Month: April 2020

Just a quick one. I could not resist this.

For those of you who have been following me, you know I am spending my quarantine in a house within a large walled garden surrounded by some more houses currently inhabited mostly by elderly couples. (For those who have just joined here is the summary.) We are talking 75/80 age range here.
Most of them are lovely and rational. Then there is one quite extravagant couple no-vax and pro- all sort of weird things. You name them. Their doctors are anthroposophical (whatever, excuse me, the Rudolf Steiner stuff). Their gardening practices are biodynamic. Their children know how to knit but don’t do maths. They are also big bores in the sense that whatever you do they tell you you do it wrong and you should rather follow some esoteric practice instead. They also stated that even if a coronavirus vaccine is found and Bill Gates or the state pays for it, they won’t have it. They’d rather follow nature. (Nature??? )

There is a WhatsApp group (I had never been in one of those before) of the ladies who have houses here. No men allowed. Most frequent subject is state of blooming of plants. Followed by pictures of sexy men (bad taste really) – and comments on said subject. Followed by some populistic mostly anti-German videos (they obviously have not watched the Fawlty Towers episode of Don’t mention the war).

Tonight, yes, well tonight while I was cooking my spaghettini with cherry tomatoes and ricotta (btw I cooked an absolutely fantastic courgette flowers tempura for lunch) drinking a glass of Sicilian red wine, my phone beeped. I don’t normally interrupt cooking because of a text msg, but I had been exchanging messages with my daughter and thought it might have been her, so I picked it up to have a look.

So there was this msg from the no vax lady saying ‘yes, the name of the instrument is pulse oximeter and tomorrow we should buy from the chemist’. Tomorrow is May 1st. I doubt you’ll be able to buy anything anywhere. This was too good to let it pass. So I wrote ‘OMG are you sick?’. She replies ‘I just want to have it before I go into hospital’. So I start thinking maybe she IS sick. And I go ‘so you need to go to the hospital? You must be feeling unwell’. She says ‘it’s just for prevention’.

Deep breath. This is the woman who decides who she can get close to depending on how much she likes the person. Prevention is not the name of the game. Lottery, more like it.

Well anyway I think she got pissed off when I said ‘maybe we don’t need it, we should not buy something that others might need during this time of scarse resources’. Truly, it’s not just the toilet paper, but people have been hoarding malaria tablets and heparine for Gods sake. And let’s not mention face masks. Let’s just so not go there (another time, I know, I haven’t written about those because I was fuming and it’s not a good thing to write about a subject you are feeling very upset about unless you are Joan Didion).

grrr and grrr. Idiots. What are they going to do with a pulse oximeter? Personally until 40 days ago I did not even own a thermometer. When my kids were young and I lived in London I used to have a plastic strip which you could put on their forehead and it would change colour if they had a temperature. Then you would give them paracetamol and if it still looked like they had a temperature you would call the doctor. Then one of the other ladies bought it for me (she probably felt sorry I didn’t have one, maybe she thought I was stupid or eccentric). It’s still in its box somewhere.

Oh Britannia (For those of you who don’t know me I am so very anti Brexit, but still allowed to love the country, right?). I learned so much about how to live when I was there. Simplicity. Logic. Rationality. I want to go back. Especially, and this is a non sponsored recommendation, after watching the Ricky Gervais series After Life on Netflix. (Fleabag was good too, although it was not shot in NW3, and Hampstead with Diane Keaton was a little bit too corny.) I feel soooo homesick.

