A BIT OF FOX-PRINCIPI KNOWLEDGE

- Men who have longer hair than their wives are German – de facto.

- Irish men only get in the sea when the clouds come out.

- Twenty family members from Ancona sitting at the same table make a hell of a lot of noise.

- Julia-the-screaming-baby does not scream.

- Pooh pooh pooh – Ale, do you need to pooh? – replaced the pipi frenezy witnessed in Chens sur Leman in August.

- Blackpool and Porto Recanati share the same need for newspaper coverage.


Engrossed in a book.


Luigi follows suit, adopting Cristian's reading technique.


Doggy is doing it on the table...


Kate trying to convince that it is not cold.


Julia, the screaming baby who never cried.

AND THE SURPRISE GUEST IS…
Guess who I met in Rome????
De Chiara! Remember, a guy named Luigi.
I also bumped into Doreen Zitkovich of IUCN. She thought she could get away incognito with a long minibreak in Rome with her Serge? No. She had to bump into me, just as we were looking for shops and getting strategically muddled as to where was right and where was left and was there a garden in the Quirinale and should we not be eating our sandwiches standing up in the bar like any other sane roman? But who said Romans were sane?


Picnic time for teddy bears up against the Quirinnale wall...


Mag was not the surprise guest, we knew she was coming all along. What did come as a surprise was the amount of aperos she managed! Here is one at Harry's bar on Via Veneto, Roma! (... ok, she was having cappuccino)


Several random tourists in Cortona.


Recovering at home.

80+ KM TO GO TO THE CINEMA. WILL GEORGE CLOONEY COME TO CORTONA INSTEAD?
With little left to do on a Saturday night which was supposed to be dedicated to “un rinfresco” – i.e. what we would call a drink, but would here be complemented by lots of food of all description, not just the meaningless nibble, more like the fully blown pasta and meat and 3-veg-equivalent – but that was cancelled, I was on the verge of pouncing down to the shop to rent out a DVD (should I add that it was raining? Maybe not since it has been raining every single weekend for the past months) when the phone rang and Luca and Barbara confirmed that they were up for the cinema (nearly a whole blog here in one single sentence). So it was decided that no, it was not a stupid idea to drive all the way to Chianciano Terme (where they do the drinking of the spring water to improve the health of the liver amongst other things) which is over 40 kilometers away, in the pouring rain, just to see a film… I played at dodge the frog along the way (lots of amphibians around this area, so it must be environmentally friendly) whilst Cristian enjoyed getting lost several times and increasing our drive by a fair few kilometres.


yes, no, not in Cortona yet...

A NEW AMBITION
Careering round a village in a tractor with a sheet draped over it – that is my new ambition. Next year I am going to put my name down for the Festa del Vino at another one of those very beautiful Umbrian villages.
The brass band of Pozzuolo was there so we dutifully went to watch, only to be blown away not only by the wind but also by the fabulous floats that were going round the village (the tractors with sheets over them).
A true festa del vino with no wine (too cold) and charts with no vision!

MISSING SEATS
Should you fancy venturing down to Calabria, remember to take a toilet seat. After Naples, toilet seats become extras rather than normal additions to the loo. There were none in the flat we stayed in or in the posh restaurant where the wedding reception took place. In fact, I am starting to wonder if people nick each others seats, sneak out of bathrooms clutching it or hiding it under their t-shirts. Maybe it is a fashion statement not to have seats? And maybe the lack of seats is positively correlated with the Italian obsession of intimate hygiene products (fanny soaps)? Or maybe they are creating a new hybrid between the squat and the fully-fledged porcelain basin? The mind boggles…


Hoola Hoop.

KARAOKE – NOT IN JAPAN
Surprised is the least I could say I was when the bride grabbed the microphone and started belting out love songs. Then came the groom, then the brothers, then the uncles who unleashed the 80-odd cousins. By the end of it, most guests either had their heads in a bucket or where outside trying to find sharp objects to cut their veins with… I understand wedding are about love but to have 6 hours worth of it, trickling in honey, was a bit too much.
Another sociological factor that I wasn’t expecting was the success of Latin American group dances. Who needs the tarantella when you can have a Ricky Martin remix?


