Stumbling into the classroom, stinking of cheap red wine after a two bottle lunch, unshaven, sweating in the unseasonal May heat, desperately thinking of a subject to keep the little buggers occupied for the next 55 minutes, the small country school was to stage a scene which would move even the stone cold heart of the genetically cynical and desperately hungover Ronald Combo.
"Please teacher, is for you," said the two little girls who ventured towards the front of the class, proffering a small bunch of rapidly wilting daisies.
"WHAT?" I shouted. "HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TWO CRETINS? WHERE'S THE PLURAL PRONOUN SUBJECT? FOR GOD'S SAKE, THESE ARE FOR YOU!"*
*Of course I didn't. Only jawkin' chaps!
Friday, 29 May 2009
Thursday, 21 May 2009
I held out for long enough. But I just couldn't hold out any more. I haven't had one of these bleeders since God knows when*. But today it was hot and humid as if it was August and after being in hand to hand combat with Mother Nature for about two hours I needed a decent drink. The locals say it should be 80% Martini Rosso and 20% gin, but I prefer it 50/50, being a shameless piss artist. With lots of ice it's not quite as refreshing, rock steady and cleansing as a Gin and Tonic but it doesn't half hit the spot. Thoroughly recommended.
*pre liver tests back in October 2008 actually
Monday, 18 May 2009
That most sacred of times is upon us when we start bottling Smooth Tony's wine; this is some Cabernet Franc being sorted. The bottling is done strictly in accordance with the different phases of the moon, I'm still not sure what they mean but I have learnt that if you bottle at a certain point when the moon is waning, it can get almost fizzy, vivace as the Italians pleasingly put it. Vinogirl will probably be reeling in horror and disgust at the photograph, but all the bottles are clean, honest!
Monday, 11 May 2009
A degree of excitement came into our dull, rural lives this weekend when the air ambulance clattered overhead and parked up, as it were, over the tree clad hills. Apparently some peasant had almost sawn off one of his legs with a chain saw. Claret everywhere, as you might imagine. Anyway two paramedics were winched down and then winched back up with said peasant. The smoke was the result of the downdraught fanning the embers of a fire that the other woodcutter had lit to guide the helicopter in. By the way, if you ever need an ambulance in Italy you dial 118; the fire brigade is 115 and the police is 112. Or is it 113? Hmm.