night night

I was hoping I would be out and about by now. Certainly not as the happy-go-lucky old me, but definitely I was counting on being free to at least drive back to Milan, check my mail, collect some summer clothes, see my partner again. Alas, no. With yet another press conference (timed at 20.20 two days ago, what a coincidence, a year ago he would have timed it at 20.19) and another administrative act (in the face of the Constitution, legislative powers of the Parliament, blah blah blah) our Prime Minister, aka Ciuseppi, has extended our lockdown. To be fair he declared that on May 4th phase 2 of the lockdown will start, with some gradual reopening of workplaces, and extension of the distance frome hom one can go for a walk alone (so far 200m). He even granted the right to the residents to visit or reunite with (keeping mask and safe distance) relatives up to the 6th degree, but not friends, partners, fiancees, etc. You need to be married or have some blood relation in order to be allowed to be together. Schoos will stay shut until September. Children will be allowed to go for a walk with parents not far from the house but playgrounds will be shut. Who lives by the sea (literally) will be allowed to go for a swim. The rest will not. Every time you leave the house you will still need to carry a form containing all your anagraphics and contact details, a series of declarations that you know the rules (70 pages circa between the Prime Minister rules and those of the regions), a declaration of what on earth you are doing, which shops you intend to visit, signed and dated, to hand to the policeman patrolling the roads.

Some signs of unhappiness have started to emerge. I saw a picture of Napoli’s lungomare full of people walking on their own, face masks on. It’s not yet May 4th but people are fed up. And mostly do not understand the logic behind this decree. Many have complained about the interference of the state into one’s choice of relations, many more are questioning how they will be able to return to work if schools are shut.

Lots of categories of workers are unhappy. We have the beach resort managers, those blessed by the Gods for having been granted the right to manage beach resorts for a pittance, charging a fortune to the bathers for using beach umbrellas and chairs, without the need to participate in a public tender. They are now very worried because they won’t be able to pack beach umbrellas back to back, and will need to respect safe distance rules. Oh, I feel so sorry for them, go dig into your savings guys, or give the licence up if it is so unprofitable.

We have the bars and restaurant owners. Still another few weeks until they are allowed to reopen and, when they do, safe distance rules of two meters between tables and one meter between people sitting at the same table. So sorry for them too, they will make so much noise that they will be allowed more space on pavements and perhaps in the streets taking away space from parking islands. Is it so difficult to conceive that operating hours will increase? That maybe demand for their services will change with more people expecting to have the same meal at home, so moving to deliveries?

Then we have the hairdressers. OMG the biggest crisis during lockdown is men with long hair and women with grey hair regrowth and hairy legs and armpits. To the dismay of many, hairdressers and beauty salons will be the last to be allowed to reopen and under very strict conditions (one client per 40 msq, plastic separators between hair-washing stations, free face masks for clients, ….) on June 1st. Basically in this case it isn’t just the army of coiffeurs and beauticians who rebel, but all their clients. Almost the whole of Italy, except for bold men and DIY experts, is rebelling, to the cry of #contedimettiti (Conte resign!). Talk shows, twitter, Facebook are pulsating wildly for the hairdressers.

I have also seen pictures of the way we will be allowed to travel on the underground, trains and buses. For sure the two meters distance there is going to be lethal. The only way around this hurdle will be walking, cycling, or scooter riding (pity Ninebot is privately held). But no, even this dire situation is not convincing our government that it would be the case to allow Uber to operate in Italy. We need to suffer, after all we are a catholic country, we need to carry the cross.

Oh well, sara’ quel che sara’. Worse comes to worse I will migrate back to London. This looks less and less like the place where I want to live.

Exciting personal news for the past week. My orchids (the ones that the cleaner did not kill) have started blooming. They are obviously reacting well to TLC.

Happy to report that I am winning my personal lockdown battle against slugs and snails. I am letting them drown in beer, as the ants steal all the pellets and the cats go rummage when I pour ash around the plants. I am sparing you the sight, but let me tell you it’s been a good harvest.

And, I baked an amazing cake for a nighbour’s birthday. It was meant to be a trifle, or zuppa inglese as they call it here, but then at the last minute I turned it into a cake and that was a lucky thing. It was really very good. The decoration was not full marks but after posting the picture on twitter I was greeted by hails of enthusiasm for having produced the Hagrid – Harry cake (who knew what they were going on about, but after a rapid google apparently I baked a Harry Potter cake). Here is a picture, better the cake than the floating snails, no?