Husband and Wife, aka Andrea and Antonella


Nice fern.


Julio Inglesias or the brother of the bride?


Boys, looking the part before the wedding in Calabria.

THE TRAGEDY OF THE DIESEL SUNGLASSES
They were there, basking in the shade, under the towel, minding their own business. All of a sudden, hit by extreme pressure they tried to endure (my bum) they gave way and snapped. The fate of the diesel sunglasses was sealed on the 2nd of September. Why, my question is, could it not have been the fake pair of chanel that hurt my head anyway?


Da Enzo - place of the crush

ARE YOU WONDERING WHAT I DID WITH THE CHICKEN?
Transformed into it of course! That is what happens when you eat it in a row for several days. Anyhow, when I am not metamorphosed into a rooster, I feel like a salmon. I seem to be swimming in the right river and more positive work might be coming my way. Keep your fingers crossed for me, not something a fish can do, so had better get back to the poultry mode.
Other than that, did you know that the next Drag Queen Capital of Europe, and maybe even the world, after Amsterdam, is Principina a Mare? I found that out before being blown of shore by gale force winds on Saturday. Missed the drag night by a couple of days though so had to believe what cousin Matteo was telling me. Then I drove over some of the most scenic routes in the whole of Italy in the pouring rain - Sunday, normal, it always rains at weekends – and literally ran though Montalcino. The Brunello wine I just had to miss…

REFREEZE IS NOT AN OPTION
Panic, panic, Italian dinner guests have just cancelled at the very last minute (with no plausible excuse) and I now have a full unfrozen chicken on my hands… what do I do?
Post a “comment” below with your suggestions please.
Anyone fancy coming round for dinner?
The only other option I can think of is to stick it on my head, like Mr Bean, and pretend it is Christmas. I could also go running round the square with it on to create a bit of entertainment. Si?
Not sure the Cortonese would see the funny side though.

THE INVERSELY PROPORTIONAL BALANCE BETWEEN FEMALE EMOTIONS AND MALE HORMONES
Just yesterday, I was standing at the door of an art exhibition here in Cortona, listening to Terry recount her fate with older men. It transpired that male hormone levels are inversely proportional to female emotions. The more down and depressed a women is, the more interested older men become. Terry assures me that she has proof of a variety of old biddies that have done their best to console her when she was very unhappy – that was last week – and ended up trying to get her in to bed… That said, it also included one old fellow who did a jig to cheer her up and snapped his hamstring. I guess he will not be up for much physical exercise for a while.
This is just a heads up for those of you out there who have this magnetism with the past-mid-life-crisis bunch (that means just about any female), you have been warned, so be aware, and if anyone spontaneously starts dancing, move away immediately.

A GIRL, A SOCK AND A MERCURY PROBLEM
Can anyone explain why i am wearing wolly socks and have cold feet again when this is August in Tuscany ???
Pass me Bush please, I want a word about climate change and extreme weather patterns. This is penguin business. Bikini well hidden under layers of goretex and too early surely to be accumulating blubber?
As a consequence, il Cinema all’Aperto (aperto not being the name of a bar) was moved back inside, into the relative warmth of the theatre. So I had the misfortune to watch “Ma quando arrivano le ragazze?” Confirmation that in Italy, you can do anything if you are the friend of somebody. A whole bunch of not-actors and the worst script writer in living memory. Some of it was filmed in Perugia though – ajhh, such a popular area we live in now!


More like, when are they leaving...

AND SO TO COMPENSATE
Just had time to adjust to the brilliance of friends and family in Geneva and now I am back in Cortona. The contrast was made even sharper by the women who really did dress up to go to the Festa dell’Unità of Pozzuolo di Castiglione del Lago, a speck on the map. And they went all the way, right up to the nines, gold everywhere, sparkles so brightly amplified by the neon lights that I needed my shades on.
Please, if you see me in wedding outfits to go to the Festa dell’Unità, anywhere in the country, come over and salvage me!
On the other hand, the sausages were good…


Pozzuolo, reservation desk for the Festa dell'Unità crowds.


