Another Sort of Twitter

14/06/2013

status viatoris – being ‘on the way’/being in a state of pilgrimage

It’s that time of year again.

The time of year when I have to try, but usually fail, to keep my cool as I ask people to please, please, please LEAVE BABY BIRDS WHERE YOU FIND THEM!

It’s the great irony of human nature that vast numbers of human beings plod through life utterly oblivious to the life cycles of the creatures with which they share their ecosystem; unable even to name the most common of the feathered songsters that provide the soundtrack to our daily lives; clueless as to the whys or wherefores of their frenetic springtime activities.

And yet, upon coming across a newly fledged emergent sitting around minding its own business waiting for mum or dad to bring it a worm or a seed or a wriggly insect or two, an ornithological expert is miraculously born.

So year after year I am forced to watch, as the undoubtedly well-meaning but indisputably ignorant, cart baby wrens, house martins, great tits, sparrows and the rest off to a future where their chances of survival have been slashed from already-fraught-but-at-least-mum-and-dad-have-got-my-back, to nil.

Sure enough, within a few days of being force-fed unnatural food in a highly stressful and unnatural environment, a small feathered corpse will be winging its way to a nearby dumpster.

Having verbally tussled with friends and neighbours on the subject – and got precisely nowhere – I was sad but resigned when some local girls brought me my very own little sparrow just a few days ago.

Beginning its numbered days...

Beginning its numbered days…

Two days of suet pellets, bits of dried mealworm and an assortment of seeds were not enough to appease the agitated mite, whose only goal was to get back to the place from which it had been “rescued” – an environment for which the basic rules of survival have been written into its DNA.

A stiff little body at the bottom of a poo-stained cardboard prison was the pitiful result.

Life is a bitch. Baby birds die – that’s why the adult birds tend to lay a clutch rather than a solitary egg – but their already slim chances of survival are vastly reduced by human interference, however well-intentioned.

So, at risk of making myself very unpopular, I shall continue to harp on to my friends and neighbours – urging them to by all means move exposed baby birds to the safety of a nearby bush or hidey-hole, but just not to take them home. Their parents will be looking out for them: they will run themselves ragged and tatty bringing food to their young until they are fully independent.

That’s what parents do, and nature should never be underestimated.

This is Status Viatoris, a soap box for every occasion and boy what a collection I have amassed over the years, in Italy.

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Posted in Italy, Nature Notes, Pix, Village Life | 4 Comments »

A Bit of Everything but Customers

04/06/2013

status viatoris – being ‘on the way’/being in a state of pilgrimage

Decision-making time is fast approaching… and sadly it is the fate of my little emporium that hangs precariously in the balance.

Since I officially opened in October 2012 I have been cruising along a fun, but terrifying, retail learning curve.

WHAT CUSTOMERS WANT appears to be one of the most frustratingly arbitrary questions the owner of a retail establishment can ask herself – for no matter how varied your stock might be, you are still beset on a daily basis by requests for that very thing you don’t happen to have on your shelves.

Shelves sans TENA Lady

Shelves sans the obvious, apparently

TENA Lady, for example. Or special paper with which to line drawers. Posters of Spiderman, or bicycle pumps (apparently some locals have taken the name of the shop a little too literally).

One must of course speculate in order to accumulate, but as I now find myself with a shed full of Halloween, Christmas, New Year’s Eve and carnival party accoutrements that did not meet the favour of the local youth (“this is crap, haven’t you got so-and-so instead?” whilst knowing perfectly well that so-and-so will almost certainly be off their wish list by the time I get my hands on it), I have to ask myself; will I ever be certain enough of people’s tastes not to keep throwing money away?

Christmas, although not the disaster I began to fear it might be, was by no means the success it could have been either: December proving to be nail-bitingly quiet until a last-minute rush on the 23rd, saved also by the orders I had coaxed some customers into making from my German toy supplier – the delivery of which screeched in on December 24th by the skin of its teeth and thanks only to the extreme kindness and dedication of a particular DHL driver…

Xmas delights which fell short of delighting

Xmas delights which fell short of delighting

New Year’s Eve was another disappointment: the eagerly ordered sparklers, party poppers, table fountains, jolly hats, confetti guns, squeaky trumpets and colourful paper balls to be shot out of cardboard pipes at unsuspecting bystanders, all being greeted by groans and the endlessly repeated “but haven’t you got any firecrackers?”.

