Excerpts from a Dog's Diary:
8:00am-Dog food! My favourite thing!
9:30am-A car ride! My favourite thing!
9:40am-A walk in the park! My favourite thing!
10:30am-Got rubbed and petted! My favourite thing!
12:00pm-Lunch! My favourite thing!
1:00pm-Played in the yard! My favourite thing!
3:00-Wagged my tail My favourite thing!
5:00pm-Milk bones! My favourite thing!
7:00pm-Got to play ball! My favourite thing!
8:00pm-WOW! Watched TV with the people! My favourite thing!
11:00pm-Sleeping on the bed! My favourite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat's Diary:
Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good hunter" I am. Bastards!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies". I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow-but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released-and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now.....
Saturday, 21 July 2007
Tuesday, 10 July 2007
Lets start here...
Many many years ago we decided that England had no future for us, and believed that a move abroad would give us a better life. At first we chose France. Why France we can't remember now! However, at the time we looked at the housing market in England & France and thought it could work. We saw a programme on TV that followed a couple who was doing "the dream" and thought "yes, that's for us". But! Our world came crashing down as loan interest rates skyrocketed and French currency exchange rates went through the roof. So that was that. Since then, we have always looked at our holiday destination when visiting and said to our selves "could we live here?". Portugal? "Too expensive!" Spain? "Too many Brits!" Tunisia? "Nothing here we could do!" The years rolled on and we was still asking ourselves where would we like to live. The Canary Islands? "Too many holiday makers!" America? "Too plastic!" Sri Lanka? "Erm No!" Crete? "Again, too many holiday makers!"
Then one day out of the blue, my father showed me a letter he had received from the 8th Army Veterans. Apparently, he was entitled to visit the place he was station at during the second word war, all due to a lottery fund set up by Camelot the organisers of the English lottery called “Heroes Return”. I asked if he wanted to go and he said he would like to but, he has no one to go with; as my mother had died the year previous.
I checked out the prices for a hotel in the area where he was stationed and then told my father that Carol and I would go with him. Basically; because he was at that time 84, and we (my sisters and I) didn't think he could make it on his own. Although very fit and healthy for his age, he is prone to only hear what he wants to hear and has a tendency to shuffle along without a care in the world.
So where was this place, Pozzuoli, a medium sized town, just outside the city of Naples, in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius? We booked the week’s holiday for April 2004 and off we went. The person who we booked it through and who collected us from the airport, was an English girl from London and was very fascinated by my fathers stay in Pozzuoli. So much so, that she did her up most to try helping us and finding the exact place where my father stayed during the war. She took us all over the area for the first couple of days but, all to no joy. After all, it had been 60 years since my father was there! At or in every possible venue or area my father described it was rejected when we got there, as not the spot where he was stationed. Well let’s face it, after 60 years of building 3-4 story buildings all over, the place tends to change the face of the area somewhat!
Then one day out of the blue, my father showed me a letter he had received from the 8th Army Veterans. Apparently, he was entitled to visit the place he was station at during the second word war, all due to a lottery fund set up by Camelot the organisers of the English lottery called “Heroes Return”. I asked if he wanted to go and he said he would like to but, he has no one to go with; as my mother had died the year previous.
I checked out the prices for a hotel in the area where he was stationed and then told my father that Carol and I would go with him. Basically; because he was at that time 84, and we (my sisters and I) didn't think he could make it on his own. Although very fit and healthy for his age, he is prone to only hear what he wants to hear and has a tendency to shuffle along without a care in the world.
So where was this place, Pozzuoli, a medium sized town, just outside the city of Naples, in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius? We booked the week’s holiday for April 2004 and off we went. The person who we booked it through and who collected us from the airport, was an English girl from London and was very fascinated by my fathers stay in Pozzuoli. So much so, that she did her up most to try helping us and finding the exact place where my father stayed during the war. She took us all over the area for the first couple of days but, all to no joy. After all, it had been 60 years since my father was there! At or in every possible venue or area my father described it was rejected when we got there, as not the spot where he was stationed. Well let’s face it, after 60 years of building 3-4 story buildings all over, the place tends to change the face of the area somewhat!