The moon shining through the moskito net made this weird cross-like reflection that you cannot see on film... well that was useful.

LA GENTIANE : UN DELIRE COLLECTIF.
Si ce n’était pour vous, je pourrais tout à fait écrire une thèse à ce sujet, mais je laisserai cet exercice à notre guide de montagne. Pour ceux qui ne le savent pas, Laetitia a décide de se bourrer de muesli à partir de 4 heures du mat pour ensuite avoir une excuse pour cueillir la gentiane, plante bien évidemment menacée d’extinction, sûrement à cause des indigestions collectives des Bourquins. Et ce, jusqu’au passage des examens de guide aspirant, le mois prochain. Les expirants sont pour l’année successive, après le jet de touristes de la falaise en guise d’animation, et le meurtre du chamois au lance pierre.

Ca me mène tout droit à notre deuxième poule écolo qui passe ses weekends au dessus des pâturages, las de bouffer de la vache et en quête de nouvelles saveurs. Le doux bouc des montagnes, non moins menacé que la gentiane, s’occupe de ses oignons alors que Mère Sig pense plutôt le cuire à la vapeur et l’enfoncer dans un viscère.

Mimiche, il est l’heure de revenir de chez le pote du pote du pote qui a un plan de la folie de la mort pour garder un œil sur ces poussinettes avant que la faune et la flore de notre beau pays n’y passe à tout jamais.

Donc merci Val, tu sauves la journées avec ton nouveau né, un potentiel pour motiver le reste de la meute à faire un petit effort pour la nature ?

Entre-temps, je voulais aussi remercier Freda et Pixepat pour nous avoir fait découvrir une nouvelle dimension à l’épilation et je vous invite a lire la news sur BBC avant de booker vos prochaines vacances, même si il ne s’agit pas spécifiquement de touffes en crête : http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/wiltshire/4165198.stm

Ayant fait le tour de table, je n’oublierai pas le courage des dindons Fredo et Giardini qui on fait semblant de rien des heures durant malgré les gloussements hystériques, et de la brave Sabine qui a sacrifié un souper de poules pour sauver l’innocence de sa fille.

Mes poules, est-ce nécessaire de souligner que vous me manquez déjà…


Gentiane vu du fond d'une bouteille.

GVA BRACE YOURSELF
with little over two days to go before we hit Switzerland, I'm just giving you advanced warning that if you would like something bringing over from here, this is the time to email.

Paquis from the plane.

GRAHGH
My feet are frozen this morning and I am finding it difficult to focus on work. Ahouhgaurh. I should really be getting on with this brochure but I keep sidetracking.
Blogger is so much more fun.
I want to redesign the whole site and fiddle around with the posting section. The only thing is, I live in terror of loosing the whole lot. Ahaht. Primal fear. The one they inculcate when you first start using a computer and you are convinced that pressing the wrong button will make the machine implode.
So, coding coding, see if I can remember any of it?
First will be going to GVA to see the girls (ok, and all the newborn babies) then will be doing some animal feed website, then who knows what.
Tanti baci & DISCIPLINE…

Channelling the focus, like a mouse on a treadmill

SKINNING STUFF
Sabrina found a new love in the shape of a barbarian dressed in a skimpy skirt and fur. It was passion at first sight. She dragged me along as she ran behind him, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of his undies (was he wearing any???).

The intro to the website of the Festa dei Barbari di Castel Rigone is well worth a visit: http://www.castelrigone.com/

They were serving wine from insecticide sprayers, which I am sure Miss Sig would have greatly appreciated.

Girls, this is for you!

Looking very catching in my new hat.

Sabrina having a special moment with the man of her dreams.

