the kettle for a nice cup of tea. Just as I plugged the kettle in, a bolt of lightning and a crack of thunder shot across the sky. Mmm that was close, I told Mrs Sensible.

As I wandered into the bathroom, two more bolts of lightning lit up the bathroom and then the winds came. There is a Latin name for the winds that suddenly appear in Piedmont something like bigggusti flatulantisti windusti. A strange howling sound came from the chimney, it sounded like a Scotsman struggling with a very bad set of bagpipes, Mrs Sensible and I looked at each other with horror, as we watched the lounge ceiling start to vibrate. As we stood watching, the ceiling cracked where it was supposed to be glued to the wall and lifted about 10 centimetres. That’s about 4 inches in real money.

As designed by Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown and redesigned by a bit of wind. For you dedicated gardeners, can you spot my lemon tree?

We both, in a very calm British stiff upper lip way, decided that we should vacate the lounge and close the windows. The conversation and actions went something like this.

“What is the noise?”

“Don’t know”

“The roof is moving”

“What?”

“Look, it is moving.”

“Move, run, now”

“The windows”

“Close them, oh Dio!”

We calmly walked ran around the house like headless chickens, shutting the windows as the wind blew and the mad Scotsman in the chimney played his bagpipes.

A strange sound came from the chimney. Was it Father Christmas, a mouse or a strange Scotsman with his bagpipes.

The crazy man who converted, what should have been a lovely 1800’s barn conversion into a modern American style office building house, installed swinging windows that are 1.5 metres square (Five feet in English). When the wind grabs them then can spin 180 degrees and smash into little pieces.

This photo does NOT do these stupid windows justice.

In Italy, we have a small problem that blights the country; now some of you will be thinking of the mafia and some of you might be thinking of the glorious Italian bureaucracy, however the real problem is the blasted mosquitoes. A ‘proper’ Italian house, designed and built by anyone with an IQ above 25 makes sure that it is easy to install anti mosquito nets. Unfortunately because a moron designed this house, it took me 12 months to devise a way of attaching nets to our huge, swinging windows. The end result took over 80 metres of gaffa tape (for you non-English blog readers, gaffa tape is like sellotape, but wide and very sticky, it has the remarkable property of sticking eyebrows to lips and fingers to windows) 10 packs of netting and a lot of swearing. The end result is mosquito nets, which hang from the windows, the same way my old grannies knickers used to hang from the washing line.

Big and baggy, just like grannies knickers

They nets do stop 97.5 % of all known mosquitoes, the remaining 2.5% still manage to get in and bite me at around two o’ clock in the morning; but because of the masses of gaffa tape needed to secure the mesh, the windows no longer close properly. Now this is not normally a problem, except the wind was blowing a hooley and the rain was raining horizontally!! We stood and watched as the rooms slowly flooded. I ran around in circles while my wife ran for the mop and some mats to soak up the water.

When the wind and the rain stopped, we surveyed the devastation. Apart from the three new ponds in the bedrooms, the destroyed shed, various roofs that had detached themselves from the chicken shed etc.; what most upset Mrs Sensible was she and to a lesser extent I, had spent the previous couple of days cleaning and tidying the house ready for our visitors.

I will huff and puff and blow your shed away.

We checked to make sure Luagina, our neighbour had survived the storm and then we started the clean up operation, so that we would be ready for our visitors arriving from the UK. Hopefully bearing gifts like piccalilli and HP brown sauce.

This post will self destruct in 48 hours

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, birthday, fun expats, humour, Italia, italian, Mrs Sensible • 54 Comments

If you read my posts, you may find that they change after a couple of days. They remain basically the same, but the grammar and spelling ~~miraculusly~~, ~~miraculastly~~, amazingly improves. This is because Mrs Sensible logs onto my blog, switches into skool marm mode and mutters and tuts her way through my spilling mistakes.

Because Mrs Sensible reads my posts, this post will self destruct in 48 hours if not sooner.

Pecora Nera in trouble

On Sunday I was in trouble. I don’t know why, I pondered everything I had done, not done, touched or not touched over the previous three days. I know I had been a bit lax with the old, unloading the dishwasher but it doesn’t normally cause frosty stares and monosyllable answers.

I asked if I was in trouble. I hasten to add this is not a good thing to do…..

In the end I sat down and had a proper Poo Bear think.

A really hard think

And then it came to me, like a bolt out of the blue, a sledge-hammer thought, straight to my left temple.

A day to remember

I HAD FORGOT MRS SENSIBLE’S BIRTHDAY

Panic struck… I tried to remember the exact date that I had forgotten. I checked my phones diary, my laptop for proof of her birthday and even her facebook page. I knew her birthday was around now, but had I just missed it, or was I really in trouble, by at least a week or more? Was my life salvageable?

I checked her Italian ID Card.

With shaking hands the truth stared me in the face…. I had missed her birthday by several days. I was mortified, scared even. It was too late to rush out and buy a big chocolate cake with Mi Dispiace printed across it. I was doomed, my fate was sealed.

