// blog
Pressed for time
We may know which one we prefer for a summer evening quaff with friends or which wine to choose to enhance a deserving dish.
Save a cat. Grab a Pussy
Unfortunately, without foresight but with kindness in her heart, our neighbour fell into the trap. She started feeding one feral feline and before you could say meaow, we had a rapidly breeding multitude and yowling midnights.
THE ROGUES’ GALLERY
Quando sono arrivato in Italia all'inizio pensavo di continuare il mio interesse per la musica mettendo su un piccolo trio blues.
Red Herrings and Crazy Waters
Now I sit, nervous and panicking, as I try to look casually intelligent and interesting. Occupying a comfortable plastic-coated armchair, which refuses to yield and lets my body slip slowly down until I’m almost horizontal.
Alba gu bràth (part 1)
It is more than three months since we returned from our trip to Scotland and not a day goes by that I do not look at the photos with nostalgia.
Gallicianò It’s all Greek to me
It was during one of my most fascinating days in Calabria that I’ve finally begun to understand the cultural differences that make up a nation we call Italy. The differences between the north, the central belt and the south. Roman, Spanish, Norman, Arab….and Greek.
The Story of Dave the Chair
The story of Dave The Chair, two-head John and Danny probably started back in the 18th century during the colonial wars….or maybe even before! A time when injured war veterans and the slightly odd in society were cast out onto the streets to beg. Their reward.
“Hot Summer Nights!”
The last echoes of a solo trumpet drift across the Straits of Messina towards the dying sun. The sky changes colours like the textures of diminishing chords.
DOWN MEMORY GLEN
A rare trip home to Scotland for my nephew’s wedding and an opportunity to show my Italian wife a little more than just a soupçon of Glasgow or the suburbs of Edinburgh, her only real previous experience of my homeland….
BUON PRANZO
I stumble down, half-asleep, from our upstairs balcony and step as silently as possible into the kitchen to turn on the stove to make my espresso. No luck! My mother-in-law, ears like a hawk, ambushes me. “What do you want for lunch?"
