coming back

It's been three weeks since the last post,because I've been in Italy, where many of the impressions I'd received over the last few years were confirmed and a few were removed or modified. Some things were as expected: the food and wine, the beauty of the language, the general friendliness of the people, and the high design quality of many everyday objects. But we were in Puglia, the heel of Italy's foot, which is a far cry in many ways from the affluent areas of the north. The blocks of flats were as depressing as many I've seen in eastern Europe, and although the beaches were clean and beautiful, the interior was unprepossessing, with light industry punctuating the olive trees. I could see many parallels with Cornwall, but their decision to name their equivalent to the Lizard Point 'Land's End' confused me.

All the same, there was a definite air of 'this isn't your standard Italy' which I found rather refreshing. But it was a book by an Italian journalist, Beppe Severghini, that did most to change my perception, not just of Puglia but of the country as a whole. In La Bella Figura he convinced me that he really did offer 'an insider's guide to the Italian mind', and what I'd picked up at Waterstone's as a light, perhaps frothy take on my hosts before I got to grips with Karen Armstrong's A History of God proved to be a witty, informative study of the national psyche. Clive James is the nearest equivalent I can think of.

I'd hoped to speak as much Italian as possible. Well, I suppose I did, but it wasn't very much, beyond the usual basic transactions, because I was with English friends as part of a larger group. My passive understanding had improved, and I sometimes made sense of the World Cup commentaries, but I still found the irregular verbs difficult, especially the past participles. On the credit side, I found new words easy to remember, so in the unlikely event of my meeting someone who wants to high-five me or discuss vacuum-packed olives I shall be ready. My best linguistic experience was on the plane home. A party of nineteen 9-to-13-year-olds en route to Edinburgh via Gatwick was accompanied by a teacher who sat beside me. We talked for the whole flight, more in Italian than in English, but still, while Sue read in peace. I was impressed by the children's readiness and ability to converse with other passengers, but when we landed and heard that Italy had been eliminated I was interested to hear Anita, who admittedly was not a fan, say that she thought it was just as well, because instead of 'bread and circuses' Italy would have to confront its serious political and economic problems.

And now we await England v Germany, not that I shall be able to watch it live, as I shall be watching my three grandsons perform in an outdoor theatrical production. Despite the 'Hard Times' the BBC World Service keeps on mentioning, I still hope we stuff them.