I quietly sat back down in the lounge and pondered my alternatives. They looked very bleak. How could I forget my loves birthday???? Should I broach the subject empty-handed? or wait it out until Monday and buy her lots of flowers, chocolate, new shoes etc, and endure another day of being in trouble…

And then I had another thought

Another really hard think

I couldn’t believe I had missed her birthday, so saying silent prayers I quietly tiptoed back to her handbag, dug out her purse and re checked her ID card. The date I had seen in my terror, was the date her card expired….. Her Birthday is in August, on the 12th to be exact.

So I am really really glad, I didn’t play honest Joe and tell her that I understand why she was mad at me and that I was sorry for forgetting her birthday, because I would have dug myself an even bigger hole than I was already in.

The problem is…. I still don’t know why I was in trouble…. and I don’t want Mrs Sensible to read this and realise that I forgot her birthday, so this post will self destruct in 48 hours.

Yoo hoo I am back

Posted on July 20, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, East Midlands Airport, englishman, expat, humour, ryanair, wine, Yorkshire Tea • 56 Comments

I have been away from bloggoland for almost a month and I have to say I miss you guys. I enjoy writing about the crazy stuff that happens to me in Italy, but more importantly I love the comments and interaction between other bloggers. So, normal service has now resumed or as normal as it is ever likely to get.

Over the past month, we have had an assortment of Mrs Sensible’s family arrive and depart, I have eaten too much fine Italian food and gained nearly all the weight that I had earlier lost. I have also played countless games of Scoponi, see here for instructions. My Zia gave me a new nickname ‘Furbo’, I think it means ‘he who wins every game of Scoponi.’

Some of us are naturally lucky, and some of us have 2 gold sevens in our hand

Last week I flew to the UK to watch my daughter’s passing out parade, we celebrated with copious quantities of beer as only an Englishman can. The following day I was Godparent to one of my nieces and once again we celebrated with gallons of beer at the local rugby club.

Proud, so very proud of her. She is holding a medal she was awarded for attaining the best fitness in the troop.

Proud, so very proud of her.
She is holding a medal she was awarded for attaining the best fitness in her troop.

Feeling slightly hung-over and very tired I arrived at East Midlands airport at 5.30 am Sunday morning. Still wearing the clothes I had partied in four hours earlier. I consider myself a seasoned traveller; I know not to wear boots with large metal eyelets. I understand that if you don’t remove your watch and belt before passing through security, the guards become upset and will give you a quick pat down to make sure you aren’t trying to smuggle a pen knife through security. Some people do you know, even innocent mother in laws.. see here.

I passed through the metal detector without a problem, as I started to rethread my belt and scoop up my loose change I noticed that there seemed to be a bit of excitement over someone’s hand luggage. Three security men were pointing at the monitor. It was at this point that my hand baggage emerged from the x ray machine. As I waited for it to trundle down to me, (I was still struggling to loop my belt through my pants,) a female security guard picked it up, turned it on its side and pushed it back into the machine.

Stranger and stranger I thought, as my case disappeared into the machine, the guards again started pointing at the monitor. This time I took a long stare at the monitor, they were pointing at a dark grey square that looked like a big block of plasticine. Ah ha I thought, my two kilos of hermetically sealed bacon does kind of resemble a slab of semtex, or maybe even, the better quality C4 much used by the professionals.

Plasticine, not to be mistaken for Semtex

As my case exited the machine for the second time, the female security guard asked in a very loud and authoritarian voice. “Whose case is this?” I sheepishly held up my hand and frantically started to worry, if it was illegal to transport parts of dead pigs across European borders. “Did you pack it yourself… sir?” she asked.

Breathing a fair quantity of the previous evening’s alcohol in her general direction, I said I had packed it. “Can I look inside” she asked. Now, I have always, always wanted to say “No bog off”, but ever so politely I said of course. As she started to rummage through my clothes, I tried to breathe the alcohol fumes out the side of my mouth, “it’s full of dirty clothes” I said, as a pair of boxers rose to the top of the case. Ah ha, mmm hum, she muttered. She moved my camera case, that contained my Semtex Plastacine C4 hermetically sealed middle back bacon and grabbed a box of Yorkshire T bags. “Erm” I said raising a finger in the air. “Two minutes” she said as she waltzed of down the conveyor with my precious cargo of T bags.

My two favourite drinks. Yorkshire tea and Barone di San Pietro

When she returned, she gave me back my T Bags and said “they looked strange on the monitor, but you can pack your bag and go” I nearly, ever so nearly said you made a mistake, what you saw on the monitor that looked like a block of Semtex was my bacon. It was only because I was trying to breathe out of the left hand side of my mouth, thereby not intoxicating her with alcohol fumes that I literally… kept my mouth shut.

