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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 »

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 »

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 »

Ding Dong the Bells are going to Chime

01/03/2013

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

Sometime towards the end of 2012, discussions turned to the state of my ovaries.

Given the apparently serious nature of our love affair, and the possibly decrepit state of my reproductive organs, I thought it prudent to point out to Tigger that should he envisage a family with me, sooner rather than later might be the key to thwarting the wear and tear that was invariably being wrought by Old Father Time.

To be honest it was merely an observation – I had long ago made peace with the possibility of a childless future (Life seems to me to be filled with plenty of other goals to strive for and hidden corners to explore).

Anyway, it transpired that a family is exactly what Tigger had envisaged with me, which is how I now find myself engaged to be married.

The Rock

Less of a rock and more of a chiefly calcium carbonate deposit formed around a grain of sand or other foreign matter in the shells of certain molluscs… But still very pretty.

And I simply cannot wait to be the wife of such a kind, loving, funny, supportive, intelligent, and wonderful man – although preferably via a registry office wedding involving no more than two guests and which I can attend in my trainers… oh yes, I am the last of the great romantics.

On paper we  are undoubtedly a very odd match.

I am a thirty-five year old English girl (not sure what it takes to be a woman, but I don’t feel I’m quite there yet…), he is a twenty-six year old Romanian of Hungarian origin.

I am an atheist, an only child and a bookworm; he is Catholic, the fourth child of six and has never picked up a book in his life.

I am an antisocial over-thinker; he is gregarious and happy-go-lucky.

I write stuff, translate stuff, teach stuff and sell stuff; he does stuff with iron, and has been known also to do stuff with wood and bricks and cement too.

I am messy, he is neat. I am fanciful, he is practical.

I have moved to Spain then France then Italy in a self-indulgent quest for a more exciting life, he has moved to Spain then Cyprus then Italy out of necessity – a necessity for reliably paid employment.

I have been through a fairly impressive roll call of partners in my attempt to track down “The One”, he never saw the point of having a girlfriend until he met me.

In fact about the only thing we have in common is that we love each other, and very much. A warm yet exciting, comforting yet heart-pounding kind of love that makes me go “oh! so that’s what everyone meant…!” for up till now I had assumed that people in relationships just made do.

No More.

No Less.

And into this already pretty cushy bargain, I also get the benefit of a lovely family. One that already boasts an Ecuadorian brother-in-law, thus relieving me of the burden of being the only foreigner; as well an extraordinarily special little Ecuadorian/Romanian nephew who had already melted my heart long before I had even made his uncle’s acquaintance.

Thus a whole new chapter of my life opens up, and in a direction that I really had not counted on.  Will it still be possible to be a Modern-Day Nomad with her head in the clouds and her fingers on the keyboard as well as a wife, and possibly also one day a mother?

I sincerely hope so. And I think that this partnership – for it most decidedly is a partnership, as opposed to two independent humans sharing merely bed and board as in previous relationships – has the necessary ingredients to make it possible.

I was already fairly sure of that six months ago but when my lovely strong cheerful man broke down and cried like a baby at the prospect of losing my beloved dog; then I knew it for certain.

This is Status Viatoris, who has enjoyed a few days off from An English Fandango, but who will be cracking on with “Marbella” from Monday.

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Posted in Italy, Luuurve, Romantz, Travel | 30 Comments »

Popping Out From Behind the Fandango…

07/01/2013

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

… to say HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A bit late, I know, but I wanted to see Mallorca through to its natural conclusion before breaking the spell ;-)

I imagine the sudden change in subject from Current Life in Italy to Distant Past in Spain may have come as a bit of a surprise to some, especially as I chose not to usher it in with even the smallest parp of a fanfare.

In fact posting the book chapter by chapter on Status Viatoris was an idea that came to me in the dead of night whilst I was mulling over a lack of success in locating my blogging mojo; and in typical SV fashion, no sooner had the thought popped into my head than I found myself seated expectantly before the computer in my pyjamas…

Although I had long since resigned myself to never making a peso from An English Fandango (unless the clamour for an e-book reaches intolerable decibels, natch), I find I do regret choosing the point of lowest reader traffic in my blogging journey so far to launch it into the bogglesphere.

It feels as though I’ve let it down somehow, and, despite the relief of finally having made a decision about its destiny, I can’t help but worry that I am ill-prepared for the possibility of seeing my little creation sink into oblivion without even a small flurry of bubbles to mark its passing…

Oh the ego is a terrible thing, so it is!

So, 2012 has been and gone since we last spoke, and I for one was a little sad to see it leave.

