The Wombles of Capriglia and Capezzano

On the main road at the end of our track is a parking space containing the local recycling bins. Things don’t stay there long - recovering and redistributing is the local sport.

So far we’ve acquired a table for the terrace

two sun loungers

a garden bench in need of resuscitation

and (best find) a deep porcelain sink that’s going to become a herb garden.

Yesterday I was beaten to an ice box (ex Ikea, pristine) by an elderly Italian lady twice my width but much less inhibited about climbing into the skip and having a serious rummage. A television set with a broken, but fixable, on/off switch made up for it later. So now we can watch Berlusconi TV with half naked girls on seven inch heels fawning over paunchy, middle-aged presenters!

I can't believe how lucky I am to be here.  It's the kind of luck where you feel it's too perfect to continue - something is bound to go wrong.  How British is that?


  1. Recycling at its most efficient!

    There is no need to wish the worst on yourself!


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