Petardi: those deceptively innocent-looking twists of paper that when thrown at the ground emit an ear-splitting BANG, those little cones that when lit and placed on the ground emit an ear-splitting BANG, those cigarette shaped objects that when lit and thrown at the ground emit an ear-splitting BANG… No colourful lights, no special effects, no exciting whizzes. Just deafening explosions. And having witnessed first hand the terror of pets and elderly ladies alike when confronted with these abominations, I was not about to stock them myself.

Not petardi enough

Not petardi enough

I had prepared for the first three months of the year being deathly quiet – nobody ever has any money left after the excesses of the festive season and those dank months are certainly not conducive to touristy activities, so I reduced my hours right down, closing after mid-February’s carnival in order to head back to the UK for a month with the Mothership.

Returning just before Easter; perky and ready for the building crescendo to summer.

But at Easter it rained, so nobody came.

And then rained all through April, so ditto.

It went on to rain through most of May as well…

We are now into June; some people are still having to light their pellet heaters in the evenings and I am still sleeping under my winter duvet, bedsocks firmly on my icy tootsies.

The tourists – able to assess the temperature and precipitation levels of their holiday getaways prior to getting away, thanks to the internet, have sensibly kept their distance from My Little Italian Village and thus my little emporium is now into its sixth month of not making a bean.

Even if a meteorological miracle occurs and July and August are transformed into a spectacular summer, I’m not sure a shop that works for a mere two months out of every twelve only could ever really be a viable concern.

Add that to the fact that buying wholesale in Italy is an almost impossible task – the wholesale prices being but a whisker below the retail price, the quality questionable and the choice even more so.

Then add in the fact that buying from other, better prepared, EU countries involves (conveniently for the Italian government) vast amounts of “import” taxes.

Wonderful wooden toy company in Germany gets around the problem by having an Italian bank account

Wonderful wooden toy company in Germany gets around the import tax problem by having an Italian bank account

Multiply all that by the surprising number of customers who imagine that a tiny shop at the top of a hill should be able to produce postcards, calendars and handmade souvenirs for the same price as the mass-produced tat on sale in the hundreds of identikit kiosks along the coastline, and you have quite a serious impediment to success.

Postcards by the talented Simone Chanaryn

Postcards by the talented Simone Chanaryn

Unfortunately it matters not a jot to the Italian government how much money I am not making – my taxes and social charges remain the same (high) whether I am open or closed, selling lots or nothing at all. There exists no fiscal flexibility for activity of a seasonal nature: you continue to pay up until the coffers run dry, and then you close.

And whilst I am not quite at that point (for as long as the locals continue to exclaim how lovely it is to have a gift shop actively promoting their village with its bags and postcards, artwork and tea towels, books and knickknacks, it will be hard to turn my back on it) I am certainly casting around ever more desperately for a solution to a potentially impossible problem…

Little Italian Village stuff

Little Italian Village stuff

This is Status Viatoris, would pray for a miracle except she doesn’t believe in praying, or miracles for that matter ;-) in Italy.

Posted in Italy, Village Life | 12 Comments »

Return to French Notary Hell

23/05/2013

status viatoris – being ‘on the way’/being in a state of pilgrimage

Wanting to avoid all possible risks of jinxing (yes, that scientifically proven law of physics) I had until now refrained from mentioning that tomorrow I have an appointment to sign the bilateral sales agreement that should at last set the wheels in motion for the sale of my French apartment.

A brand new and very un-French real estate agent – friendly, cheerful, polite and communicative – managed to find me a lovely young French couple who fell in love with the property at first visit, and after various tussles with their bank, were eventually able to make me an offer.

Admittedly it was an extremely low offer.