We’ve had some glorious sunny days here and I am glad to report I went for my first swim in freezing water, which was very exciting, and yet one more thing to feel grateful about. Bye for now.

Hello everybody, how are you all doing? Here it is advanced spring, lots of blooms and sunshine. Everything is finally coming to life. Best thing of all the pool is now open and as from tomorrow I will be able to start swimming. Here is a rare selfie for you by the pool (when our great grandchildren will be playing cards with the selfies of their ancestors mine will be worth more, much more than yours as I only take them rarely).

I organised a rota system with the neighbours so that we don’t run into trouble with the neighbours/police etc for illegal gatherings. It will be tough as everyone answered stuff like: ‘the water is too cold now’, ‘I don’t normally spend a lot of time by the pool, relax’, ‘I will not go often’. Grrr what is so difficult to understand about the word rota? I think I will end up going swimming at lunch time when everybody else is tucking into their meals.

I cooked a large meal yesterday for my neighbours. As it is Passover I was told no pasta, no flour, no yeast on top of the usual suspects. So I went on a vegetarian meal, mostly Ottolenghi’s recipes. A pumpkin and red lentils dahl, castelluccio lentils with roast aubergine and yoghurt, followed by wonderful leek fritters (recipe slightly adjusted to avoid the flour), braised fennel with black olives, and a mandarin cake with almond flour. Not bad. So now I have leftovers for a week and can take a holiday from cooking although I am meditating an apple pie.

I am now well settled in my daily routine (although start and stop times differ everyday depending on how much uninterrupted sleep I manage to get at night). I start with 60-70mins of exercise everyday, at least ten of which outdoors, shower, small breakfast, read, socialise a bit with neighbours, lunch, read more, socialise a bit more, odd walk in the field behind, whatsapp video calls with friends and or family (although I am starting to show signs of video-fatigue, can’t really bear to have my face scrutinised as if there were no social etiquette of not staring) accompanied or not by aperitivo, dinner, quick check on the news, then Netflix. (Currently watching the series Casa de Papel which is superb). But every now and then something different from the ordinary happens. And that’s your acid test for how you keep your mental health in the lockdown situation.

Yesterday for example.

All of a sudden our little oasis of coronavirus free paradise was spoilt. A couple suddenly arrived (complete with two cats and luggage) from Milan (I assume) to spend the rest of the lockdown in one of the houses here. Let me just say that this is not the most popular couple ever, even in the absence of coronavirus, with one of them a dangerous psycopath, and the other one his mentally unstable victim whom he supposedly wants to rob of her belongings. Have you ever read one of Wilkie Collins books? I so, you know what I am talking about. He is the bad and devious guy, she is the weak person used as an instrument in his efforts to steal her belongings. The risk is high for all family members involved, and believe me you would not want to find yourself alone in a dark alley with the psyco.

This arrival disturbed me because I know it carries more trouble for the other family members than they have so far borne. Because I cannot stand the prevarication of a weak individual. Because I do not like to have unpredictable and devious people around. Because it lays another veil of uncertainty at a time of great preoccupation. Because I am alone and my mind keeps on ruminating over staff that is unusual.

And while ruminating alone, I suddenly realised these people have severely contravened the coronavirus lockdown rules which in this region are the strictest. No one can leave the town in which she is based. In large cities no one can leave the area in which he resides. Fines are high. And if it later transpires you have coronavirus asymptomatic or not, or not yet knowingly, once healed you will do prison time. Al gabbio as they say in Italy. There are some exceptions and are very few. Work reasons (it can’t be in their case as bad boy is unemployed, and damsel in distress is a teacher and schools are closed). Serious health reasons (like you broke a leg or had a heart attack and need to go to the nearest hospital which happens to be in a different town). In case you have more than one home if you want to transfer to another one, there needs to be an urgent problem you need to attend to (like a flooding, or roof falling, etc). But their house has currently no electricity or water and was completely locked, so there can’t have been a detected emergency. So they obviously signed a false declaration when leaving the motorway (checkpoints are everywhere now, and all motorway exits are patrolled).