Because without causing a flap or creating a fuss, it turned out to be a pretty fabulous year for me (poorly Pooches notwithstanding): the house, all bar the leaky roof, is finished; I seem to have landed myself with a highly entertaining business venture; English-teaching is turning out to be a lot more satisfying than I found it nine years ago; I have spent the last two months being paid to translate descriptions of thrilling things to do in Kenya; An English Fandango is slowly being released from the prison of its word document; my relationship with Tigger is growing – although the last time I wrote something similar that part of my life temporarily went tits up – and my previously incorrigible itchy feet are now made conspicuous only by their absence.

Challenged and yet content, ferociously busy and yet fulfilled: it’s only taken thirty-five years for me to be able to cautiously stick my bonce over the parapet and declare that I might, just might, be settled.

And as I doubt very much that I would have been able to reach that point without the increase in confidence gained from the writing of this blog, and most especially from the encouragement and affection of so many of its readers, I want to thank you all hugely for sticking  with me over the last thirty-three months and 328 posts.

THANK YOU!

This is Status Viatoris, wishing all SV readers, their families, friends and loved ones much health and happiness in 2013 – take care of each other and make every day count, in Italy.

P.S An English Fandango – Granada will have its first airing on Monday 14th January. Don’t miss it!

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Posted in An English Fandango, English Teaching, Italy, Luuurve, Opinion, Philosophical, Right Riveting Reads, Romantz | 14 Comments »

2012 in review

01/01/2013

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

4,329 films were submitted to the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. This blog had 23,000 views in 2012. If each view were a film, this blog would power 5 Film Festivals

Click here to see the complete report.

Posted in Italy | Leave a Comment »

A Bit of Everything…

29/10/2012

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

…is what has been keeping me from SVing for the last month and a half.

What’s that?

You want me to be more specific?

I can’t.

Honestly, it really has all been down to A Bit of Everything.

Or to give it its true title: “In po’ de tütu” – AKA… my new shop!

MINE! Lock, stock, barrel (rent, taxes, stress, responsibility, success, failure) and all.

Now you must believe me when I say that this is absolutely not how I envisaged things going when I was called in to run Ci Vuole over the summer months.

No, the best I could hope for then was to be able to make it enough of a success to tempt the owner to stay open for another year – thus keeping me out of trouble on a part-time basis whilst providing regular-ish dollops of dosh to keep Pooch and me in bonios and focaccia.

But in typical SV fashion, taking over and re-opening the entire enterprise was something I decided to do after seriously considering it for about, oh, twenty minutes.

A Little Bit of Everything cheerfully muddled up together!

Because although those summer weeks indicated that with the right stock, the shop had the potential to be quite a hit, it was also apparent that even if it did work, it was unlikely ever to be in a position of offering enough income for two people.

So upon noticing the owner’s waning interest – which clashed uncomfortably with my gut feeling that both the shop itself and the village really deserved at least twelve months of hard work before its fate was decided – I made what may yet prove to be one of the rashest decisions of my life…

An exciting collection of smellies!

Ci Vuole, during the short months it was open, had dealt principally in antique furniture; not a particular hit with the locals, who all have cantine bursting with roba vecchia (“old stuff” as they scathingly refer to it); although a popular port of call for incomers wishing to furnish their village purchases with authentic pieces.

Thus the “usato” part of the trade triumvirate will stay on but in a slightly reduced format – the larger pieces remaining in their current owners’ houses and cantine, whilst their photos do the sweet-talking from a home-made catalogue that will be found in the shop.

Evil small-boy magnets used to part parents from hard-earned cash…

The “regali” are the small gift ideas that are so far finding favour with pretty much everyone, be they native or otherwise.

Relatively inexpensive smellies, jewellery, scarves, children’s toys, old-fashioned wooden games, decorations, greetings cards and Halloween (soon to be Xmas) items from Italy, the UK and Germany are just some of the products that the village seemed to be in need of.

Not forgetting the artistic contributions from local seamstresses, potters, painters, basket-makers and carpenters amongst others; whose talent is providing many of the wonderfully original and sometimes quirky items that help to make In po’ de tütu such a fun place to come for a pongle.

Postcards nestling in their home-made (ex-draining rack) display case.

The souvenir side of things has positively juggernauted since I asked for your help in putting together a postcard collection.

There is now a selection of books about the area, cds from the local polyphonic singing groups and instrumental bands, hand-painted aprons, maps, tourist guides, 2013 photographic calendars, pens, bags and possibly even umbrellas if I ever get around to it…

No chance of any visitor to the village escaping without purchasing some little knick-knack or other to keep memories of their stay alive!

