Heat and Dust

Thankfully summer has arrived and brought with her a gaggle of builders. Oh, to hear the unremitting banter of Serbian, Albanian, Bosnian and any other unrecognisable patois however chattery. It's all sweet, sweet music to my ears. So long as it accompanies the sounds of hammers bashing, concrete mixers sloshing and drills whining there is no better tonic for she who is waiting to move into her new home. I don't envy them working in the heat though, temperatures now between 30 degrees and 40 but even that has its benefits ~ young bare-chested men, bronzed and toned, swanning around the site. They're like a breath of fresh air and the best part is that I get to take the photographs of them for the blog. No shortage of pictures this month!

We're up to roof level and it feels good. I've been chatting with the builders about 'topping out' explaining that the custom in England is to celebrate with champagne. Now, maybe I'm being led by the nose a bit but The Brothers have told me that it's the same in Italy only the clients have to stand their builders a slap up supper. Hmmm, I was hoping to get out on a couple of bottles of prosecco and a few finger dainties.

And don’t think the activity stops with the new house. Whilst the Brothers are having ‘Sloppy Molly to Go’ delivered by the lorry load the men working on the main house are doing it by hand (fatto a mano) and the air is filled with the sound of the mixers revolving endlessly and the wheelbarrows bouncing over the temporary wooden bridges.

The thing about this stage of building is that none of it is silent and you become used to the constancy of its noise until that is, something different interrupts the monotony like the intrusive ‘parp’ of the lorries signalling the arrival of more cement and blocks or a ‘Kango’ reverberating around the house, engaged in devouring our aged walls.

Oh, and while I remember what do you make of these cool, little black boxes? (Sorry, forgot to take a picture of the whole floor laid end to end with them). They are called ‘igloos’ unsurprisingly and when they are installed they make a suspended floor to provide ventilation to the earth and the lower walls. Tubes from the igloos are vented through the external walls, concrete poured over the top, and hey presto, the floor can breathe. Now, here’s a sorry tale with a happy ending. Whilst we were in bed one night we were kept awake by the crying of a cat; it was quite a soft mew but consistent. Thinking it was our own ‘Blacky’ who was crying to get in, we got up a couple of times and called him to the door but he didn’t come. The cat was still mewing the next morning when the builders arrived and they told us they were concerned that a cat had got in under the igloos and had been concreted in the new floor. So Kango to the fore, a small hole was made in the concrete base and a little plate of tuna fish set at a short distance. To help the kitty enticing aroma reach its target, we wafted a tin tray back and forth to create a draught, all the while shouting “Here kitty, kitty”. Pathetic, I know, but you’ll do anything in a crisis. It was all worth while; after lunch when the builders returned, the tuna fish had gone and so had kitty.

And there’s more. If all the activity of the team building the new house and the team renovating the main house isn’t enough, my husband and his team are building a wood shed (somewhere to store the logs) and a wooden shed (somewhere to store my gardening gadgets which were ejected from the chicken shack cum bread oven following its demolition).

Many hands mean lots of progress but however well you think your project is planned every day starts with a flurry of questions requiring immediate answers. It’s not unusual at 8.00am to find a circle of heads bowed over the plans and drawings laid out on the kitchen table amid the coffee cups and the pencilled scribblings as ideas and variations are bandied about. Exhilarating! Beats looking out of the window wondering if they're going to turn up.

DogBlog June

My name's Giorgio Clooney ~ My name's Monte Cain

If your name's not on
the list, you can't
come in!

One of a series of photographs of the boys from a photo shoot to produce a 'WOW' picture for the cover of a 'Thank You' card which was sent to their 'minders' Barry and Wendy who looked after them when we were away in England. It turns out they were treasures so all the training 'Cesar Millan' way is beginning to pay off. Any training of course, is dependent on consistency so what must Barry and Wendy think when the boys, en route home from their walk, dig in their heels and jab their noses in the direction of Da Cicco', the little village bar. One would think, quite rightly, that they are regular visitors there. Their woolly heads are controlled entirely by salivary glands so tempted by ice cream cones and biscuits provided on occasion by Patrizio the owner it would be foolish to pass by without at least, a recce.

Which leads me on to 'What does your Dog say about you?'