I became very worried. If they broke one rule who knows they didn’t break others. They might be sick or incubating (after all they come from the worst affected city in the world). They might be careless. I thought, there it goes from tomorrow I start again with sanitysing gel, washing door handles, taking off shoes, etc, which I had recently limited to my outings outside the garden.

And so I started thinking I wanted them out of here. I wanted to report them to the police, but then got scared that if they found out I would have my car tyres slashed or worse. So I did nothing, went to bed, but before doing so I set the alarm on the groundfloor as if that would protect me from the virus. And yes I locked my bedroom door.

Ok I know, all this is unreasonable, live and let live. But the point is that everything which is slightly different from normal tends to become bigger in my mind, until I get a few hours sleep. Is it the same for everybody else or are you all normal and controlled? I am asking for a friend 😉

Dinner time. Spinach and sausages?

Are there boundaries in art? No no and no Not even now.

Below is a collection of videos of people who normally sing or play instruments together who rebelled to the quarantine and separation rules. Thanks to technology they could break walls and unite while respecting safety concerns. Regardless of the level or whether you like a particular piece or not, it is the effort to lift themselves above the clouds and pour beautiful musical rain over us that is both moving and commendable. Viva to the housebound musicians!

Il video è più lungo del formato per Twitter.
Arriva da mio cugino che vive a Madrid ed è stato realizzato da un gruppo di persone lontane (anche fra loro) ma vicine, tutte originarie di Chiavari.
Lacrimoni. pic.twitter.com/RhBNQjHCD9

— swamilee🇮🇹🇪🇺💆‍♀️ (@swamilee) April 13, 2020

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=1121036591593673&id=55329826087?sfnsn=scwspwa&d=w&vh=e&extid=okDSi6MilquXaSXY&d=w&vh=e

Here we go. They are all so excited because the slope of the contagion curve in Italy has become flatter, i.e. the rate of growth of new cases and that of deaths is getting smaller by the day. They are all so excited, We reached the peak, now things are getting better, they say. But, is it true? Once the peak is over we can start hoping to get soon be back to normal? Not so sure. The virus spread and spread fast in the most productive part of Italy, where by definition there was a lot of activity and interpersonal interaction for work reasons. The same area where the health service is more efficient. But the virus will eventually get to the centre and south of Italy, and rural areas which so far have been spared the slaughter. What will happen when it gets there? What will happen in areas with substandard hospitals or very few hospitals? I hope not, but I truly believe the peak story is rubbish. We are going to have a wave shaped curve. We are going to be oserving different lethality rates. It’s going to be a helter skelter until a vaccine is found.

A good friend sent me pictures of the pandemic that affected the world a hundred years ago, the Spanish flu. Please have a look

Even the cat was wearing a mask. They realised the deadliness of the flu, and adviced to take a number of precautions just like now, and everybody seemed to wear face masks.

Then the peak passed, they relaxed restrictions, and after the summer BOOM. It came back with a vengeance.

I am not holding my breath for the end of the lockdown. I know it will happen but if I have a choice I do not think I will rush out. I might drive to the flat in Milan to check the mail, but I will definitely come back here. I suffer from asthma and have absolutely no desire to risk falling ill to a flu which will see me gasping for breath. I very well know the terror and am determined to avoid it … like the plague.

I havent been writing, I know, sorry. I wasn’t well. I developed a sports related injury from possibly too strenuous exercise (in lockdown, you figure), a bursitis on my heel just below the Achilles tendon. It looked like a red walnut sized bump and sore it was too. I took ibuprofen, but then discovered I had some medicated plasters with another anti-inflammatory drug. It must have been very powerful because the soreness and swelling decreased substantially. But at the same time I strarted feeling like a zombie, and believe me when you are alone in a country house this is not funny. I had severe headaches, vertigo and nausea. Initially I thought I must have moved my head too fast and displaced the little bits of stuff in my inner ear, but then realised that this was too persistent a problem to be the otoliths. Eventually I checked the plasters’ potential side effects and there it was: you are going to be a zombie! so I removed it and finally feel much better.

