Venting my spleen

I woke up still angry and wounded after yesterday’s debacle.

It was a spectacular sunrise, mist hanging in the Chiascio valley below the house, soft warm sunlight stirring the mist magical golds, ambers and yellows.   The trees casting dusty pale grey silhouettes, the campanile of Colpalombo church rising through the mist like a medieval spacecraft, and a Turneresque sky, all wonderfully healing.

The builders arrived at 6am and we achieved more in the past couple of hours than the bureaucrats achieve in a lifetime.   I hit the play button my iTunes and have been flooding the valley with an assortment of overly loud music from Sophie B Hawkins, through Faure and Dietrich (how gay) to Kepa Junkera, good good therapy.   Manual work sure is satisfying.

This afternoon continuing my manual labour theme I am off to help friends harvest their olives at nearby Santa Cristina.  A day out of the office, farming instead, Hurrah!