PEASANTS DON’T DO APERO
Seven pm, Casa dei Tigli, Cortona. Attracted by the superb setting and having forgotten and forgiven the past terrible experiences, I bounce in, not only to book a table, but also to – guess, 7pm, have an aperitif.
“Hi, I’d like to book a table for Saturday night”.
“Yes”
“For 8 people.”
“Yes (so what, we are always empty anyway)”
“The name is Olivia (this is like drilling at the dentist’s…)”
“Yes”
(any chance she will write it down????)
Ok, that failed but we are still going to sit upstairs and make the most of their sign saying “Non Perdetevi l’Ora dell’Aperitivo” – don’t miss apero time.
Andrea, rooted in Italy’s aperitif cot (the north of the country) bravely asks for a Caipiriniah (yes, please, me too). “No. not possible” “Ok, gin tonic?” “No, not possible.” “Ok, spritz?” “No, not possible.” At which point, I completely loose it. Cut in and enquire what that sign on the wall means about not missing apero time – does it mean we should be having it somewhere else???? She stoically answers that they have lots of aperitifs – ohhhh aye, and in the form of what?
Crodino, san Pellegrino bitter (if she says coke, I am going to slap her). Nothing cocktaily though, she cannot cope with that.
Andrea, who has so far not lost composition, asks for a Prosecco (now that comes out of a bottle, straight, no mixing, no ice, no nothing) No was the answer. Only spumantino. Placid, yes, si, fine.
I have a beer.
The spumantino turns out the be the most disgusting drink Andrea has ever had and its sweetness contrasts sharply to the mouldy but very spicy peanuts we are given when we ask for crisps…
By the way, don’t bother with the booking.

WHEN MILAN HITS CORTONA AND A POTATO THE TABLE
Moving along with more incompetent waiters – was there some kind of international incompetent waiter symposium on in Tuscany that I missed and then all the wannabe incompetent waiters stayed on doing internships in the area?? – anyhow, the scene where a single, lonesome potato was produced on a huge plate, about half an hour after we had finished our meal, topped all our expectations. The waiter was actually looking for the plate of grilled vegetables it belonged to (brought to the table over an hour earlier) and was quite upset when we all chocked with laughter… What will these people from Milan think????’

The shores of Lago Trasimeno are famous for their potatoes.

The incriminated.

YOU WERE SAYING?

Andrea spent the evening trying to convince me that stag nights only end up in strip clubs because alcohol consumption in the early evening is above average… nothing to do with the attraction of the European Lap Dance Champion who can swing from a pole, attached only by her legs, for hours. The elaborate description and the smile on his face gave it away though.

Sabrina on the other hand is adamant that she is in fact Italian, even if she eats no pasta, hates olive oil and prefers Nescafe to normal coffee. She is also very blond and has pale eyes, yet Andrea still believes her origins lie in the Puglia region down South.

Yes, that is who we are spending the next couple of days with. Not surprising when you consider we met them on the Gili Islands of Indonesia, some time about a year ago from now, when I was on that other planet, called Travel.


Sabrina is German, we, at least agree...


Andrea on the other hand could well be Italian.

A SERIES OF COCK UPS

In true Pasini planning mode, Daniela and the beagle never materialised and the trip to Paris turned into a logistical nightmare. The Seine says hi though, as do the baguettes and the terraces; the Parisians though are too mopey to bother saying hello. That said, it was tres joli indeed and I could really have done with a few more days swanning around.

As for the gossip, I confirm, Ben and Betta seem firmly intent on leaping off the cliff (ie getting married). Loris and Nath cannot cope with the idea for now as she is too busy getting up at 4 am nearly every morning, whist Loris tries his hardest to keep her up all night! Fish markets, I tell you.

Anyhow, should I still have enough energy, I would present the gripping details of my trip back on a silver platter – yes, it is worth it – but I might just stop at saying that AlItalia lives up to its reputation.

In fact, no, I am going to make this into a monster blog and tell you all about it.


From A to B in Paris.