So the moral of this story is, if you want to smuggle Semtex bacon in your hand luggage, hide it in your camera case and drink enough alcohol the night before, so you remember not to open your mouth and incriminate yourself.

A dedicated follower of fashion

Posted on June 20, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged englishman in italy, Milan fashion • 70 Comments

I have lived in Italy for the past six years, or maybe it is seven years, I forget dates much like I forget birthdays and anniversaries. But one thing that is hard to forget, is I am living in the fashion capital of the world.

Canali Spring Summer 2013

Even old biddies on bicycles, get in on the act. They make sure they have their best fur coat on and sometimes they feel it is necessary to carry two hand bags; one to match the clothes and one to match the bike.

(I am not normally very good at acknowledging where my pics come from, but please take a trip to Italian Confetti the snapper of this pic)

I have squeezed the following fashion picture in for all you women bloggers. Ladies, note the six packs, following my diet and my ride to Germany on the back of Franco’s bike I hope to obtain one of these. P.S I have lost 4 kilos somewhere, so a small round of applause please.

Hunky men with six packs, for the female bloggers

So where was I? Oh yes, we have a delegation from Mrs Sensible’s family staying for a couple of weeks. So last Tuesday, or maybe it was Wednesday, I drove to Milan airport to meet them and snapped the following picture.

High fashion at Milan airport

By now, you regulars will already know where I am heading with this post. I am a dedicated follower of fashion. I always make sure my flip flops match my cut off jeans and t shirt, that is providing, Mrs Sensible doesn’t tell me to go back to the bedroom and change into trousers and a nice linen shirt. However, I do occasionally need to wear a business suit and following the example of the lady at the airport I think I have found one.

My next business suit

A black sheep on a motorbike.

Posted on June 18, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Driving, Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, biking in Italy, englishman, expat, humour, Italians, Moto Guzzi • 86 Comments

Bikers

I received a phone call from Franco last week; well to be honest Mrs Sensible received the call, I just stood next to her saying, what does he want? Did he set up the meeting? Is he coming over? Very reminiscent of my childhood. The days when my mum would answer the phone, and then decide if I could go out to play, or stay overnight at a friend’s house.

Franco asked Mrs Sensible if I was allowed to go out to play on Saturday. Franco and four of his friends, were going to the mountains on their motor bikes and I had been invited. Mrs Sensible said I could go. I was told to wear a heavy jacket, big boots and bring some spending money.

Proper bikers boots

I understood the bit about the spending money; but the big boots and heavy coat seemed a bit of an overkill. We had just swapped Italian winter for Italian Summer with 10 days of spring squashed in-between. The temperature was forecast for 27°c.

Saturday arrived and at 6.00 am ~~I jumped out of bed~~ crawled out of bed and threw into the back of my mini two heavy coats and put on a thick pair of walking socks and my big hiking boots. I then set of for Franco’s house.

His bike is a Moto Guzzi California EV 1100cc, a really great looking bike, as I arrived, Franco was cleaning little bits of dust from the gleaming paintwork. Bits of dust that was invisible to the naked eye. The day was already starting to become hot, so I asked Franco, why the big boots and heavy coat? In case you fall off!!!

Franco/s Moto Guzzi

So complete with my safety boots, gloves and coat, we climbed aboard his bike and set off Tto meet up with his mates in Torino. ~~Driving~~ Racing down the country roads, I began to notice how every time, I leaned in sync with Franco, or when he braked and then accelerated away, my stomach muscles pulled. I decided this would be excellent exercise and by the time we reached Cresole Reale in the Alps, I would have a stomach like a six pack.

A six pack

In Torino we met up with his friends and set off at break neck speed for the mountains. It was great fun, when Franco leaned to the left I leaned with him, when he cornered right I leaned to the right. I have to add I was hanging on for dear life. After 30 mins of chasing through villages and country roads, I managed to relax a little. I was just admiring the river that was running alongside the road when Franco dropped the bike over to his left and went haring around a corner, I was still sat bolt upright and the bike gave a little wobble as Franco tried to control it. I say a little wobble, but we were racing along at 120 kph. I decided not to watch the scenery, but in future to just watch the road.

As we climbed up into the mountings, I developed an itch on my left nostril, just a little itch. But the more I tried to ignore it, the more it itched. In fact the itch started to include part of my cheek. My helmet was a full face helmet that belonged to Franco’s wife, it was a tad too small, and I couldn’t work out how to raise the visor. I was hampered by a thick pair of gloves, ignorance on how to open it and the fear of falling off Franco’s bike.

I tried sticking a finger in between the helmet and my neck, moving the helmet with the hope of catching my nose on the internal padding and as a last resort I tried to see if my tongue was long enough to reach my nose. After all, lizards can lick their own eyeball, surely I could reach my nose. Please bear in mind, I was still whacking along at 120 kph and trying to remember to lean with Franco.

