It’s been two and half years since I last updated this blog.  I’ve always had an uneasy relationship with blogging and whether it’s an activity I do for myself or to gain the attention of others.  If it’s for others then I don’t exactly go out of my way to publicise its existence, so I’ll continue on the basis that it’s a diary which I happen to post on the world wide web. This confusion over why I blog also extends to whether my periodic breaks from blogging are a good or bad thing.  Sometimes I think that I stop blogging because I have too much going on in the real world to be bothered with it and at others I feel it’s because I can’t bear to look at my life ebbing its way into oblivion.  Anyway, enough of the musing, here is a version of what’s been happening to me… Looking back over my old posts I don’t think I mentioned that having become a Director of the management company of Dobsons Quay, where we’d bought an apartment in 2016, I became embroiled in a bitter ...

In April we finally returned to Contrada Papariello to find the place in not bad shape despite being neglected for more than four months.  The fava beans Sue had planted before we left had produced an abundant crop and the weeds were soon brought back under control with the rotovator. But the most time-consuming task in the maintenance of our little acre of Puglia is the pruning of the olive trees, an especially important task this year as the tree-killing disease xylella fastidiosa advances from the South and one of the only ways to stop the insects that spread it is to keep the land clear of growth and the trees well maintained.  This year we used a fairly new technique, paying our neighbour Paolo to help, which is like having a turbo-boost as he can prune approximately five tress to our one.  While he was at it he also felled our big old walnut tree, which was diseased and we’ve been meaning to get around to removing for years. After the big prune our land w...

Sue and I got back to Puglia on 30th October with a list of jobs to get done before the winter, not the least of which was to harvest our olives.  Last year's harvest was one of the worst on record in this part of Puglia, mainly because the olive fly was especially bad, causing most of the olives to drop in high winds before they could be picked.  We had so few olives we didn't even bother to try. This year is much better for everyone, but due to very hot weather in the summer many of our trees still seem to have lost a lot of their crop and we had a struggle to find enough to make up a 200 kilo load to take to the mill.  In the end after three days of scrabbling around our land in the rain and the mud we loaded our old Fiat Punto with about 250 kilos and three days later returned to the frantoio to collect our stainless steel churn or "bidone" containing thirty odd litres of oil. In a good year and with better pruning and management of our trees we could ha...

Life seems on hold as I wait for news from Sue about her dad.  When I awoke this morning I was struck by the profound quiet of Contrada Papariello, punctuated by the very occasional car and, at this time of the year, the odd shotgun going off.  It's been a pleasant day, presided over by a watery sun and this afternoon I set off on my bicycle for a ride along the Acquadotto. The Acquadotto Pugliese is a civil engineering marvel which transports fresh water from Campania on the other side of the Apennines all the way to the far south of Puglia.  It was begun at the beginning of the twentieth century and took decades to complete.  It's still a lifeline for Puglia's population and agriculture, but over the last few years it's also become an increasingly popular linear park and I frequently run or bicycle some of the more attractive local stretches, especially the section starting from the pumping station at Figazzano, a village a few kilometres away which was also Er...

On Friday evening I took the car to a garage in Locorotondo for four new tyres and was told by the mechanic that it would be ready in "un'oretta".  Like any time estimate in Italy this can mean a lot of things, literally it's "approximately an hour", but in reality it could be anything from a half to three hours. I'd come prepared and left the car to stroll around the town with my camera.  Here's me going for a moody shot reflected in the window of a backstreet house. Locorotondo on a late Autumn evening before the restaurants open is as quiet as the grave and I wandered around the side streets trying to capture some of the lonely and slightly sinister atmosphere, a bit like a deserted fairground, which was appropriate as there was a fairground setting up on the outskirts of town, by the football ground advertising "live animals".  I took my godson Joshi to it once and I can still remember the tense and exhausted demeanour of the ba...