And because I was feeling better and had been inactive for four full days, yesterday I decided I would clean the garden furniture. It took me one hour to assemble all the equipment and start but eventually I managed. I jetsprayed the table and bench, when dried I sanded some bits and hoovered them, then I coated them with teak oil. A truly magnificent work. (Peter would say I write in a pompous way, I know, I do, but only sometimes). Today I helped the neighbours with bits and pieces in their gardens and now I am wandering where to unleash my energy onto next.

And before I say goodbye let me tell you about my goofy experience yesterday. It is now compulsory to wear a face mask anytime you leave the house even if it’s just to take the rubbish to the bins outside the gate.

I needed to go and buy bread and the teak oil for the garden furniture, so I wore mask, gloves and glasses. By the time I got to the car the glasses were all steamed up. So I lower the mask (you are not supposed to do that argh lest you contaminate something) and start driving to the village. Police checkpoint, long queue. It looks like I amthe only diligent driver with a completed form, so when I reach the point I am let go smoothly. I get to the shops. Long queues. By that time the face mask is back on my face again. So steamed glasses. I meditate whether to remove the glasses but decide against because my eyes could be a door to the virus, so I keep them on but fiddle with them. Then a friend sends me a msg to ask how to colour her hair at home (biggest problem for women in lockdown, hair regrowth), so there I am trying to give a tutorial online wearing disposable gloves (iphone does not recognise your fingerprint through latex), steamed glasses for shortsightedness. A spectacle really. When it gets to my turn (one at a time in the shop) I am still at it. I talk to the shop owner asking for teak gel instead of teak oil, I blubber something, then a truly giant great dane advances towards me proceeding to lick my crotch, spreading saliva all over my jeans. I truly had no clue what to do. I am allergic to dogs’ saliva so I couldnt decide whether to push the dog away and in so doing contaminating the gloves with an allergen, then maybe I would start sneezing and people would think I had coronavirus, or what. Before I knew it the shop owner rushed to my rescue with some scottex paper to wipe the stuff away from crotch and legs, with me steamed glasses, blubbering, phone in my hand, in a goofy state to say the least.

Ok I thought I’d let you know that going around like this is really hard (and can be funny too sometimes).

Dinner time. Goodnight xxx

Have you ever changed a tyre? Me never. Every time I experienced a puncture all I had to do was get out of the car, look at the tyre with a OMG expression and before I knew it I would hear the brakes screeching and someone (always male, of various ages) would come out and offer to change it for me. I would then smile and look and thank him. Well, grrr and grrr. I did not have a flat tyre. At least maybe I would have tried to remember what all those men did and replicate. No, much worse. I had a bit of an iffy day two days ago and decided in late afternoon to venture to the supermarket for my weekly shopping. I was all organised, shopping bags, telephone, keys, face mask, gloves and glasses. I press the button on the key and nothing happens. I open the door manually and think hurray, I got in. Mess of used gloves, tissues and face masks on the floor. Turn the key in and the engine does not move, blink, breathe. I feel a bit baffled, then decide the battery of the car key is dead. Get the handbook of the car from its place (never done this before) and check how to change the key battery, secretely wondering what to do if the supermarket does not sell the right battery, and whether DIY shops are considered essential business and therefore open, or not. I find the page, read but do not manage to open the key. Then go to my neighbours, the one whose man seems to be the most hands on, but I think in retrospect maybe not. No one manages to open the key. I call my electrician who is home in ‘cassa integrazione’ (kind of generous unemployment benefit) due to coronavirus factory shutdown and ask him to help. He does not appear very keen (‘maybe in the next couple of days…’).

