Italy Blogging Roundtable: Springing to Confusion

Sorry for the delayed posting this week, but it’s for a good reason, honest. Let me explain …

Over the past two years I’ve read with interest as the five ladies of the Italy Blogging Roundtable have shared their stories about Italy. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all their writing, and even contributed a couple of posts myself back in April last year. I was therefore delighted when Jessica emailed me to ask if I would like to become the sixth member of the group.

I said yes without hesitation. Hooray!

I’ve also recently become a member of the Charming Italy stable of writers. Double hooray! However, these two things together mean that I’m shorter of time than I once was. I’m therefore going to make a change to DLaM, and the regular posting day going forward will be Wednesday, rather than Monday.

Still, as you’ve all subscribed (you have, haven’t you?), the good news is that the only change you’ll notice is that posts will come through in the middle of the week, rather than the beginning. And Hump Wednesday could do with a lift anyway, so I’m doing you all a favour, really, right?

Without further ado, therefore, I give you my first post as an official Italy Blogging Roundtable member.

Enjoy!

jumping lamb, richard peters photography — Photo credit: Richard Peters

Spring is springing, but it’s taking its time. A good sign that it’s on its way is that there’s a crow sitting on the roof of the stable block with a large stick in his beak. Much like the Italians, who judge the cambio di stagione by the date, not the weather, the birds are busy with springtime nest building despite the cold.

It’s the beginning of April, and Spring has officially been announced on the calendar, but the weather in the UK doesn’t seem to have got the memo. We veer from bright sunshine to grey clouds and snow flurries, and back to sun again. A friend of mine turns up at the house, shivering in ballet pumps and leggings. “I dressed for the weather I could see outside the window …” We hunt out thick socks and an oversized jumper, and drink restorative English tea while we gossip and dream about Sicilian sunshine.

In Sicily, before I came back to England for Easter, the weather was warm, verging on hot. In England the weather gods are still sending howling winds from the North, which whistle down the chimney and mean I go to bed every night dressed in socks and dressing gown over my pyjamas, and with a hot water bottle tucked over my toes. In Sicily I don’t even own a dressing gown, and hadn’t needed a hot water bottle for a month or so.

What I *do* need in Catania, though, is a few springs with lower-case esses. It might be warm enough in Sicily not to have to go to bed in all my clothes, but at least in Somerset I don’t wake up creaking like an old woman after sleeping in something that’s more like a lumpy board than a lovely, comfy bed. If I could combine the springs in my Somerset bed with Catania’s springtime temperatures, I’d spring into action with a spring in my step in the morning.

Is it any wonder that the English language is such a springboard for confusion?