I never tire of this view, out over the coastal plain at the little hamlet of La Tufara, ten minutes down the road from our house.  I come here to run and sometimes just to take the air and to think.  There have been so many dramatic changes in the world these last few months, Brexit, the attempted coup and crackdown in Turkey, the siege of Aleppo and now the prospect of President Donald Trump.  I like to look down there and think this view hasn't changed much in a thousand years or so - the same Roman road, the same villas, towns and olive groves.  Sure, it's also seen a lot of change, Hannibal came this way terrorising the locals, then the Normans, followed by Arab raiding parties, then the Germans who were chased up and out of the peninsula by the British and Americans.  Even just a few years ago US fighter jets screamed over this ridge to bomb Serbia not far away cross the Adriatic and yet still the olives get picked each year and milled into oil. Objec...

I arrived in the UK last Tuesday on the latest of my bouncings between Locorotondo and Newark.  Ostensibly I'm here to do a wedding and go to the BHA Celebrant's Conference.  The wedding was yesterday in a pub in Lincoln and was lovely and the Conference is next weekend.  I have a few meetings in between.  Actually, I feel sad to be here.  Sue has been having very painful dental work, which from her perspective feels like it's been going on forever and has put her life on hold with no immediate prospect of it finishing and I want to be at home in Italy with her.  We were planning to go to India for a couple of months in December and January, but this may have to be delayed or postponed. Although I have a fair bit to do I feel strangely at a loose end, waiting for things to happen and stuff to arrive.  I feel I should be phoning friends, but something in me keeps putting this off until tomorrow.  It's the same with this blog.  Ever since dad...

Last Sunday Sue booked us on a guided walk among the olive trees near Ostuni, starting near the sixteenth century Masseria D'Agnano (opposite).  Discretely beautiful and in a fabulous location on the edge of the Murghe, it's being renovated.  The perfect hideaway for a Russian billionaire perhaps, or for me if I had the money. Our guide was a young local man who is a member of  a group devoted to the preservation of the ancient olive groves of the coastal plain, some of which he confirmed are thousands of years old.  Looking out over the trees below, he came up with the interesting insight that these were the oilfields of the Roman Empire, oil which was prized not primarily for cooking, but for keeping Rome lit at night. Later he took us to this cave, which his group had cleared and where everyone took this shot.  I tried to resist but sometimes you just have to add to your collection of pictures framed by cavemouths and the view was great, looking out...

It's my last chance to write a blog post in August.  It's been a busy old month, dominated by hot but changeable weather, with strong winds wooshing through our pine tree and making doors bang and curtains fly in an unsettling manner.  The last couple of days have by contrast been hot and still like August in Puglia should be. Sue's sister Julie and her daughters Grace and Alice and son Joe with girlfriend Rachel came in late July and left on 3rd August.  While they were here we celebrated mine, Sue and Mimingo's birthdays along with the Convertini family with a barbecue on our terrace.  Towards the end of their stay there was the added excitement of Rachel discovering she'd lost her passport on the outward journey, resulting in her having to get a coach to Rome to get emergency papers from the British Consulate. While they were here we all got a lot of entertainment from the antics of two kittens who had been born somewhere near our terrace sometime in June....

I took this photo last week lying on our bed in the afternoon in a lovely little hotel in the centre of Peschici, a small port and resort on the tip of the Gargano peninsula in the north of Puglia. Since I got back to Puglia in early May we've been working hard getting our house and land ready for the summer, so we took a break for a few days to relax and recharge our batteries. It's only our second time in the Gargano, the first time being a day trip with Old Paolo and Erminia to St Giovani Rotondo, the centre of the Padre Pio industry not long after we bought the house in 2004. Although further north than our home it actually feels more remote, because it's far from the main autoroutes and regional airports. At the centre of the peninsula is the Foresta Umbra, an ancient woodland of oak, beech and pine to which wolves were reintroduced a few years ago.  We took a stroll in it for a couple of hours, enjoying the shade and the peace and feeling strangely reminde...