This is Polo, our previous dog, a white german shepherd rescue from the Blue Cross in Northiam, East Sussex. He was 4 years old when we bought him. We brought him to Italy with us but sadly he died just before Christmas 2006. Without ever knowing where he came from (although we did know some of his history ~ he had a few behavioural problems) we learned a good deal about the family he had lived with previously. He wouldn't play and was reluctant to touch any toys, especially those that resembled "baby" toys. I bought him a teddy bear from a boot sale and he avoided it for a long time. Maybe he was getting mixed messages from us. Perhaps his previous family had children and he had been taught not to touch their belongings. When he lived with us we allowed him in the dining room when we were eating but he never approached the table until the last knife and fork was laid to rest. He did this every mealtime with military precision, talk about scrupulous table manners! He was nervous at raised voices and swear words ~ he recognised most of them sadly, and hung his head the minute he detected the slightest change in mood for the worse. He would dip his head the moment somebody picked up a tea towel which made us think that perhaps one had been used in the past as an instrument of correction. But he recognised phrases like "I have to go out" when he would retire to his bed and collapse into it with a big sigh and "Do you want to come to the office?" which prompted excited yelping and spinning around in circles at the door. Our office, part of a purpose built garage conversion was only at the bottom of the garden but he loved to go there and he was happy there. So much so that sometimes he didn't want to come back to the house, so we left him there and renamed the office 'The Dog House'. He was also very comfortable travelling in a car which is just as well since the back of the Land Rover was his home for 3 days when he travelled to Italy with us. Thank goodness Dr. Doolittle is just a figment of someones imagination.
We've put gagging orders on our two!!


He found a little playmate in the village, a semi-stray who used to tag along with us on our walks. We called her 'cucciola' (pronounced cooch-ola) the Italian word for puppy. She would follow us for miles so we had to put her in the car at the end of the walk and drive her back to her 'spot'. Coincidence ~ but notice the 'red collar worn cool' trend.

The Good, the Bad and the Hopeful

The new house is going up, sloooowly. Bit difficult to recognise but we are looking through the door to the living area from the loggia.

The stone work is truly a work of art and it hasn't been pointed or cleaned yet. Q: What do you do when you are convinced that you have chosen the best team of builders for the job but so far, it appears that our allocation of their time constitutes only two days per week (when the weather is good)? A: You have a little word in the ear of the Capo, that's what. Not too severe a word though, coaxing I think is the best bet, dangling the carrot with the promise of more work, although if he owned a race horse and he found himself sharing his bed with its head it might bring a tad more pressure to bear and of course, that's more to my way of persuasion. I suppose like most Italian builders (which they're not) they have this fear of turning away work in case they find themselves without any, but in the 'spreading themselves too thinly' we would at least like to know if we're talking skinny or anorexic.

The build site.

Elusive or not, the brothers are stars. They are not the least bit embarrassed about having their photographs taken for the blog and will pose for me whenever I get ‘snap’ happy with the camera. There is a sort of childhood innocence about them and I like them all. There is a new émigré, a nephew; he’s only 16 years old.

Flown the nest to come and work in a foreign country with his uncles and cousin. It may be a scary thought to all Mums and Dads out there but Rystem, the Capo is like a Godfather to them all and watches over them with genuine pride. The background on the family business is very much a success story and every bit of it earned. Rystem left Kosovo 16 years ago and moved to Italy. Disadvantaged by the language barrier (not that he sees it as such) he became a shepherd for four years and then got himself a job working for a builder. After four years learning the trade he branched off on his own and is now a registered and respected family builder growing in numbers by the year. Eight years ago, a brother, Mazlem joined him here; one year ago, three more brothers and a cousin and this year a nephew. Mazlem, as the second longest serving brother is the under Capo, the rest I think are still ‘serving their time’.

There is nothing more binding than a family, the Sicilians will tell you that and watching them develop under the keen and discerning eye of Rystem makes you glad to know them. They are the hardest workers I think I have ever met. Unfortunately for us, I’m not the only one who thinks that; they are in such demand that just to get a glimpse of them once a week makes you somehow feel grateful!!! Out of interest, Rystem did say that he hopes to return to Kosovo one day. (Ijust hope that he might return HERE one day.) When I asked if he would continue his building business there, he said “No, I intend to retire very rich!” In the meantime I have agreed to post as many photos of the family on the blog so that the Kosovan contingent can check in regularly and coo over their distant loved ones.

Next month: Who knows?

