The Italian Job

I’m back from a much-needed sojourn in La Bella Italia. The trip commenced with the 3am start of a 250 mile journey. Don’t ask. This is my idea of hell, not remotely being what you would call a morning person. By the time I arrived at Firenze, I was a complete zombie. Came out of the airport, 38 Celcius in the shade. Ay, Caramba!, as they do not say in Italy. I knew I was home when I dropped my hand luggage in my living-dead state and the driver said ‘Mama Mia!’ Pure awesomeness. This was in stark contrast to the airport in London. Yep, I fell foul of the Airport Nazi. How this country manages to produce so many pea-brained jobsworths, I cannot fathom. Put one of these eejits in a uniform and they believe they have the authority to waterboard you. This was the ghastly woman at security check; they keep ratcheting up their stupid rules to make our lives more difficult. First, no liquids over 100ml. Check. Then, suddenly only one tiny bag can be used. OK, check. Then, you must be able to seal the bag without it popping open so essentially the bag is max, 2/3 filled. At this point, I told her that wasn’t feasible as I needed my stuff and only had hand luggage. She told me if I didn’t agree to discard part of my carefully curated 100ml stuff, she would have to ‘tag my stuff. You’ll be here for an hour.’ I told her to do whatever she needed to do. She did not like that… Meanwhile, I checked my watch– flight take off in 50 minutes but I was so angry, I was thinking I’d buy another ticket if needed. Yes, I am crazy; I know it but I’ll never kowtow to these power-crazed fascists.

It is possible to do a job which I agree is necessary without being such a pisspoor example of a human being. She pretty much tagged everybody, the check took 40 minutes, and they made me throw away a 75ml tube of toothpaste, so you can all sleep safely in your beds, another terrorist threat averted. Jackasses. I made final boarding with 5 minutes to spare 🙂 The kicker? I studied chemistry for a solid 8 years. I wouldn’t need to smuggle chemicals past security if I wished to blow anything up, especially doors 🙂 . I can make a perfectly good explosive device using stuff from duty-free and the contents of the cleaner’s cart. And no, I wouldn’t need to make any dimwitted internet searches either, you’d never see me coming. The government can’t keep us safe unless all cars and vans are now confiscated, so implying that taking off my belt at the airport helps is an act of ridiculous posturing on their part. If most of us don’t go around blowing people up, it’s because we know right from wrong, and personally, I believe I will answer for my actions after I shuffle this mortal coil. Civic irresponsibilty and psychotic behaviour cannot be regulated by criminalising the entire population. Any determined murderer will find a way round the rules, especially if they don’t mind dying in the attempt. That is a much more serious problem to address, hence the headless chicken acts of our governments.

Anyhoo, Firenze was as lovely as ever. I realised that I feel so much at home there because the sunlight is like African light. As soon as I clocked that gorgeous, golden light that pours out like syrup and coats everything with an amber tint, I forgot all about the airport nazi. But yikes, it was HOT! Even a heat-lover like myself started wilting at the edges rapidly. Luckily, there is a cure – copious amounts of gelato and lashings of Schweppes Pompelmo. I put on 10 kilos in 2 days; thank God the airline doesn’t weigh us on the way back from holiday or my excess baggage charge would have been through the roof 🙂 More to follow on Italy. In the meantime, I pray for protection for us all from all the loonies out there, ideological or otherwise, and wish you a safe, warm weekend full of golden light. Yes, even you, Airport Nazi.

 

 

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Time On My Hands

The lazy, hazy days of summer…..or monsoon season as we like to call it in England. I’ve been on holiday for the last week and dutifully spent the beginning of the week working myself into a frenzy, sorting out Alara stuff. I have spent the second part of the week loafing around, watching ‘Jessica Jones‘ and ‘Black-ish‘ (both highly recommended. Not too sure about Iron Fist, but Marvel is Marvel……) I did also do some everyday stuff like getting my hair done (essential) and cleaning the house (not so much, yawn. I am the unhappy combination of a lazy slob who hates disorder. This conundrum is easily solved by having hot and cold running staff which I do not have. Can I just point out that the world is less than idyllic?) Anyhoo, the news is either alarming, witness the craziness happening in Virginia, or ridiculous, witness Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un. Mind you, the more they posture, the safer I feel. It’s the lunatics that don’t bother with making idiotic threats that really worry me.

Design season is imminent, and I am showcasing some of the new designers who will be exhibiting at 100% Design this year: The Bombe clock by Bad Dog Designs, The Orla sofa by Bethany Luscombe, AeroBench by Essence of Strength and Fabrics by Mairi Helena. Pretty good stuff, I think you’ll agree. I leave you with one of my favourite Roald Dahl poems. If you’ve never read his ‘Revolting Rhymes’, you have a treat in store. Have a good one.

 

The Three Little Pigs

By Roald Dahl

The animal I really dig,
Above all others is the pig.
Pigs are noble. Pigs are clever,
Pigs are courteous. However,
Now and then, to break this rule,
One meets a pig who is a fool.
What, for example, would you say,
If strolling through the woods one day,
Right there in front of you you saw
A pig who’d built his house of STRAW?
The Wolf who saw it licked his lips,
And said, ‘That pig has had his chips.’
‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in!’
‘No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!’
‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!’