As well as the itchy nose, I discovered the visor would suddenly steam up, and no I didn’t decide to lick it clean. But you will be pleased to know, that even though I had an itch, couldn’t see for toffee, and the helmet that was a bit too small and was giving me brain crush. I didn’t fall off.

Helmets that don’t steam up

Climbing up the mountain we came across a sign and barrier that said road closed due to heavy snow. The Italians looked at each other, shrugged and in true Italian fashion, ignored the warning and drove around the barrier.
Finally we had arrived; it had taken two bum numbing hours. My six pack now felt like a crushed coke can, my bum hurt and my arms ached from hanging on.

No chance of a six pack

After a couple of photos and a bit of graffiti, we decided to drive back to the nearest village for a beer.

Pecora Nera

The snow plough had cleared the road

While we were sat drinking and discussing how I had nearly ended up as a smudge along the road and the episode of the itch. They asked if I wanted to join them in October, for a little ride to Munich for the Oktoberfest.

Oktoberfest.

If I am a good boy and Mrs Sensible says yes, I will go and buy a helmet and jacket for a bit of serious beer drinking.

The bikes and the bikers, thanks guys.

A great set of Guys

Stefano Cucca – the Sardinian man who left his home to bicycle around the world

Posted on June 11, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • 9 Comments

Even a mad Englishman would not attempt the following. Re Blogged from Jennifer in Sardinia
http://laavventura.wordpress.com/

My Sardinian Life

On June 8th, 2013, 34-year-old Stefano Cucca left his home in Sorso, Sardinia to bicycle around the world to promote sustainable, eco-friendly lifestyles. Thus far, Stefano has ridden 30,000 kilometers and he hasn’t left Sardinia, yet.

The idea for this project came to him on one of his many voyages across the globe.

View original post 288 more words

Weekly Photo Challenge: Fleeting

Posted on June 7, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, crop dusting, expat, fun expats, humour, Italia, italian, Italians, italy, mosquito • 49 Comments

Mario the pazzodico crop duster

A point and press picture.

I have seven photos of this lunatic flying low over our house. Six of the photos I took, feature either the front of the plane or just the tail of the plane, as he disappeared over the roof tops. Twice I nearly toppled over the veranda as I stood on tip toes trying to capture him.

Mario was spraying the rice fields, to kill the mosquitoes that breed in the paddy fields. He didn’t do a very good job because they still ate me alive.

I nearly killed my self installing the mosquito netting on the windows, I will up load the post when my hands stop shaking.

P.S I think this is the first post that doesn’t mention Mrs Sensible

This post is for the Weekly photo challenge: fleeting

Weekly photo challenge: the sign says

Posted on June 4, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Driving • Tagged an englishman in italy, driving, driving in italy, englishman, expat, fun, fun expats, humour, Italia, Italians, italy, Mrs Sensible, piemonte, sicily • 67 Comments

Share a picture of a SIGN and explain why you chose that picture!

I don’t normally do the photo challenges, however here are two photos from Italy.

One way only ?

Italians see road signs and traffic lights, as advisory rather than obligatory.

To give you a couple of examples, I stopped at a red traffic light while we were driving in Catania Sicily. The guy in the car behind me, started honking his horn and waving his hand at me. I looked at Mrs Sensible and said, “what’s his problem, the light is still red!”

Mrs Sensible explained, “the light may be red, but there are no cars crossing the junction so it is safe to go”

It is said that the drivers in Northern Italy are better than the drivers in the south but:-

I was driving a friend home one night, she was directing me through the traffic, as we approached her apartment, she said “turn left here”

“I can’t it is a no entry”

It doesn’t matter I am a resident

But it doesn’t say, no entry except residents, it is a one way street!!

Pecora, it doesn’t matter, my apartment is just up the street. I have lived here 15 years and I always turn left up here.

Don’t use a pedestrian crossing to cross,

This photo was taken in Calabria.

When you come to Italy on your holiday, please do not use the zebra crossings when you want to cross the street. There are a number of reasons.

1) You will annoy the car drivers who use them to park there cars.

2) They are very dangerous, no really they are. As you start to cross the road, you will be thinking you are safe and the car will stop for you. I am here to tell you, it is not so. The driver is thinking, mmm pizza today, I had better phone my mum and make sure she has put the beer in the fridge. He will not have even noticed you, not unless you have long legs and a short skirt. And even then he will still run you over.

When I moved here, I drove Mrs Sensible’s car from the UK to Italy, I took the scenic route and drove through, Belgium, Switzerland a bit of Germany… I didn’t have one near miss or accident.

Two weeks after arriving here, I stopped at a zebra crossing in Alessandria, to let an old guy cross the road. The old guy never moved he just stood there and watched the Ford Transit Van redesign my boot and bumper.

While we were exchanging insurance details, the van driver asked Mrs Sensible “Why did he stop?”

Because he is English!

This post is for the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge.

