After the rather hubristic tone of the last post I fully expect to be crossed off life's list with total liver failure sometime in the next six months. Talking of which, Angelo from the local village cashed his final pension cheque last week. His reason was more prosaic; he got too old. Tall bloke, lived with his sister in a half-completed slum right in the main square and rumour has it he slept in the corridor; well, let's hope so. Never married and all that. He was about 88 and fought with the partisans in the War and ended up in prison in Russia. He lived as a smallholder, selling veg (mainly asparagus) to local restaurants. I once gave him a load of persimmons from the Combo organic orchard and he paid me back with a bottle of his home made grappa. It was nothing whatsoever like the stuff in glass above. There were little black bits suspended in it and it tasted like brake fluid. Cheers Angelo!
