La Dolce Vita

Yesterday I returned home to find a pile of hailstones in the corner by my back door, and this morning I woke to a thick covering of frost on the lawn. So for our walk I wrapped myself up in clothing I wore on the darkest of winter days and found it wasn't that cold after all. Hugo was sharply attentive all the way around the fields, dancing along on points, ears pricked and eyes ceaselessly scouring the wheat for signs of life. He knows they are all in there, the hares, but he can't see them. Every slight shiver of the crop makes him go rigid with duty. I'm paying extra attention too while he is on his extension lead. I have no intention of being hauled to the ground by a sudden exertion of pressure. For a slim dog he isn't half strong.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

I booked tickets for the Hockney exhibition when we got back, careful to eliminate the dates that Judith said she couldn't manage. So I don't know how I ordered train tickets for the journey to London for the previous week. I realised my mistake immediately, and could only stare in horror at this new evidence of senility. What was I thinking of? I rang the Trainline at once, fully aware that the tickets were non-transferable or refundable, and spoke to a lovely girl in Hyderabad. She wanted to know what the weather was like here, and when I told her she laughed and said it was unbearably hot where she was. "Is it always cold in England?" she asked with seeming innocence, and I told her no, but it just felt like it sometimes. Given how recently I'd made this booking she was prepared to change it for me, but when we got to the railcard bit she was laughing again. "Senior railcard?" she said. "I thought you were 18-25"! My turn to laugh, but she insisted I sounded very young. "What a charmer you are," I said. "You too," she came back. I don't know why we have such an aversion to overseas call centres. Provided you can understand the accent, and I've had more trouble with Liverpool and Birmingham, they are so well mannered and kind.

I've been watching Last Chance Summer set on a Tuscan farm, and it's been a big help with my language skills. I love the gentle way the locals talk about their lives in these hills where family, food and work are the main preoccupations. They labour hard in the fields but the whole family joins in at harvest and other busy times, and then they feast on the food that is locally produced and delicious, and drink their own wines. There is time to spend with the little ones and the older ones, and respect. A simple life but a real one, in complete harmony with nature. Isn't that how it's meant to be?