The little pig began to pray,
But Wolfie blew his house away.
He shouted, ‘Bacon, pork and ham!
Oh, what a lucky Wolf I am!’
And though he ate the pig quite fast,
He carefully kept the tail till last.
Wolf wandered on, a trifle bloated.
Surprise, surprise, for soon he noted
Another little house for pigs,
And this one had been built of TWIGS!

‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in!’
‘No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!’
‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!’

The Wolf said, ‘Okay, here we go!’
He then began to blow and blow.
The little pig began to squeal.
He cried, ‘Oh Wolf, you’ve had one meal!
Why can’t we talk and make a deal?
The Wolf replied, ‘Not on your nelly!’
And soon the pig was in his belly.

‘Two juicy little pigs!’ Wolf cried,
‘But still I’m not quite satisfied!
I know how full my tummy’s bulging,
But oh, how I adore indulging.’
So creeping quietly as a mouse,
The Wolf approached another house,
A house which also had inside
A little piggy trying to hide.
‘You’ll not get me!’ the Piggy cried.
‘I’ll blow you down!’ the Wolf replied.
‘You’ll need,’ Pig said, ‘a lot of puff,
And I don’t think you’ve got enough.’
Wolf huffed and puffed and blew and blew.
The house stayed up as good as new.
‘If I can’t blow it down,’ Wolf said,
I’ll have to blow it up instead.
I’ll come back in the dead of night
And blow it up with dynamite!’
Pig cried, ‘You brute! I might have known!’
Then, picking up the telephone,
He dialed as quickly as he could
The number of red Riding Hood.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Who’s speaking? Who?
Oh, hello, Piggy, how d’you do?’
Pig cried, ‘I need your help, Miss Hood!
Oh help me, please! D’you think you could?’
‘I’ll try of course,’ Miss Hood replied.
‘What’s on your mind…?’ ‘A Wolf!’ Pig cried.
‘I know you’ve dealt with wolves before,
And now I’ve got one at my door!’

‘My darling Pig,’ she said, ‘my sweet,
That’s something really up my street.
I’ve just begun to wash my hair.
But when it’s dry, I’ll be right there.’

A short while later, through the wood,
Came striding brave Miss Riding Hood.
The Wolf stood there, his eyes ablaze,
And yellowish, like mayonnaise.
His teeth were sharp, his gums were raw,
And spit was dripping from his jaw.
Once more the maiden’s eyelid flickers.
She draws the pistol from her knickers.
Once more she hits the vital spot,
And kills him with a single shot.
Pig, peeping through the window, stood
And yelled, ‘Well done, Miss Riding Hood!’

Ah, Piglet, you must never trust
Young ladies from the upper crust.
For now, Miss Riding Hood, one notes,
Not only has two wolfskin coats,
But when she goes from place to place,
She has a PIGSKIN TRAVELING CASE.

 

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Rambling Rose

I went for a walk along along the canal this week. I haven’t been down there since March, having boycotted the area as the bleakness of the late winter landscape- straggly bushes, shivering birds, sluggish grey water, depressing grey sky- was enough to finally tip me over the edge. Seasonal Affective Disorder? You have no idea. Well, what a contrast. Those straggly bushes are now in glorious flower, the sunlight is shimmering on the water, there are flutterbys everywhere, and the blackberries are ripening on the bramble bushes. Heaven is picking fresh blackberries as you amble to nowhere in particular; they are still slightly under-ripe which I like anyway. I enjoy eating fruit that is not quite ripe, God only knows why. It started with the tartness of not-quite-ripe Cashew fruits and Almonds when I was a kid. Yep, I can honestly say I’ve always been weird, to the surprise of absolutely no one anywhere. And no, I’ve never had a resulting stomach ache. Go figure.

Only two serpents in the garden. One dopey cyclist with a ghetto blaster strapped to his back. His choice of music? ‘Cotton Eyed Joe’ Words fail me but I guess his lifestyle choices are punishment enough. Let’s draw a veil over that. Then there was the rather chunky woman filling a carrier bag with blackberries. Now, hedgerowing is not an issue if you are walking through woodland in a rural area. People in those areas usually control their greed and know to leave some for others, and there is plenty to go round. Filling a bag with blackberries in an urban area is just plain selfish. By all means, pop a few in your mouth but don’t pick enough to make several pies….. and yes, I’m no sylph either but I most definitely did not eat all the pies. Should I have mentioned that she was standing in a clump of nettle plants? A better Christian would have……… 🙂 Speaking of which, did you know that God never told Eve not to eat the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden? Eve had not yet been created yet when the edict was handed down, so it’s all Adam’s fault. This occured to me as I was waking up this morning and I checked it. This is why I should never be allowed any free time. What with male/female relations coming along so well, I thought I should toss that little cluster bomb in the mix 🙂

My fave cartoon of the week? Easy peasy, it’s the one by Pugh addressing Roman Abramovich’s imminent divorce. It must be utterly surreal for those concerned, reading all the stuff in the papers. The press list all their possessions as though they amount to a panacea for a broken heart. Too bizzarre. Ladies, form an orderly queue, although I personally draw the line at cycling as a hobby. Sometimes it’s just easier to work for a living! Dasvidaniya as we now say at AlaraApothecary. Have a terrific week.

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