Yesterday I took my first train journey in Italy for some time since I had an interview to attend at Lucca’s Questura to apply for my biometric ID card which is now necessary for all UK residents in Italy thanks to the glorious triumph of brexitism.
The journey went very smoothly through the delightful scenery of the media valle. I did notice some points, however, which marked the unhappy fact that this country is still in the middle of the worst pandemic since the Black Death.
First, the men’s toilets at Lucca station had been depleted of their urinals since they were considered too closely socially distanced.
Instead, recourse was had to the customary hole in the floor.
However, it was still possible to have a more sociable handwash.
Second, was a panoply of platform socially distancing spacing markers.
Ticket-stamping machines were also hygenically endorsed:
Third, were the various notices in the railway carriages denoting that some seats were not to be sat upon.
One could only enter or exit the carriages through separate doors:
Happily I was successful in the protocol formalities of obtaining my card and everything went very smoothly without any crowds from desperate asylum seekers (of which us UK citizens are often now deemed to be included – how any British visitors or even resident to Italy could have ever thought it would be in their interests to have voted to leave the world’s largest trading unit I shall never begin to understand – Britain is sadly now not just ‘una terza nazione’ but indeed a ‘third-world one’.)
Anyway, there was not too much to delay me from the delights of Lucca. I love this city but want to revisit it again when its treasures (and bars) are fully open to me although I enjoyed a walk by the walls of this delicious place.
Back at home I relished an afternoon snack consisting of my two indicators to an artificial paradise. First was the toasted Marmite slice. I’d made the bread using ciabatta flour and very fine it turned out to be. With the marmite on it the whole thing was heaven.
Of course, Marmite is a marmite taste to be sure. Am I to divide the world into those who would venture through crocodile-infested swamps to savour a slice of this yeast extract and those who think marmite eaters are just plain potty … or jarry to be more exact? Not really. I would rather divide my primal concept of the universe into those who love cats and those who don’t, especially my ones.
The Marmite slice was followed by fig as well as chestnut jam afters:
Of course, no snack is complete without a suitable tipple. My solution of this equation is the following:
plus this:
equalling this:
Basking in the evening sunset of another lovely April day, having cut the grass (Italy appears to be one of those few countries where, approaching May, one has apparently to cut the lawn twice a day so quickly does it grow) I took a look at our modest family of spring flowers, in particular noting the first irises, the blossom whose symbol is that of the grand duchy of Tuscany itself. Welcome our spring!