Preparations for a chestnut festival that never was – snow (of all things!) stopped play.

Unfortunately the plan to stock some local produce – olives, honey, jams, dried tomatoes in oil and bottles of olive oil has had to be abandoned along the way, as a month-long (and rather expensive) course in food handling would need to be undertaken in order to sell even ready-packaged edibles.

But as food is one thing this village has never lacked, I’m sure my little offerings will not be too sadly missed.

The English Book Swap! Take one and leave one, or take one and make a donation to UNICEF!

So in a chestnut shell, this has so far been a hugely fun, vastly terrifying and terribly exciting journey through the initial trials of shopkeepery.

I have absolutely no idea what is waiting around the corner, but whatever it is, I am definitely looking forward to all the challenges the project will undoubtedly bring.

This is Status Viatoris, preparing to try a bit of everything in order to make this venture a success, in Italy.

Posted in Italy, Pix, Village Life | 20 Comments »

Flotsam and Jetsam

06/09/2012

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

An acquaintance who has always lived in a remote part of North West Scotland was once asked if he ever regretted never having left to travel the world and meet new people.

His reply?

“Why would I? Anybody who is worth knowing eventually finds their way here.”

And I sometimes feel that My Little Italian Village has a touch of that magic magnetism about it; just wandering aimlessly down the street you have a good chance of stumbling across someone who is really worth knowing.

Someone who has a fascinating story to tell, a nugget of wisdom to impart or an interesting take on life – a meeting of fellow nomads, all at different stages of their journey, but who all share a common adoration for this wee corner of Italy.

It is not that we suffer a lack of meddlesome old busybodies, arrogant ex-pats, drunks, racists or arse holes either, far from it; but one is not required to cast around for long before finding some company that more than makes up for those rather less-desirable elements.

There are, however, some recent additions to the village tapestry that are a tad more difficult to categorise…

There is the mentally disturbed fellow who, goodness only knows how, found his way here from a Germanic country I will not name. He is purported to hail from a rather wealthy family who ever so generously purchased him a storage room in which to live in – though did not think to ensure it offered the possibility of running water – and who send him an allowance every month.

I can only presume that goes some towards easing their guilt at allowing their son to wander, unwashed and stinking to high heaven, though the village streets; talking incessantly to himself, waving his arms about, fishing goodness only what out of the rubbish bins, asking people for money, trying to half-inch things from the local shops whilst they are unloading their morning produce, defecating in the loo of the local bar with the door wide open, wandering the surrounding hills to peer in through the windows of the more remote properties and generally making people feel nervous and ill at ease.

Not because we are frightened of mental illness; but because absolutely nobody here knows this man’s history, or the direction further deterioration of his mental health may take. But he has become the village’s problem regardless, something which seems fair to neither him or us.

Then there is the girl from an ex-Soviet country I will not name. Inexplicably taken in by the local priest instead of being sent where she deserves to be: prison.

And gently rotting in a soulless lock-up truly is where this girl should be, because she either murdered, or had a part in murdering, together with a boyfriend, her toddler son.

She has even been sentenced to sixteen years behind bars, but instead of incarceration, the local priest accepts money from the state to house her. Admittedly she helps out in the old folks’ home, but is also regularly to be found prettily prancing the streets with her stylishly dyed locks bouncing and a large grin on her made-up face.

Not the behaviour of a woman who has recently lost a child in quite horrific circumstances – even on the very unlikely off-chance she didn’t have a part in his demise herself – and a pretty sickening thing for everyone else to be faced with on a daily basis.

In direct contrast we have the girl who unwisely married a southern boy with connections to one of the organisations this country is famous for. And no, I don’t mean FIAT.

Despite the aforementioned connections and the knowledge that his line of “business” was of the happy powder nature, when the southern boy turned up snuffy in a field with a bullet in each arm, a bullet in each leg and a final bullet in the face, it was decided that it was a crime of passion committed by someone in love with his wife, and she was arrested for having him bumped off.

Dozens of people have since been arrested in connection with the case – all of whom involved with the happy powder trade as opposed to with the wife – several are already imprisoned, but nothing has changed. She has been here under house arrest for well over eighteen months, her children have been taken away from her and sent to their paternal grandparents, and if those in the know ever get round to actually holding a trial she will almost certainly be sentenced to many years of incarceration – at not yet thirty her life is effectively over.

Justice, Italian style…

This is Status Viatoris, pondering on the flotsam and jetsam that wash up on our shores, offering an endless source of gossip-fodder that I feel we could often do without, in Italy.

Posted in Italy, Philosophical, Village Life | 4 Comments »

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