So often I seem to see the most fantastic sunsets waiting for a plane.  I guess it's a combination of having time on your hands and that airports usually give you a big view of the sky.  This was what I saw from the departure lounge of Bari Airport yesterday as the sun went down behind the Adriatic. I was feeling very tired having drunk too much alcohol over the preceding week.  A bit strung out and tense as well.  And alone.  I would like to have started a conversation with someone, anyone.  But my English reserve cut in and I remained silent, while trying to look enigmatic. My thoughts turned to home as the queue for the plane began to form, even before it had landed.  Home?  Our house in Puglia or England and dad's little bungalow or both? Missing dad.  Missing Sue.  Feeling lost and excited.

I've spent the last week at home in Puglia.  For my last evening I went out with our friend Pat to Il Cucco, one of our favourite restaurants in Cisternino and then to Bar Fod, my favourite bar in all the world, in one of the central piazzas of the beautiful little town. It's still early in the season so although the days are pleasantly warm and sunny there are still very few tourists around and the outside chairs and tables of the bar were only half full.  Last night was a bit chilly and the bar staff were handing out bright yellow blankets to anyone who was feeling the cold. I had an ice-cream, a coffee and a small grappa and did what I always do in Bar Fod - lay back and watch the people passing by - old ladies with dogs, canoodling couples, anxious Brits glued to their guidebooks and those not so easy to place. I shall be sad to leave today.  Back to dad's tatty little bungalow, waiting for something to happen.

Waiting for the Ryanair flight to Stansted. It's dark a baby is crying.  I got to Bari on my motorbike riding through olive groves and vineyards in unseasonably warm weather. I did a deal with a car park in Bari to keep my bike there for a month at 3 euros a day. I was treated like royalty and guided to an underground parking space next to a Chevy Corvette. On the way to the airport the courtesy minibus driver talked enthusiastically of his time in Brixton. I'm off to the UK to attend the Humanist Celebrants' conference and to start putting myself about for celebrancy work.  Also to see Dad before I disappear to asia for three months and to catch up with old friends. I feel a bit scared a bit excited and a bit tired.

With Sue away in Borneo and me not working, the time can weigh heavy.  Especially on a grey, wet day like today.  Like so often in my life I feel in a kind of limbo.  In ten days I'm heading for the UK for a month to try to get my career as a humanist funeral celebrant up and running.  In two months I'm leaving for Asia to spend several weeks with Sue.  And, in less than a year we will have our occupational pensions and financially our lives will be transformed.  Normally I would go for a run or a bike ride to get my daily fix of exercise, but pressing my nose against the window and looking at our damp and chilly terrace I decided to go for a walk instead.  I took the car and parked on the steep escarpment that leads down to the Adriatic and then walked a circuit I often did with our little dog Milly. The walk takes you up a steep fire-break and along the top of the pine-fringed ridge to the hotel Lo Smeraldo ("the Emerald" in English).  The...

I'm sat in our land basking in the Autumn sun in what Sue calls our "mediteranean garden" - a corner set aside for her to try different plants, now sadly bare.  I'm going to be on my travels soon, so I'm experimenting with using my iPhone to make a post. Sometimes the country here is so beautiful I want to stretch out my arms and hug it.

We're on the cusp between summer and autumn here in Puglia.  I love this time of year - it's still warm, but the storms that mark the end of summer have made the country green and lush and the leaves are turning gold.  The air is full of rich smells - bonfires and fermenting fruit.  The market is overflowing with ripe produce such as melons, peaches and prickly pears and the vendemmia or grape harvest is just round the corner. This photo is of stuff I picked from our land during ten minutes of wandering around.  The colours reflect the season so well.  There's a lot to do on the land at the moment.  Right now I'm pruning the fig trees, which haven't been touched for four or five years and are tangled and overgrown.  Whenever I prune trees I have Erminia's dead husband Paolo invisibly at my shoulder whispering advice - "you prune olive trees to look like a wine glass, but figs like an umbrella".  At the time he told me this I had no idea why,...