An entire €50,000 lower than the offer I accepted back in 2011 (which due to the combined efforts of Supercilious Turd French Notary and dear old Nicky Sarkozy never resulted in a sale).

But after three years of struggling every month to find the mortgage, and with the French real estate market a fly ridden carcass of its former self, I was happy to accept any offer at all.

So far, so good.

Until my cheery estate agent asked me to contact Supercilious Turd and request that he leave the deeds to my house for her to collect.

During an initial telephone call, I was asked to formulate my request in an email, which I did.

It remained answer-less.

So I sent another email.

Nothing.

And then another.

Nothing.

At which point my estate agent stepped in.

It took her an entire week to get any response at all from Supercilious Turd’s office, at which point she was informed that the Bill of Sale for my problem room had never been signed.

Meaning that the room was still not mine to sell.

But how could that be?

Way back in July 2011 the previous owner and I had met in front of Supercilious Turd, both signed a document and I had handed over a cheque. Up until that meeting, the ownership of that room had been the only thing standing between me and a sale, and the signing of that document was what permitted Supercilious Turd to laboriously plod his way to preparing the bilateral sales agreement for the sale that never went through.

I am speechless.

Even if I completed misunderstood, even if the document I signed in July 2011 was only a preliminary to the bill of sale, why on earth would a notary make no further attempt to contact a buyer who was already halfway through a sale?

It makes no sense.

Thus my overwhelming relief at having been informed that this second chance at a sale would be overseen by a different notary giving me no reason whatsoever to have contact with Supercilious Turd, has been wiped away on a tsunami of distress that this incompetent excuse for a public servant once again has the power to fuck up my life.

It is almost too ridiculous to believe that I am yet again at his mercy.

This is Status Viatoris, feeling guilty that all the horrors currently going on the world over are not embarrassing her into feel less sorry for herself, in Italy.

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Posted in France, Property | 8 Comments »

Itchy Feet or Green Fingers

21/05/2013

status viatoris – being ‘on the way’/being in a state of pilgrimage

Yesterday morning, an Antipodean friend set off on the next leg of her Overseas Experience: for Tesni it was a case of Arrivederci Italia, and Здравствуйте Россия! (or Hello Russia, if on-line dictionaries can be relied on…).

Usually such a move undertaken by a third-party would have me salivating with jealousy – all those new experiences! A brand new language! The sheer foreignness of it all! I wanna go toooooooo!

This time, however, I find myself strangely unmoved.

Curious to hear about her adventures, yes. But not remotely desirous of experiencing them for myself.

Very odd indeed.

It appears that whilst my mind has been occupied with other things – a small souvenir shop, publishing books on Kindle (by the way, have you bought and/or reviewed An English Fandango yet??), attempting to rid myself of a Gallic real estate behemoth, translating a Kenyan travel website and settling into life with a toyboy – my itchy feet have been busy transforming themselves into something rather more akin to roots.

In brief, and much to my surprise, life in My Little Italian village is still doing a pretty good job at holding my usually mosquito-length attention span; even after three long years.

One clear indication that I might at long last be growing up, is my ever-increasing passion for balcony plant life. With the expert guidance of Mothership, I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time cooing over false shamrock and strawberries, chatting encouragingly to mint, chives, parsley and marjoram, and whispering sweet nothings to geraniums, thyme, oregano and rosemary.

Strawberries and friends

Strawberries and friends

I was ridiculously proud when the strawflowers overwintered, and racked with guilt when one of the fuchsias didn’t. Happiness was restored when I found twenty cockshafer larvae in the bottom of one pot, and abruptly torn away again when I read about the damage those little critters are capable of inflicting.

Hello

Fuchsia mark 2.

And so each new leaf, bud and flower is greeted with the surprised delight of one who is still not at all convinced of her plant-nurturing qualifications, nor her right-sort-of-wildlife identification skills.

Hello

A flowerful wall

Not being into purely ornamental flowers, my primary goal was to get the air a-buzzing with honey bees, bumble bees, hoverflies, butterflies and any other airborne creature of pollinatory inclinations.