Blackberry: A lesson in customer service. (Italians please pay attention)

Posted on May 28, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, Blackberry customer service, Blackberry Playbook, customer service, englishman, expat, Fedex fiasco, Fiasco, fun expats, humour, Italians, italy, language, Mrs Sensible, piemonte, Playbook camera stopped working, RIM, RIM customer service, sauna • 59 Comments

A while ago I wrote a post about the Fedex fiasco , I was trying to point out, that even a well oiled machine like Fedex grinds to a halt as soon as it crosses over the border into Bella Italia. Last week, the camera on my Blackberry Playbook ceased to work, I thought another fiasco was about to begin….

For my birthday, my children bought me a Blackberry Playbook. It is a wonderful device. I use it to read English books, watch films, and to monitor the fat I am losing I have lost two and a half kilos in the past 2 weeks. When I travel I use the playbook to keep track of my business expenses, price lists, quotations, e mails, gosh the list goes on. To be honest, Mrs Sensible tends to get a tad annoyed with me and the Playbook, because it is normally glued to my hand, as I read yet another book.

Disaster stuck on the 14^th May 2013, the Playbook camera stopped working. I was devastated, I could still read books and all the other functions worked, but without the camera I couldn’t annoy Mrs Sensible, by filming her while she paints her toe nails or capture her admitting to one of the few mistakes that she makes.

Mrs Sensible is a bit camera shy.

My children bought the Blackberry Playbook in Meadowhall UK, the receipt is nowhere to be seen. I spent two days deciding whether to contact Blackberry, to see if they could fix it under warranty. The main stumbling points were A) I had lost my receipt, B) would my Playbook get lost in the Italian postal system and finally, C) Would my playbook be sent to Giuseppe Garybaldy in some repair clinic in Naples, never to be seen again.

I decided to phone Blackberry; I ignored the Italian helpline and instead phoned the UK helpline. Paula, one of Blackberry’s technical support staff, answered the phone. She asked me what the problem was. I began by explaining the camera fault; I then started to tell her how I had tried to fix the fault myself. I went into great detail, telling her I had researched the playbook forums and I had tried all the fixes, including holding down various buttons and forcing the playbook to reboot. I don’t think she was too impressed. I promised, I would never again try to fix my playbook myself.

Paula told me she needed my Playbook to send her a report. She explained how to do this and promised to call me back in twenty minutes. What a nice woman!

Twenty minutes later, Paula phoned me and said it was a hardware problem, she said I needed to send my Playbook to their service centre. I could just visualise good ole Giuseppe Garybaldy with his screw driver and hammer, plus the next six months of asking “have you found my Playbook.” I told Paula, that I had reservation about sending my playbook to any site within Bella Italia. I think I told her about my driving licence fiasco, and various other problems I have had with Italy. I even offered to pay the carriage, if she would let me send the Playbook to a UK repair centre.

Paula laughed, she said the Playbook needed to go to Germany. Ah the Germans!! I remember them from the sauna Now that is a different story, the Germans are more efficient than the English. In fact, they make the English look like Italians when it comes to efficiency. Paula said, she would send me a box with instructions, I was to put my Playbook in the box, complete the form and ask DHL to collect the box. There was nothing to pay; what a nice lady!

Honest I did a google search for German efficiency and this came up.

The following day, Paula E mailed me and asked “have you got the box?” I had a quick scout around my office and reception, I couldn’t see it.

I asked the accounts lady “I search box, this big, you see?”

COSA? (WHAT?)

I asked the company secretary “box, like this, DHL, errhh you see?”

She gave me a ten minute explanation, which I didn’t understand, but I nodded my head as though everything was as clear as ~~mud~~ day.

I e-mailed Paula to say, sorry but the box has not arrived. As I pressed the E mail send button, I wandered of to the coffee machine, and there on a shelf was my box. Of course it was there, I work in an Italian office and of course, I should expect my box to be hidden. This is why Italy grinds to a stop; no one knows who moved what or why.

I watch movies while I cook, Please note, the playbook stand in use is not a Blackberry authorised stand.

I placed my playbook in the box and sent it back to Blackberry. I was wondering, how I was going to cope without my playbook; would the DT’s set in? Would I have to watch Italian television? 24 hours later, DHL delivered a brand new Blackberry Playbook.

Paula phoned me and asked if it had received my brand spanking new Playbook, she asked if she could phone me on Monday to make sure the Playbook was working and to make sure I was happy. What an incredibly nice woman!!

I am not sure where Paula is based, but I sent her, a link to the Fedex Fiasco. After lunch I checked my stats, lots of hits on the Fedex Fiasco and 72 visitors from Portugal. Now if I was a betting man, I would say the lovely lady from Blackberry is based in Portugal.

No comment

Posted on May 20, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Driving, Health • Tagged fun expats, humour, italian, Italian customer service, Italians, italy, piemonte • 52 Comments

Italian Customer Service: Bang head on wall

My UK driving licence has finally expired. The grubby bit of paper the Italians gave me as a substitute, has also expired. My bicycle has a flat tyre.