DogBlog May

DOG ENDS

Full of good intentions. When we acquired our dogs, we determined to train them the ‘Cesar Millan’ way and we have been fairly disciplined about it. Cesar supports the ‘all humans are the pack leaders’ logic and as such we should maintain a ‘calm assertive’ stance at all times, and dogs should be encouraged to be ‘calm submissive’. If you have ever tried to teach a pup (no, to be precise, two pups) to be calm submissive you will know just how trying that can be. I’m sure we’ll get there in the end ~ speriamo. Another philosophy of Cesar is that it is normal for dogs as pack animals to sleep together so for those of you who allow your dogs to sleep with you this is perfectly acceptable, so long as they have a given space, i.e. at the bottom of the bed or on the floor. Not for us though the bed sharing thing, volume being the problem. They take up more space than us if you count the wieldiness of their legs and Monte snores to boot. So, our ‘pack time’ is the evening when the dogs are allowed into our living space but, until now, not on the sofa. In a moment of weakness we allowed Giorgio to climb up next to us. Within an hour the sofa was ‘taken over’ and has now become a dog domain. No clean living human being would sit on it again. And so the dogs have gained a bed; it will be moved down into the cowshed (the dog den) and will take pride of place amongst the gnawed toys and the chewed collection of sticks nicked from the log pile. But they are not pampered!


They may be big, they may be cumbersome but Blacky, the cat is fearless. He will make a nuisance of himself until one of the dogs gives up his bed for him. Surprisingly, they always do.

The boys made a bid for freedom again this week and surprised us all not least the builders who were working on the new house. They may not be Italian (coming as they do from Kosovo) but they are born with the same fear the Italians have of large dogs. It’s not unusual to hear a bit of unrecognisable banter between them (remember they are all brothers bar one, who is a cousin and in my experience family conflicts are the loudest) and sometimes it can become rather heated. I was in the garden plucking out some herbs when I heard a rather different tone, a good deal more emphatic than the usual raillery. Whilst I was wondering what sort of dilemma could have brought on such an outburst, Giorgio appeared behind me looking very pleased with himself for having found me. Oops ~ the dogs are out! I should add at this point that the dogs are not dangerous; it’s just that they are big boys and an excitable nudge from one of them could topple Samson added to the fact that their sense of adventure is stronger than their desire to ‘come’ even for a sausage. Monte is the chief troublemaker and if he decides to go AWOL Giorgio will follow. Giorgio on this occasion followed me back to the house but where was Monte? Ah, he’d found the builders. The Brothers immobilised by fear at the sight of Monte gallivanting around the garden appeared to be following all the rules of what to do when confronted by a wild animal. Stand absolutely still, face the aggressor, do not make any sudden moves and avoid eye contact. Maybe they stopped breathing for a while or was the grey pallor just cement dust? An amusing sight. I was very impressed with Monte as a guard dog; he pretended he didn’t know they were there at all!!! Anyway dog retrieved, brows wiped, back to work.

THE FAN CLUB

Meet William, the boys' youngest fan so far. He doesn't stand nearly as tall as them yet but is clearly delighted to be with them. All young pups together!

See pics of all fans in DogBlog February.

Turning the April Cornerstone

Gianfranco ~ 'The Bulldozer'. Actually, the digger man. (Someone taught him the word 'Bulldozer' which he applies to any big earth-moving machinery.) Everybody thinks of him as a loveable rogue, loveable he is but rogue he isn't, well only in the mischievous sense. His prices beat anyone else's hands down ~ he just doesn't turn up!!!

There are a number of things I would like to own, not desperately-above-all-else sort of like to own (otherwise I would have it) more like a power and pride sort of ownership. One of them is a digger. What a wondrous piece of machinery it is. I could trundle it up the road turning over cars and knocking down houses, so much power controlled by a couple of levers. I wonder if you have to apply for a 'responsible person' licence before you can buy one of these clanking great monsters! I watched from a window while Gianfranco toppled the old garage, jabbing and teasing the walls and roof until it gave up its strength. The great iron jaw bit into the roof, again and again until the concrete and steel, fused together for decades, groaned and bowed into submission. In the end the digger won easily. Gianfranco treats his metal destroyer like a pet and leaves it to sit atop the debris like a victor with his prize.

This is exciting news of course; it means that the demolition of the old garage is done, which in turn means that the building of the new house can begin. In fact it already has; I fratelli Memedaj are the chosen builders, the five brothers from Kosovo, and in just two days the fantastic five have completed all of the steelwork and concrete for the new foundations. This is a huge achievement by anyone’s standards and by Italian standards, unheard of.