Hello

Bee Corner

Other than the obvious advantages of providing me with an extremely fragrant outside space – lavender, thyme, chives and other flowering herbs being, apparently, what buzzy beasts like best – I am offered the added satisfaction of feeling that I am doing my best for the agriculturally beleaguered honey bee.

Hello

Wood sorrel attempting to distance itself from the disappointingly droopy basil plant next door…

With the assistance of a Friends of the Earth Bee Saver Kit, I have been able to choose the best plants for the job, and the helpfully provided pack of “bee-friendly” wild-flower seeds has been duly emptied into a hanging pot and molly coddled into sprouting fresh green shoots – indicative of exciting things to come.

Hello

The babiest of the three lavenders

Even Tigger has been called to action, and will soon begin his chosen task of building a nest box for solitary bees – much to the horror of our dear friend and next door neighbour, the lady mayoress, who is utterly convinced that we will all be stung into an early grave as soon as the last bit of bamboo is wedged into place.

hello

Future wildflowers

All in all growing up is not half as bad as I had feared; and although pottering around plant pots in ones jim-jams at seven o’clock in the morning is not quite as glamorous as jetting off to Moscow, it seems to be suiting me just fine.

For now.

This is Status Viatoris, hoping to encourage all gardeners and plant pot owners to take the humbly honey bee into consideration when choosing their blooms, in Italy.

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Posted in An English Fandango, Italy, Nature Notes, Pix, Travel, Village Life | 6 Comments »

Straightening Records

17/05/2013

status viatoris – being ‘on the way’/being in a state of pilgrimage

It was pointed out to me yesterday that my previous blog post could possibly be construed as an attack on my future mother-in-law, as well as being very offensive to those who set great store in an invisible sky fairy a god.

Firstly I would like to clearly state that any woman capable of producing a man as wonderful as Tigger, most certainly gets my vote. But that does not change the fact that I have always tried to write about myself, my life and the people in it with humour, and I do not feel that my in-laws should be any more exempt from that treatment than my ovaries, for example.

Secondly, it is an indisputable fact that I am often rude about religion. I am rude about a lot of things, but being rude about people’s religious beliefs is for some inexplicable reason considered to be beyond the pale.

Personally I think that making even a half-hearted attempt to emotionally blackmail your son over his wedding plans is also beyond the pale, but there we go – when it comes to someone’s religious beliefs we are just supposed to just humour the believer and assume that they know no better.

If a woman wants to attend Mass three times a day then of course, that is up to her. I may feel that her time would be a lot better spent reading a good book, playing silly games with her grandchildren or admiring the beauty of the world around us, but it is her life, not mine.

But religion is sadly not something that is confined to simple personal choice. It still attempts to use a guise of moral superiority in order to force its controlling nature on others: women’s reproduction, women’s sexuality, the love between consenting adults, children’s education, government policy, scientific fact and indeed almost every other step of human life.

But on what authority? On books written by a myriad of anonymous writers thousands of years ago? Books that contain more gratuitous cruelty, intolerance and bloodshed than even the best gory thriller…

Religion is no more a guide to morality than The Big Bang Theory is a science documentary. If it was, there would be more than 0.1% Atheists/Agnostics in US jails.

Non-religious countries would boast violent crimes rates superior to religious ones.

And the murderous Inquisitions, the evils of slavery and the Holocaust – to name but the tip of the religious-atrocities iceberg – would not have been carried out by those convinced they were acting with “God” on their side (all of this long after the “discovery” of the supposedly pacifistic and loving New Testament).

So yes, I proclaim it my right to be rude about religious belief.

I also proclaim it my right to complain very loudly about its undue influence in the lives of those who do not chose it.

After all, not only has religion shown itself to be the very antithesis of morality, but there is also not an atom of proof that even one god exists, let alone the plethora of deities that control the lives of so many.