We returned to England and then it hit us! “Just a minute, that was a nice place, and we didn’t even say could we live here”. After numerous discussions we had agreed that it would be a nice place to move to. Why? The culture the food the people their family values the history the weather the scenery. I’m not saying that the other countries we visited and considered previously did not contain some of the same characteristics mentioned, some did, but not in the way that Italy attracted us.
However, as we only had around 6 years left of our mortgage I thought it would be better to wait until we had paid off the mortgage before moving to Italy? This caused something of a contention between us. Carol wanted to move as soon as possible whereas I wanted to wait. To help cement our commitment we booked another holiday for the following year, this time for two weeks in August which, would also coincide with Carol’s birthday. The year and a bit it took before our holiday, was taken up by internet research and reading up on all things Italian. The more we read, the more we wanted to go.
As time passed, and with the constant niggling comments coming from Carol about selling the house and moving as soon as possible, I relented. But I didn’t tell her! I waited until we were on the plane heading for Italy before I broke the news. The holiday was as expected, relaxing and hot. We now told our new found friend (Morrena the girl from London) about our plans. She said that when we come across she and her husband would help us as best they could to find somewhere to live and get around some of the bureaucracy.
The week after we returned we put our property on the market hoping for a quick sale. However, as with all the best laid plans… This sale took over 11 months, with one potential buyer not coming up with the goods, and a second buyer having problems with their buyer (who it turned out could not get a mortgage after 3 months on stringing them along.) Well we eventually exchanged in the summer of 2006 and moved to my fathers for two months to prepare for our departure of Blighty.
We travelled to Italy via North Sea Ferries and then by road with our two Chinese Chow Chows, and as many of our “necessary possessions” packed to hilt in our car, arriving two days later. Our friend Morrena had arranged an apartment for us at a “residence” in Arco Felice. Which was not that good, but served its purpose? It was central, and was cleaned every day.
One day while at the local unemployment office (We registered unemployed in England and was allowed to claim it in Italy) we met a man who overheard our conversation about where we lived and asked if we was looking for somewhere to rent. We said we was, so he said follow me! We went, we saw, we liked.
The villa, two bed roomed one bathroom with nice views overlooking the lush countryside was ideal. So we moved in on 1 September 2006 signing a one contract. Having found somewhere to live, our next task was to find work to earn a living to enable us to continue our "dream".
However, work is a different story to be continued in a future blog post.
However, as we only had around 6 years left of our mortgage I thought it would be better to wait until we had paid off the mortgage before moving to Italy? This caused something of a contention between us. Carol wanted to move as soon as possible whereas I wanted to wait. To help cement our commitment we booked another holiday for the following year, this time for two weeks in August which, would also coincide with Carol’s birthday. The year and a bit it took before our holiday, was taken up by internet research and reading up on all things Italian. The more we read, the more we wanted to go.
As time passed, and with the constant niggling comments coming from Carol about selling the house and moving as soon as possible, I relented. But I didn’t tell her! I waited until we were on the plane heading for Italy before I broke the news. The holiday was as expected, relaxing and hot. We now told our new found friend (Morrena the girl from London) about our plans. She said that when we come across she and her husband would help us as best they could to find somewhere to live and get around some of the bureaucracy.
The week after we returned we put our property on the market hoping for a quick sale. However, as with all the best laid plans… This sale took over 11 months, with one potential buyer not coming up with the goods, and a second buyer having problems with their buyer (who it turned out could not get a mortgage after 3 months on stringing them along.) Well we eventually exchanged in the summer of 2006 and moved to my fathers for two months to prepare for our departure of Blighty.
We travelled to Italy via North Sea Ferries and then by road with our two Chinese Chow Chows, and as many of our “necessary possessions” packed to hilt in our car, arriving two days later. Our friend Morrena had arranged an apartment for us at a “residence” in Arco Felice. Which was not that good, but served its purpose? It was central, and was cleaned every day.
One day while at the local unemployment office (We registered unemployed in England and was allowed to claim it in Italy) we met a man who overheard our conversation about where we lived and asked if we was looking for somewhere to rent. We said we was, so he said follow me! We went, we saw, we liked.
The villa, two bed roomed one bathroom with nice views overlooking the lush countryside was ideal. So we moved in on 1 September 2006 signing a one contract. Having found somewhere to live, our next task was to find work to earn a living to enable us to continue our "dream".
However, work is a different story to be continued in a future blog post.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)