After a few hours studying the car handbook, at around midnight I have a vision on the road to Damascus: it’s not the key battery, but the car battery that has gone flat. (I actually got a hint from a helpful friend who was worried at my panicking…) It makes sense, the car is five year old and because of the lockdown I have been using it very infrequently. The relief from the correct diagnosis does not last that long. Will the car repair shop be open? and will I be fined for trying to reach it, as it is in the next village? and in any case, stupid me, how can I get there if the car battery is flat? on this note I go to bed and manage to toss and turn for a few hours. 

In the morning I get hold of my friends who work in the office nearby and tell them about my misery. They just cant understand why it is I could not sleep, but then organise a Blitz Krieg to rescue me. They are agricultural entrepreneurs, essential business, and can travel for work. They come to take a picture of my old battery, call the supplier with whom they have an account (the supplier is authorised to operate but not to retail business) and go and collect a replacement battery. Then one of them with surgical precision replaces the damn thing.

Well, I am forever grateful to these guys. I promise I will bake cakes and feed them delicious food as often as I can.

So I went back to my ‘routine’. Exercise, read, clean, cook, etc. Yesterday I even went for a long walk in the fields, and when I arrived home I decided to go on a repeat of the loop, so as to reach about 9000 steps. It was sunny and while I was listening to my music fearlessly singing out of tune in the middle of nowhere I could relax. I noticed some houses have Italian flags on their balconies, probably in solidarity with the dead, the national health service and whoever is working to allow us to survive the pandemia and all the errors made by our government of greedy selfish prima donnas.

I went to bed last night with a pain in the back of my foot, somewhere between the heel and my Achilles tendon. When I got up this morning I was limping from pain. I think bursitis, maybe too much exercise, don’t know. The body is rebelling to these bursts of activity, and is telling me something. So today I am walking in heels to relax the tendon, something that does not work very well on grass and gravel. I took ibuprofen and rubbed arnica cream on the swollen heel and did not exercise. I think I am one of the few (I really do not want to feel unique) suffering from a sports injury in lockdown.

Even writing this blog has become difficult. The internet connection has become particularly poor, with several hiccups and failed autosave. I definitely do not manage to upload any photo, not that I have anything memorable to offer, but writing and losing text is NOT one of my favourite pastimes.

Last night I managed a multiple whatsapp call at aperitivo time with mother, brother, sister in law all in Rome, my son and former girlfriend walking in Hampstead Heath (they can still do that, although they are not allowed to sit on a bench, as walking is meant only for physical activity), and then my two cousins also in Rome. It was fun. My cousin’s cats were introduced to my former cat now with my mum. I even said hi to Montalbano’s girlfriend aka my cousin’s wife, as beautiful as ever. I definitely continue not to feel lonely. Although the walk had made me very introspective.

I think I am successfully managing trying to keep away from the deaths bulletin, although a quick look at the newspapers front pages made me realise I was so right, the UK and the US are getting it very bad, despite the earlier bullish tone of their politicians. Even Switzerland is suffering quite a lot, while they say that the spread in Italy is slowing down. I do not believe the latter and wish they’d keep quiet about it until they were extra sure as the north and the south of Italy are like two different countries with the latter bound to explode soon.

I saw some news about face masks and protective clothing being available in my country but cannot reach those who need them for the usual bureaucratic obstacles and thanks to some idiotic heads of regions. I don’t understand why it is that our Prime Minister has the power to lock the whole country up, but is unable to stop barbaric episodes that halt the delivery of protective clothing to the doctors and nurses. So far 71 dead from the virus, thanks to the lack of protective clothing.

I am going to close today’s post with a quote from a 1996 speech by Brian Dyson, CEO of CocaCola. I listened to yesterday rendered in a video in Spanish which moved me a lot. I found a partial translation in English. Here it is.

Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling five balls in the air. You name them — work, family, health, friends and spirit — and you’re keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls – family, health, friends and spirit — are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life.