MONSTER BLOG
(cheating here, lulling you into a fall sense of security, as it is in fact the same blog as the one above!!!)
Being late, yes; not being fed, also; but most insultingly, not having any G&T. Now, please, enlighten me as to how you can do a trans-national flight without a glass of G&T? It just does not make sense. It would be like having a melon with no seeds inside, or a television with no screen. It just cannot be. Especially if the ticket cost over 1000 euros, just to get from Italy to France.

Next time though, I’ll take AlItalia out of the equation, apero or not, as I never landed in Milan, and even if I had, I would have missed to connecting flight to Perugia anyway since we took off virtually two hours late. So, from Genoa, where we were re-routed to, I was rescued by a very very angry Guido who was being very very latin about the whole thing (that means he was going bananas, flapping arms in air, getting scorching hot under the collar, and pacing up and down the business isle screaming). He was going to drive back to Perugia and, having discovered the existence of a fellow passenger originally destined his way, kindly invited me to join.

By the time we got to the car rental desk, I was having serious second thoughts as Guido was adamant that he could get from Genoa to Perugia in under two hours – and that would be about 400Km… Hello Michael?! But AVIS does not rent Ferraris and I cannot remember any F1 drivers for Renault.

Yo. We made it back to Perugia by 1.30 am and ended up actually enjoying the trip until I found the airport locked, paramilitary everywhere, no drop box for the AVIS keys – but that, is another story…


Driving home.

TROPICAL FISH
Back in Cortona, I am discovering that loose flowing outfits might in fact keep you cooler than tight revealing clothes… If just as hot, the air is certainly purer out here and I am glad to have made it back safely, just one day after some idiots blasted Sharm El Sheik on the coast. Sad and maddening. Tropical fish refers to my imminent trip to Paris (no, did not really plan to do the metro hotspots of Europe after the London bombings earlier this month). I’ll be investigating some of Carl Gustaf Lundin (IUCN)’s friends. A good excuse to catch up with Loris and Nath, and Ben and Betta – who I am told by Mark Shaw, are engaged to be married. Wowow. Tell you more soon.
In the meantime, the stage of the Cortona Vintage Festival is being rigged for the weekend and I am preparing for the arrival of Daniela from Roma with her beagle.

Cristian in the morning.

The film we saw last night in the open air cinema at the Parterre in Cortona.

Dancing with Afros over the weekend.

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COIN
As opposed to our stunt in Egypt in January, this time round I have seen the other face of Egypt. It has been top class food, amazing views, fabulous service, the best of the best – and all thank to Iman Soliman, her friend Mindy, Omeima Kamel, John Grainger and Ahmed Ahmed who took me under their wings and lived up to Egypt’s world-renowned hospitality. Virtually every night saw me flapping around town in one exotic location or other. Iman had views down to a T taking me to boats on the Nile full of film stars, floating rafts with live bands, and lunch at the Mena House. Mindy provided vent for hysterical moments and helped shape theories about the males in the country. Omeima revealed that you can play bridge and crocket in Cairo by treating me to dinner at the exclusive Gezira Sporting Club (one of Omar El Sherif’s hang outs). John indulged me with some Egyptian plonk – errr, the best red wine in the country, and a great dinner in an ex-brothel. Finally, Ahmed crowned the cliché by going after me over a sheesha pipe and orange juice on my second day in Cairo. What more could I possibly have asked for?

A sheesha pipe was smoked whilst above the bar, people shot clay ducks.

WELCOME TO EGYPT
But you have to have the right voice to say that in true oriental style. For the past week I have been looking like something from the Decathlon camping department; a mix between a walking tent, a sleeping bag, and whatever you would throw over the washing line. It is called being culturally sensitive, I think. So I covered up from head to toe and kept convincing myself that “it is all in the circulation of air” – through the layers of clothes – as I approached boiling point on several occasions. That said, even in full flowy apparel, I still felt quite naked when confronted with the Soudis who had flocked in for their annual holiday in Egypt. An eye opener was to discover how women in burka actually eat. Shove the food down from the eye slits? And how they manage to manoeuvre huge plates of food without getting their very long sleeves coated in food – long wrist bones? Breakfast in the Flamenco Hotel in Zamalek gave me ample time to study (“Your hotel is very strange”, said Omeima Kamel, from the TV and Egyptian high society, on a variety of occasions. I think she may have been right…)

Not my picture, but lunch at the Oberoi Mena House with the Pyramids looking down over the table was extraordinary.