I was told not to worry, that the temporary substitute licence had expired, as it is normal in Italy and the police will accept it is just another Italian cock up. The important thing, I was told, is to have with you the medical form, that proves you are fit to drive.

That kind of says everything there is to know about Italy.

Do you have a valid driving licence? No

Do you have cervicale? mm maybe

Links to past driving licence fiasco

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Parts 4 to 349 will follow over the next 5 months, groan

84 Kilos and counting

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Health • Tagged an englishman in italy, dieting, expat, fun expats, humour, Italia, italian, Italians, Mrs Sensible, weight loss • 94 Comments

I am going on a diet, there I have said it. It is now out in the open and I will probably regret telling you.

I have decided to lose some a lot of weight because, I have read:-

Cognitive reflection’s funny post about joining a fighting class, in the hope of losing some weight and nearly getting himself thumped.

Also Duffer’s thread on the British Expats forum, entitled Fat people I need some help.

And finally, because I caught a glance of myself, in the mirror as I left the shower. I managed to realise it was me, before I started shouting to Mrs Sensible, “Help help there’s a naked fat man running amok in the house”.

I apologise that this is not a very Italian themed post, and I will try not to get too graphic.

I didn’t think it was possible for a simple bathroom fixture, for example a set of weighing scales, to induce a near heart attack. But they did. This morning I weighed myself at seven in the morning (84 kilo), ate a little breakfast and just before I cleaned my teeth I weighed myself again. One small bowl of cereal using low fat milk had increased my weight by two kilos. TWO KILOS!!!, as I stood in the bathroom thumping my chest trying to restart the heart rhythm, I kicked the scales and then stood on them again; the scales dropped from 86 Kilos down to 80 kilos. So the foul tasting low fat milk really works.

The bathroom weighing scales have been thrown in the bin.

I have now successfully completed 24 hours on my diet; no chocolate, wine, biscuits or beer have passed my lips.

My favourite biscuits and Chocolate. Did you know Fiesta bars are 8% alcohol?

Full of good intention this lunch, I went for a walk to the local café. I normally drive home and raid the fridge and drink a little wine. However while I was sat drinking my low calorie drink, Mrs Sensible called me with the “where are you and have you eaten the salad I left in the fridge for you?” Ooops, I tried to pacify her, by explaining about my 12 minute walk and that I wasn’t drinking a glass of wine. Needles to say she was not very impressed. I am glad I didn’t mention that it was so hot I was eating a Magnum to cool down.

Tasty but 15.5 grams of fat

I have also invested in a brand new set of weighing scales, not the old spring type that you can achieve your desired weight by leaning slightly to the left or the right, but electronic ones. They not only tell you how heavy you are, they also tell you how much of your body, is pure unadulterated fat. I am not sure if it distinguishes between fat and saturated fat, I know from the Magnum bar that there was 15.5g of fat and 11.2 grams of dreaded saturated fat, in that cooling delicious ice cream.

My scales are posh, but this is a better picture

Because the new weighing scales are complicated and the instructions are in Italian, I have used google translate to understand the user instructions. The, input your height and age, so that it can work out my height to weight ratio so that it can work out how fat I am allowed to be was easy. I have thought about lying to it and imputing that I am six foot three, and then telling the truth after I have lost a bit of fat. But as a black sheep I know I will get caught. After the input instructions, the Google translate sounded a little strange, it started babbling on about standing on the scales buck naked so the scale can electrocute my feet by battery, to work out my fat and water content. I might have to ask Mrs Sensible about that one.

Apart from scratching and laughing the only exercise I do is walking to and from the car. Before you lot start shouting, I did spend the weekend digging the vegetable plot over, and then two days walking around like an old man, moaning every time I had to stand up.

So please use the comments for advice on how to lose weight.

Read, help and criticise…

Posted on May 9, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home, Language • Tagged an englishman in italy, englishman, expat, fun expats, humour, Italia, italian, Italians, italy, language, languages, learning Italian, Mrs Sensible • 50 Comments

Ok girls and boys, I have been invited to submit a post (under 1000 words) to a newspaper and after a long think, bearing in mind I can’t use lots of pictures, this is the one I will send. Unless you have a better idea.

I would love any feedback, you can be critical and I won’t be offended. I might just un-follow you 🙂

Grazie PN

Today is back to school day for most of the children in Italy. My Italian wife, Mrs Sensible is a primary school teacher. This year the Italian education authority thought it would be a good idea for her to teach English, mathematics and music in a school five villages away and English and Italian in a school six villages away. My wife seems to spend half her life driving from one school to another.

While I sit here typing this blog Mrs Sensible is colouring in posters for her new classrooms. The little quip I made about, I hope you have finished all your work before you started colouring in your pictures was almost met with physical violence.