It rained one of those days but the five arrived at 7.15am to take a delivery of steel and left, after a full day’s work, at 7.00pm having had only half an hour for lunch, which they brought with them. Don’t they know that siesta is sacrosanct and that if you work within 30 minutes drive from home then you are expected to take lunch at home with your family, all five courses of it. But that’s the Italian way. Maybe the Kosovans understand the principle of ‘working to make money’. Day 2, the same. So far so good.

Days 3 - 6 extended Bank Holiday here in Italy. We were told they would be back Tuesday or Wednesday; which Tuesday or Wednesday wasn't clarified.
Days 7 - 10 (to date) ~ no sign of them! Oops, maybe Rystem the 'Capo' who learned his trade here went to the 'Gianfranco' school of ruse.



Not ONE but TWO new balconies.



To be more precise, a couple of concrete projections facing south and west; all the better for the sun my dear. The shuttering hasn't even been taken away yet but, in true Clampett style we've made one our sunset viewing platform. Couple of chairs, Blacky the cat (he's in the pic, by the way if you can spot him), a couple of glasses of wine; watching the sun set over the Monti Sibillini. Heaven!!! Suitable only for non or moderate drinkers on account of there being no hand rail.


Look what spring has brought; pretty as a peach or even a bunch, our first home-grown fruit. There’s a long way to go between now and the eating but I’m fussing over them like the passionate gardener I’ve become. At the same time learning about Peach Leaf Curl, Brown Rot, Scab and a host of other equally foul sounding blights. I’m sure they'll be fine until one of them strikes and then ....................... I’ll get in a professional!
Spring is just divine. Just look at our Poplars? Tall and straight like proud soldiers.

Who built the log pile ~ March blog? Answer: Nos. 1, 2 and 7 were built by stranieri, the rest are the real thing – Italian. I won’t name the other constructors but log pile No. 2 is ours and whilst it looks like it can hold its own with the rest this pic shows what happened after a high wind. I was reminded by my husband that the side which collapsed was erected by me! If the wood hadn't have been so green I would have tried to pass it off as a nasty accelerated case of 'Death Watch' beetle!!!

Next month ~ persistance pays; self-employment and how to make money even if you don't speak Italian fluently.

Hopefully ~ progress on the build works.

DogBlog April

Meet CLANK the boys’ new friend.

CLANK is a cross husky and he lives, no survives up the road a bit from us. In all the years we have lived here, almost four, this little dog has been chained to a piece of farm machinery. We are accustomed to his howling and pitiful cries for attention. Until this year, although we passed him every day walking our old dog, we never approached him because we had been told that he would bite. This piece of advice, I think, was given to deter us from offering him friendship and as a warning not to stray onto the owners land. No-body lives there, by the way! Then, one day he managed to escape his fetter and made his way down to our garden. The boys, who were in the pound, raised the signal in the way they do and kicked up an almighty rumpus, to let us know that we had an intruder. And there he was wearing a collar and chain that would have restrained a bull. There was so much steel hanging from his neck that he walked with his front legs splayed to avoid a bashing from his heavy metal bling. He clanked towards us (I don’t need to tell you how he got his name) when we opened the door, cowering and afraid and when I offered a hand, he flopped onto his back in a typically submissive posture.


After a hearty breakfast and a bucket of water we brought him into the pound to see how he would behave around the boys. Thankfully, he was submissive with them and after they nosed and prodded him about for a while, they accepted him and he spent the rest of the day with them. He had to go back, of course and with a heavy heart we returned him to his chain and his farm machinery. We call in every morning to disentangle him from his knots, free up his chain and to give him a bit of breakfast but it breaks my heart when we leave him barking after us.

CLANK is extremely underfed, in no way aggressive and craves human touch; he would make a loyal and loveable companion. Maybe there is someone out there who is looking for such a little dog. Of course, they couldn’t have CLANK, he belongs to someone else and he wears a collar to prove it, but I’m sure we could arrange for a similar little dog, virtually the same as the one in the photographs but not wearing a collar to turn up on our doorstep if the right person were to come along!!

Who Stole the Pooh Bag, Who, who, who, who?

Ha! Somebody will have got a very unpleasant shock when they made off with a plastic bag we left at the side of the road. I can’t imagine what somebody expected to find in the little lumpy black bag tied up with a knot but you can bet your bottom dollar (what does that mean exactly?) that they wished they hadn’t been so curious as to find out. The contents ~ doggy do’s. Left at the roadside to pick up and put in the bin on the way back from the village. Maybe if it was still warm, they thought it was a bag of bagels!