But luckily for all concerned; Belligerent Atheist is not all I am in the same way that Faithful Catholic is only a part of who my future mother-in-law is, and I am sure that we will find plenty of other things to share in the years ahead – not least our love for a very loveable man…

This is Status Viatoris, who was herself shown up (but not offended) this morning for not having read enough about climate change – the pursuit of knowledge is what makes the world go round, in Italy.

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Posted in Atheism | 2 Comments »

One of Us

15/05/2013

status viatoris – being ‘on the way’/being in a state of pilgrimage

When my future husband (aka Tigger) went back to Romania last summer to build his dear old mum a fence, he also had a rather more delicate task to carry out: that of informing his three-times-a-day-to-church parent that his girlfriend, as well as being ancient, was also a dirty dirty heathen.

Sadly there were no flies on that particular wall, at least not any wily and/or bilingual enough to report back, so I had to take my beloved’s word that the conversation went something like this:

Tigger: “Mummy, the time has come to inform you that my girlfriend, as well as being ancient, is also a dirty dirty heathen. How is that likely to work for you?”

Three-Times-A-Day-To-Church-Parent: “My sweet boy, if she makes you happy, then who am I to judge? After all, you’re the one who has to live with her and put up with her dirty dirty heathen ways. Just promise me that you will refrain from becoming a heathen yourself.”

Tigger: “No probs on that score, Mummy. I shall remain for evermore a good(ish) Catholic boy.”

The End.

Except, of course, it wasn’t.

Because when the time came to inform her we were getting hitched, she immediately wanted to know if the church ceremony would be in Italy or Romania.

Thus forcing Tigger to gently explain that dirty dirty heathens are certainly not permitted to marry in the Holey Catholic Church. We would be marrying in the local town hall – a place less concerned with one’s invisible sky fairy affinities, as well as being cheap and unfancy (just like us).

Three-Times-A-Day-To-Church-Parent was unimpressed.

So very unimpressed was she, that Tigger feared she might even boycott the wedding entirely.

Personally I just felt extremely sad that something so minor as my lack of invisible sky fairy affinity risked causing a rift between mother and son whilst seriously souring my future mother-in-law’s opinion of me before we had even met.

But sisters-in-law got involved, family talks were held, and eventually Three-Times-A-Day-To-Church-Parent rang to declare that Tigger had completely misunderstood.

She hadn’t been unimpressed at all! Not a bit of it! In fact it was all great! Super! Smashing! What could be better than a town hall wedding – it would be cheap and unfancy, just like us.

Didn’t Tigger know perfectly well that she loved all her children equally? And all her children-in-law just as much – even the dirty dirty heathen ones? Didn’t she always respect their choices? Because whatever made them happy, made her happy.

Oh! And by the way, son, is there really no way you can persuade your dirty dirty heathen fiancée to join the Holey Catholic Church and become one of us? It would be so much nicer…

This is Status Viatoris, now mildly curious to see what will happen when her future mother-in-law finds out she may eventually end up with at least one unbaptised grandchild, in Italy.

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Posted in Atheism | 10 Comments »

Back for Good

14/05/2013

status viatoris – being ‘on the way’/being in a state of pilgrimage

Yup. This is me: creeping back over the border into Bloggylandia after a shamefully long and inexcusable absence that can be blamed on nothing more than idleness…

For having had months of ready-made posts calling out only for an editorial tweak or three before hitting cyberspace, getting back into writing interesting and/or amusing stuff off the top of my head has turned out to be a surprisingly daunting task.

One of the problems I find myself facing is that after three years, the blog’s primary topic of interest – LIFE IN ITALY – has simply become Life: that thing you get on with between waking and going back to sleep. It can be good or bad, fun or boring, frustrating or satisfying, but at the end of the day it is what it is and it isn’t always entertaining, especially when familiarity has blinded you to its Italianate quirks.

So my task over the coming months is to force my eyes and ears back into their old habits of providing my brain with material for my fingers to disperse to the modest but much-loved readership here at SV Land – because writing, I am told, is like any other job: you’ve just got to get on with it!

This is Status Viatoris, back for good and raring to go, in Italy.