I too have to go to school; Mrs Sensible has forced me to go to the local evening class to learn Italian. I suppose forced is maybe a bit hard, my mum forced me to school by threatening me with the slipper, Mrs Sensible used the “If you want to stay in Italy you need to learn the language or maybe we should just go back to the UK” threat.

I have never found my lack of Italian to be a huge problem, I can order wine and grappa. I can also request the cost of items at the local shops. In fact my lack of Italian has been quite useful, Scusi, io inglese, mi dispiace non capsico, (Sorry, I am English I don’t understand) has saved me from buying expensive items or helped me escape from street traders trying to sell me bags and belts.

So, as my good wife had become exasperated with being my interpreter, she enrolled me in a basic Italian night class run by the local municipal for stranieri (immigrants). The teacher Maestra Piera is in her late 50s. Her eyes glitter with excitement as she explained to my wife that if I want to learn Italian, all I have to do is listen to everything she says. Oh and importantly attend her class regularly. This seems far removed from the way I was taught in school. I seem to remember it took the threat of the cane and detention for me to apply myself to the lessons.

On my first lesson, I was determined not to draw attention to myself. I quietly entered the classroom and walked to a desk at the back of the room. As I started to sit down, Maestra Piera pointed at me and announced to the class “Lui e’ Inglese, si chiama Peter.” (He is English, his name is Peter) She then pointed to a desk at the front of the class and shouted “Vieni Peter, vieni qui.” (Come Peter, come here) The horrors of my former school life quickly returned as I slowly dragged myself to the front of the class and sat down in the desk that is normally reserved for the naughty boy. I was beginning to wonder if I would have to produce a sick note signed by my wife when I decided to skip a lesson.

The classroom is the same as any schoolroom that I have sat or stood in the corner of. The only difference is the desks are scored with graffiti in Italian, Giuseppe Ti Amo Loradana. (Giuseppe loves Loradana) As I sat waiting for the lesson to begin I started to thumb through my new Italian – English dictionary, wondering if my homework would include backing it in brown paper. As I sat there wishing I was somewhere else I become aware of all the different languages that were being spoken in the room Russian, Ukrainian and a lot of French but no English.

We started the first lesson with a simple subject. How to change a singular noun into a plural noun, while remembering to change the article at the same time. We also needed to remember that the rules are different for male and female gender nouns. Not only is it mind-boggling, but all the explanations the teacher gave were in Italian. Logarithms without a table or calculator would have been easier. It wasn’t until I showed Mrs Sensible my notes later that night, that I became aware of what I had been listening to for the previous two and a half hours.

At one point during the lesson Maestra Pierra looked at me and said with a huge smile and a nod. “Peter hai Capito?” (Peter you understand?) I slowly shook my head no. Huge mistake! She walked to my desk smiled at me, leaned in close and raising her voice to a shout proceeded to give me the exact same explanation, once again in Italian. “Oh ok ok io capisco” (Oh ok ok I understand) I said. I never made that mistake again.

In the early lessons I think Maestra Piera thought I was her perfect student. I never asked her to repeat anything twice and I wrote down almost everything she said. It was only later that she understood how badly I was progressing in her lessons. One of the problems with the lessons, was I didn’t understand Italian therefore I didn’t understand the teacher. The second problem was the class had a massive mix of abilities. There were the French, Spanish and Romanians who with their Latin based language could argue with the teacher over the correct structure of a sentence and then there was me who needed pictures of cats and dogs with gatto and cane (cat and dog) printed beneath them.

I struggled through two years of classes with Maestro Piera and I know it was as much a struggle for her as it was for me. The symbolic certificate she gave me saying I had attained level 2 in Italian was presented more for my dogged attendance and also to make sure I didn’t re apply for a third year.

**Thanks for the suggestions, I have updated the post. So if the comments below don’t make any sense, it is my fault.

Part 3: How to swap a UK driving licence to an Italian one in 340 difficult steps

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Driving • Tagged an englishman in italy, driving, driving in italy, englishman, exchanging an english driving licence for an italian licence., expat, fun, fun expats, humour, Italia, italian, italian driving licence, italy, language, Mrs Sensible, piemonte • 48 Comments

Englishman in Italy

Quick update to part 1 and part 2

So I have just received a telephone call from Mr Cretino, the man who is supposed to be transferring my UK driving licence to an Italian one. To be honest I do not receive many calls on my Italian mobile, normally the caller is Mrs Sensible asking what sort of trouble I am about to or are in. Sometimes Vodafone or one of the other networks call to try and get me to swap carriers, but they give up as soon as they here…. Io sono inglese!!

This afternoon Mr Cretino called, so I asked Luagina the secretary at work to talk to him. The long and short of it is, when I married Mrs Sensible we hyphenated our surnames. It was all my fault I wanted to add her Italian surname to mine.

I am the proud owned of a mix of official documents, some in my birth surname and some in my adopted Italian hyphenated surname name. Mr Cretino is more than a little confused, as is his office.

