Keith Floyd

Keith Floyd died a couple of weeks ago.

He is the only person to have moved, excited or inspired me to write to a TV company to thank them for their work. The series Floyd on Fish (1984) was the event that caused this reaction and I suppose I should have addressed the thanks to Keith rather than the producer.

Too late now but thanks Keith all the same.

Shock news - Italians love footy!

I'm listening to the Fiorentina -v- Liverpool match on the radio and it reminds me of the first match of the Serie A season last year. LJ and I were on holiday in Montecatini which is not for from Florence (home of Fiorentina) and the bar nearest our hotel was the local HQ of the Fiorentina supporters club, Club Viola. The bar was pretty much empty as the locals were off in Florence watching the match against Juve and the staff were low as the Violas were down 1-0 with minutes to go.

Fiorentina resorted to classic British tactics and the keeper hoofed the ball up front for the target man to lay of to a nippy striker who controlled and turned in one movement and slammed the ball past the keeper. The bar owner let out a cry of delight and we were nearly trampled by all the husbands from the hotel across the road who left their wives on the terrace looking very unimpressed and dashed into the bar to see the replay. I can imagine the conversation early that evening. I say darling, it's ages since we've been out together. Let's go to that nice hotel with the terrace and have a drink. etc etc

Sweater problem

Today I put my navy sweater on back to front and didn't notice for about three hours.

I did the same thing yesterday.

Remembering the lark

I bought Nicola Benedetti's new CD, Fantasie, yesterday and it includes a lovely version of The Lark Ascending. I have a number of versions of that piece and it reminds me of the day I left Aviva and spent the day wandering around Southwold buying fish. I walked back from the harbour across the marshes and stopped to watch a lark ascending and singing as it went. It was a beautiful sunny day and I had the time to just wait and watch and listen. The lark goes so high that you loose sight of it but you can still hear the song and that happened that day.

My memories of larks go back to my childhood when I would "go over the field" near our house and lay in the grass watching and listening to the larks during the holidays.