Posted in Italy | 12 Comments »

Life Goes On…

23/04/2013

…and it does: post “An English Fandango” and, far more poignantly, post Pooch – as hard as it is to admit the latter.

And although most of the time I am doing just fine, there are moments when the pain and disbelief hit me all over again and I dissolve into a soggy mess of loss and grief.

The question on many people’s lips has of course been ‘Why don’t you just get another dog?’ A question I’m sure I myself have been guilty of asking in the past, but which I now realise is as inappropriate as suggesting a recently widowed woman should just “get another husband.”

Because I don’t want “a dog”, I want my companion. I want Strauss – the creature I knew almost as well as I know myself, and whose life was so intertwined with my own that it is now two months since his death and I am still walking around as tentatively as if I had been deprived of a limb.

But life goes on…

…and it does: the proof is sitting under my desk as I write; occasionally shooting out to woof at an unfamiliar noise, or to beg me yet again to let her into that intriguing storage cupboard under the eaves to check for the marauders she just knows are hiding there.

Millie Dog Comes To Stay

Millie Dog Comes To Stay

Yup. I am dog-sitting, and my charge is no ordinary dog: an intriguing hybrid of Jack Russel and bumble bee; she is tiny and round, investigative of each and every nook and cranny and in a permanently heightened state of busyness.

Having another canine around the place is bittersweet – it certainly helps that she bears absolutely no resemblance to Strauss in either looks or behaviour – but it also means that we are spending a lot of time staring quizzically into each others’ eyes whilst we try to guess at what all these unfamiliar cues, facial expressions, woofs, commands and whines might be attempting to convey.

But when all is said and done, we’ve got a whole two weeks to figure it all out, so I suspect we shall be just fine…

Welcome to SV Land, Millie Dog!

status viatoris – being ‘on the way’/being in a state of pilgrimage

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Posted in An English Fandango, Italy, Pooch | 10 Comments »

An English Fandango hits the cyber-shelves

19/04/2013

I am excited, terrified, pleased but nervous to announce that An English Fandango is now on the Amazon shelves in Kindle format.

If you fancy a gander at the cover – hilariously executed by the very talented Simone Chararyn – or if you would like to review and/or even buy, then the link can be found by clicking here.

Any feedback, even here on the blog, will be most gratefully received.

I have already had requests for non-Kindle formats, but as I have initially placed the book with KDP Select (which apparently enables wider promotion) I will only be able to do that after the 90-day exclusivity period ends.

(Please could those interested in another electronic format let me know what that would be? I am utterly clueless about such matters…)

Requests for paperback copies have also been forthcoming, but I have no idea if that will be financially viable on a small-scale – I will report back as soon as I know.

Thank you, and have a wonderful weekend!

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Posted in An English Fandango, Atheism, English Teaching, Granada, Grub and Stuff, Language, Luuurve, Mallorca, Marbella, Music, Pooch, Romantz, Spain, Travel, Vilanova i la Geltru | 14 Comments »

An English Fandango – Over and Out

17/04/2013

As you might have guessed from the title if not the content, yesterday’s post was the final chapter in An English Fandango.

After eight years, 93 chapters and 72,000 words, that particular part of the my story is over: I only hope you have enjoyed reading it even half as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I will be leaving all 93 chapters up on the blog until Friday 19th of April, when everything will be deleted.

Because…

…I’m publishing An English Fandango for Kindle!

(I think it will also be formatted for iPads and iPhones and similar, although I am not sufficiently au fait with these things to be sure.)

Anyway, as soon as I’ve got the link and any further information I’ll post it on here – anyone wishing to log onto Amazon and write an HONEST (rose-coloured glasses firmly off, Mothership) review is more than welcome, and if you have enjoyed the story and would like to recommend it to those of your friends and family techno-savvy enough to be into electronic books, then nobody will be more grateful and delighted than me.

I would like to thank everyone hugely for sticking with me all these months – I hope the lack of Italian news has not been too sorely noted – and I promise that Status Viatoris will be back to her bloggy, Italianate best from sometime next week!

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Posted in An English Fandango | 8 Comments »

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