Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Lingerie Lifter, Knicker Nicker, Underwear Usurper

Shock horror, La Duchessa has no underclothes.
Bertie has suddenly become extremely interested in ladies underthings. To such an extent that when we put out the washing for drying – we usually put the “smalls” on a waist-high drier - within a few minutes there are bras and panties littering the area around the back of the house. He takes them all, but nothing else. No shirts or jeans. We pick them up, brush them down if they are not too dirty and put them back to dry and blow me, in five minutes they’ve gone. So they have to be washed again and the same thing happens.
Alarmingly, this is an aspect of his personality that has only just come to light.
Now, I’m a broad minded liberal sort of a person, but what gets me is that Bert completely ignores my underwear. Why? I call it blatant sexism.
Also, it’s not that he wears any of the things he takes, or even tries them on. Nnow that would be a story. Although I consider myself to have a good imagination, Bertie in a black bra and panties is a stretch of the imagination too far.
So, he just “nicks” them and then leaves them on the ground. Some days the ground at the back of the house looks like a Turner Prize exhibit. Mmmm. Food for thought. Any income generation scheme should be looked at. No matter how bizarre.
Anyway, spare a thought for la Duchessa. Poor La D. She’s having to go commando for much of the day until she can dry her undies in a secret place that we have found and Bertie is unaware that it exists, for the moment. I have offered her the loan of my boxer shorts, some of them are quite dashing actually, but although she hasn’t answered in the negative, the face she pulls when I mentioned her wearing my boxers makes me think that she would only wear them should hell freeze over.
What a dog (not La D, but Bert!)
Any solutions would be gratefully be received.

Four Candles or Fork Handles?

I’m pretty sure most of you will remember the scene from the Two Ronnies that this title refers to.
What brought it to mind was a recent Italian lesson we had with our neighbour.
We were talking in Italian about places we have been to in Italy. One year we stopped off for a couple of nights in Lucca which is where Puccini was born. It is about an hours drive from Florence.
Anyway we said we had been to Lucca. Our neighbour shook her head saying “dove?” meaning, where? So we repeated the name, Lucca. Phonetically it’s a bit like saying “lookah” Still no recognition on our neighbour’s face. We spelt it out for her. Then her expression changed to one who has just understood what was said. “Ahhh, Lucca” she said, pronouncing it exactly like we said it, Lookah.
So, we moved on to words less open to misinterpretation such as sbocconcellare (to nibble) and schiacciante (nut cracker). Much easier, because they are at the moment totally unpronounceable to us.

The Orioles are back (and other Uccelli (birds))

No not Margot and Jerry, I mean the real things.
Those of you who follow this blog – thanks fan – may remember that about a year ago I got very excited about a bright yellow bird that had started to frequent the estate. Well they are back.
Both La D and myself thought we heard them at the week-end, but yesterday I actually caught sight of one and was able o have a really good look at him through the binoculars. Fantastic colouring. From the sounds we can hear we reckon there are probably three pairs.

I know I mentioned the Hoopoe a couple of weeks ago. We have loads of them in the garden. Again there must be three or four pairs around. It’s quite lovely to have so many brightly coloured birds. Not to take anything away from the old Sparrows, but they are a bit drab, colour-wise aren’t they? I mean there is no getting away from it, is there? But I expect they don’t think so. I can’t imagine a Sparrow looking into a mirror and saying, ”God, my plumage is so drab. Why can’t I look like a Bird of Paradise?” I mean where would they find a mirror? Also, how would they know what a Bird of Paradise looked like anyway. No, I reckon the Sparrows are OK with their feathers.


Well I can report that Mum is doing sterling work with her week-old brood – see picture. I (this is L’uomo chi fa speaking) don’t know whether that’s good or bad really. I am in two minds over our assumed responsibilities for these kittens. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so English in my views of smallish, pettish type animals. But there you go.
These community cats have the lowest morals of anything I have come across. The males are already on the prowl again. Ganging up on other females who, like Mum, have probably just given birth. Fortunately they have not been round Mum because of The Bert.
Let’s hear it for Bertie. Protector of fallen cats.
But our worry is that as soon as she “leaves” the kittens, she’ll be got at again and the process starts all over.
We will just have to make sure that we don’t leave any birthing places or receptacles available for feline use in the future, and hope for the best.



Ciao. Mantenere la fede

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