Nine degrees at 9am, leaping to 25 degrees at 10am when the sun hit the thermometer. Clear blue skies once again, but that nasty little wind is still hanging about.
If you've been reading the last couple of weeks, you'll know that we've been repeatedly visited by one of the most destructive forces known to Carmine man.
Wild boar.
They've devastated the terraced prato on which we keep our chickens, done worse in Franco's orchard and have threatened to overturn the fence surrounding Ezio's vegetable garden.
As you know, the gallant chaps from the Polizia Provinciale were called in, and late one night last week, they arrived with their big guns.
Stealthily through the woods they came, quietly took up their positions and started to wait...
They waited...and waited...and waited.
They waited silently, eyes accustomed to the dark, ears attuned to the multitudinous sounds of the woodland at night. The only clue to their presence the scent of a rather charming cologne wafting on the wind.
The boar stayed away.
At about 2am the lads stretched out their stiffened legs. They called it una notte and stomped off home. Since then, we've seen neither hide nor hair of the tusked terrors.
Now I know in Italy, as in most places, you need a licence to keep a gun, and you need to pay lots and lots to actually go out a-huntin' with it. But I'd like to know what I have to do to get my hands on some of that cologne.
It seems to have done the trick.
The mountains & the lake, people & places, children & chickens, frescoes & felines, barbera & books.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007-2013. Please give credit where credit is due.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Wednesday 17 September 2008
That boaring story again
Nine degrees at 9am, leaping to 25 degrees at 10am when the sun hit the thermometer. Clear blue skies once again, but that nasty little wind is still hanging about.
If you've been reading the last couple of weeks, you'll know that we've been repeatedly visited by one of the most destructive forces known to Carmine man.
Wild boar.
They've devastated the terraced prato on which we keep our chickens, done worse in Franco's orchard and have threatened to overturn the fence surrounding Ezio's vegetable garden.
As you know, the gallant chaps from the Polizia Provinciale were called in, and late one night last week, they arrived with their big guns.
Stealthily through the woods they came, quietly took up their positions and started to wait...
They waited...and waited...and waited.
They waited silently, eyes accustomed to the dark, ears attuned to the multitudinous sounds of the woodland at night. The only clue to their presence the scent of a rather charming cologne wafting on the wind.
The boar stayed away.
At about 2am the lads stretched out their stiffened legs. They called it una notte and stomped off home. Since then, we've seen neither hide nor hair of the tusked terrors.
Now I know in Italy, as in most places, you need a licence to keep a gun, and you need to pay lots and lots to actually go out a-huntin' with it. But I'd like to know what I have to do to get my hands on some of that cologne.
It seems to have done the trick.
If you've been reading the last couple of weeks, you'll know that we've been repeatedly visited by one of the most destructive forces known to Carmine man.
Wild boar.
They've devastated the terraced prato on which we keep our chickens, done worse in Franco's orchard and have threatened to overturn the fence surrounding Ezio's vegetable garden.
As you know, the gallant chaps from the Polizia Provinciale were called in, and late one night last week, they arrived with their big guns.
Stealthily through the woods they came, quietly took up their positions and started to wait...
They waited...and waited...and waited.
They waited silently, eyes accustomed to the dark, ears attuned to the multitudinous sounds of the woodland at night. The only clue to their presence the scent of a rather charming cologne wafting on the wind.
The boar stayed away.
At about 2am the lads stretched out their stiffened legs. They called it una notte and stomped off home. Since then, we've seen neither hide nor hair of the tusked terrors.
Now I know in Italy, as in most places, you need a licence to keep a gun, and you need to pay lots and lots to actually go out a-huntin' with it. But I'd like to know what I have to do to get my hands on some of that cologne.
It seems to have done the trick.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment