The Tyranny of The Economist

I've resubscribed to The Economist in an effort to be more informed and what not. After two issues I'm already regretting it. I stopped my subscription last time because I found no possibility of finishing an issue before the next one arrived. I'm up to page 40 or so - of what might as well be a thousand pages - of the current issue (further than I got with the previous one) and dreading the pending arrival of this week's.

Gym bunnies

The current future Mrs Seffers has been pounding the treadmills etc at Exmouth gym. In her designed-for-exercise tracksuit trousers and trainers (and presumably wearing something on top) she is worried that she's a talking point for the other (more mature) gym goers, all of whom wear their normal clothes (including deck shoes). Bloody ponces, coming down from London, showing off with their so-called "trainers". Nothing wrong with a pair of deck shoes for sport. Wore a pair at the 1954 Shuffleboard World Championships off Anguilla.

The assistants at the fruit and veg shop today were a pair of teenage girls with no interest in discussing fennel. I needed to buy enough veg to get over £4 and get my loyalty stamp, so will have to have a leek-and-potato-heavy couple of days before I have reason to go back and check on the fennel cooking.

Local loyalty

I have acquired a loyalty card of sorts from the local fruit and veg shop. Once I spend 9 sets of £4 I get 20% off my next shop. Or 20% off the next £4 I spend. Which would be 80p. The terms and conditions weren't clear.

The shop includes a Devon flag on the label for all the locally-sourced produce and I'm trying to make a point of buying the local stuff. Currently in season are leeks, swedes and massive potatoes.

I've made nice with the elderly ladies who run the shop, advising one of them on how to cook fennel. I'll be back next week to ask how it went. Maybe they can be our new Exmouth friends.

Live and direct from EX8

Stand ready, Seffalice fans, I'll be composing something worthwhile soon and restarting the blog from our new home in Exmouth, featuring regular recourse to tides tables, the price of fish and, presumably, irritation at British seaside holiday makers.

I wonder if I should backfill our final month in Italy and our peripatetic few weeks since? Can't be bothered on reflection, but will answer direct requests if anyone has them.

Vi aggionariamo

San Miniato, home of the hillside truffle hunt, from our pre-Christmas tour to Tuscan wine country

Some updates on past blogs:
- We remembered that our Euro-prince had also mentioned something called a "tight". We think this was the entire black tie ensemble.
- I am now 90% certain that what I thought was tripe in my bollito misto was tongue. This hasn't made the memory any more palatable.
- I have moved on from my book on France to the hagiographic Freakonomics (don't bother - it's nowhere near as interesting as it should be, or as it thinks it is) and to a book on flyfishing which is fun. Gird yourself for interesting facts on London's past fishing rivers
- We have been free with the use of "Slowpoke Rodriguez" when overtaking each other on our cycle ride around Lucca's walls. Here is the root of it for all to enjoy.
- We're awaiting the Befana witch, who appears on the evening of 5th January (the night before Epiphany) to give sweets to well-behaved children like
The Seffalice.

Pranzo di Natale

Il Seffalice, modelling a Christmas present, practising a goal celebration. Not sure how purple will fit into the Clapham Common team colour schemes

Our British-Italian fusion Christmas lunch (using the Seffalice Multiplier regards quantities):
Aperitivi: Fry-up of spicy Italian sausages, scrambled eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes
Antipasti: Smoked Salmon on Italian sliced bread
Primi: Ravioli ripieno con ricotta e spinaci
Secondi: Roast beef, yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, veg, gravy

Cheese course: Cheese
Dolce: Tiramisu
Fruit course: Clementines
Dolce 2: Pandoro
Dolce 3: Assorted chocolates


Shaking the Christmas pandoro

La clima della musica pop

Italian's seem to love their pop music to be comprised almost entirely of dreary ballads. Most of all they seem to love Biagio Antonacci's Il Cielo Ha Una Porta Sola (roughly translated, I think, as "The sky has one door only". The fire marshals will be onto him sooner or later.)

You can guarantee to hear it on any radio station if you wait for up to ten minutes. You can also guarantee that The Seffalice will be squawking along, "Tuuuuuuu mi piaceeeeeeee, tuuuuuuuu mi diceeeeeeeeee". If you want to be able to sing along with us when gathered round the campfire you can learn the lyrics here.

The remainder of pretty much all radio stations' playlists are composed of English-language limp efforts from usual suspects Coldplay, Killers, Dido, Beyonce and James Morrison, plus these Italian-language favourites that are played over and over again:

- Novembre is as upbeat as it gets for Italian artists who steer away from the road marked 'Eurohouse'. La Seffalice doesn't like this one but I find it pretty catchy in a The-Woman-Singing-From-The-Meatloaf's-Bat-Out-Of-Hell-Album-Does-Eurovision way. "A novembre, la città si accende in un istante". Brilliant. It's all about November, you see. Out of date now though.

- Alla Mia Età by Tiziano Ferro. Don't bother listening to this one.

- This fellow Jovanotti is like musical mogadon but he does sport a unkempt beard which gives him one free pass. But not two.

- Ligabue looks like he's trying to be Correggio's Jimmy Nail but according to Wikipedia he's actually Perugia's Tim Healy.