As I type this, Mrs Sensible is trying to resolve the situation. I somehow have to prove I am both the pazzo inglese with the hyphenated name and also the pazzo inglese with the birth surname.

An update is sure to follow tomorrow.

P.N

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

It is Monday morning and I really need a bacon butty.

Posted on April 22, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home, Language, Work • Tagged an englishman in italy, bacon, bacon butty, bacon sandwich, englishman, expat, fun expats, humour, Italia, italian, Italians, italy, language, languages, pizza, pizza diavola, translation, translator, working in italy • 60 Comments

Red Cross Parcel

It is Monday morning in Italy, it is raining, I am sat in my office sulking and I need a bacon butty (bacon sandwich).

Don’t tell Mrs Sensible, but from time to time I do miss bits of England, bits like crisps, real beer or a bacon butty.

During the summer two of my children came to visit me, “Dad, do you need anything bringing” they asked. The above photo shows the goodies they managed to fit in their suitcase. I think the only clothes Lucy managed to fit in her suitcase, were a pair of jeans and a bikini. We spent the rest of the holiday buying her summer dresses. On hindsight it might have been cheaper, to have air freighted my emergency provisions over and let Lucy fill her case with her own clothes.

Back to rainy Monday and life in my office, I have 25 industrial water pumps in Taiwan that should be sat in my stores, money sat in my customers banks that should be sat in my bank and I really, really need a bacon butty.

I really need a bacon butty

If I was still sat in my old office in England, it would still be Monday morning, it would still be raining and I would be dreaming of life in Italy. But, and it is only a small but. The sarni shop (sandwich shop) down the hill made fantastic bacon buttys.

I could order a pizza from the local pizzeria, if someone was here to phone them for me, last time I tried it was a total disaster. I never realised how difficult it was to mime down a phone line.

Io bisogno una pizza (I need a pizza)

Cosa? (What)

Mi scusi, Io bisogno una pizza Diavola, mio indirizzo è strada industriale… (Sorry, I need a Diavola pizza, my address is industrial road…)

Cosa, non capisco?

ARGGGHH! IO SONO INGLESE, IO FAME; IO BISOGNO UNA PIZZA, PLEASE. ( I am English, I am hungry, I need a pizza Please)

CLICK Brrrrrrrr

As I stared at the phone that was still brrrrr ing in my ear, Manzo the nice delivery man from Bartolini, arrived with a parcel. He understood that I was hungry and he phoned the pizzaria on my behalf.

This is a Pizza Diavola. Purchased during the summer from a local pizzeria.

The pizza, complete with a bottle of beer arrived. It was very nice, but I really wanted a bacon butty.

UPDATE….

I have just bust my glasses.

Just bust my glasses

As if the day was not bad enough, I have just bust my glasses.

Summer Skiing in Italy

Posted on April 18, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Health, home • Tagged an englishman in italy, englishman, expat, fun, fun expats, humour, Italia, italian, Italians, italy, nordic walking, skiing, skiing accident, summer skiing • 52 Comments

Driving home at lunch time, I spotted two old dears running down the road, whilst madly waving a pair of ski poles around. Now I have lived in Italy for the past 6 years and so nothing surprises me. But I must say, these two old dears in their stretch running pants piqued my interest. (Photo will be uploaded later)

So in the interest of science, I have done a little research.

Summer skiing. Very safe unless you trip over each other.

It seems that Summer Skiing is considered to be a safe sport. It is highly unlikely that you will fly home from your Skiing trip complete with a plaster cast. Whereas in winter skiing, a plaster cast is considered by many drinking companions, to be adequate proof that you actually did go winter skiing in the Alps.

Skiing in wellies is perfectly acceptable.

The cost of the clothing is also quite reasonable. You do not have to spend the kids inheritance on fashionable ski attire. It is quiet acceptable to go summer skiing in wellies, jeans and a silly hat.

Learners on a nursery slope.

But with all sports, it is very important to find the best summer ski instructor. Here you can see three beginners getting to grips with this demanding sport.

These are not English Summer Skiers, because there is not a knotted hanky or beer belly in sight.

Although I do not condone summer skiing on a beach, in my opinion beaches are for relaxing, and sunbathing, not running around waving dangerous ski poles. It is advisable to check with your local authorities for restrictions.

Summer Skiing in your garden

Your own garden is a very good place to practise Summer Skiing. After all, if you are worried about falling down and getting tangled up with your ski poles, it is better to do so in your own garden, rather than out on the road where someone might have a handy camera.

Summer Skiing is also an indoor sport.

For those rainy days, and here I am thinking of the people who still live in England, Summer Skiing can take place in the comfort of your own home. A word of warning, cornering around the coffee table should only be undertaken by experienced Summer Skiers. And please mind the dog.

No special footwear is necessary.

So to recap. Apart from the cost of two ~~sticks~~ ski poles, the cost of this sport is very low. No ski lift passes, no expensive medical bills and you don’t have to freeze to death.