The very strange Flamenco hotel - maybe Flamenco means Faulty Towers in Arabic??

FROM STAG TO FAG
A quick nutshell before I leave the country…
Here is the latest from this month.
Luca not only had a stag night, he also got married!
He tied the knot on the 9th with Barbara. Great spot to get married in, the church in Chiusi is full of wannabe mosaics.
Prior to that, the MR2 was in town but did not make it all the way to Montepulciano.
After that Ste Tanner paid a visit from Geneva to buy the coolest shoes for his fidanzata.
Right after that, I bogged off to Cairo to breathe the equivalent of one packet of cigarettes a day, getting a smokers cough without the calming benefit of the tobacco.

Chiusi Duomo, where Luca and Barbara got married.

Luca on his Stag Night.

Mate and Fox (mum and dad) in front of the fountain in Montepulciano.

Winding down at the Parterre in Cortona after a touristic day out.

WUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
30 June minus 4 May, equals, sorry sorry, what on earth happened to the blog situation? Have we now lost all our fans????? Flagellation for the inconsiderate me, not even finding time to do some minor updates…

How to capture main points without boring the hell out of you, don’t quite know.
But, we are now in the land of 100Mbps, which means we have upgraded from the phone line!

In the meantime, I have been working – hurray!!!
Check out Italy’s Environment Minister below, at the event I organised in Montecatini Terme, and before that a great picture of Xenya with fashionable Italian sunglasses.

Then there was some writing for a consultancy in Florence, and soon there will be a trip to Egypt to ponder air pollution problems… Man, the world has gone mad.

Before that there was a visit from Rolf and a medieval evening in Bevagna.

Cynthia and Lorenzo came out for a long weekend including Florence, shopping and the weirdest cafe latte you have ever seen.

We had dinner with Cece, whom we met in the Galapagos, and her daughter Laura, then, later, gelato in Cortona with Cece and Jack.

On the more important side of things, I have discovered that Cristian’s aunt makes the best pizza on the surface of the planet.
Check out her agritourismo below.

What else, there have been plenty of men in tights throwing flags around these past few weeks - girls, you would have loved it!!!

Coming up we have Luca’s stag night and Caipiriniah for Fox’s B-day, so more soon.


Tamas giving the MiniMat the slap he deserved.


Did I mention that I got the best birthday cake ever whilst on a birthday minibreak in Geneva?


Man in tights are the fashion.


Cynthia in Florence trying to figure out what to do with a glass of milk sprinkled with ground coffee.


Cristian and the girls (Cece and her daughter Laura) in front of the Scale di Sant'Ercolano, Perugia.


Xenya in glasses.


The view of Cortona from Gabolandia.

RETAKE
The florist who was also playing tennis the other day seems to think that there is some skill in me. He was clearly being polite… made me happy though so got a new addition to the flat. Now I just need a cow to make mozzarella!!

Basil and Cybil sitting on the kitchen window sill.

NAVRATILOVA VS ROGER FED.
Anyone out there willing to come over and teach us to play tennis? I did get to share the female changing rooms with a couple of lads if that can be of any incentive to any of you… Seriously lacking balls though (tennis, you perverted mind).

Firm tomatoes??

MEET THE PARENTS
Friends and readers, meet Piero, Rocio and her parents. In their flat in Este, near Padova, we would have tried to throw the dog out of the window and revive it with the phone wires, but they did not have a pet, so we had to sit around eating and drinking instead! Xenya has just told me that all of Australia is up in arms about a cat that can pee on a normal loo. Maybe I should start pet training and stop being an unemployed artist?

Testing the resitance of IKEA furniture.