Foxes, snails & beautiful Italian men

At the weekend I saw a fox, I couldn't sleep and opened the curtains at 4am and there it was, slinking into the darkness, I wanted it to come back but it had vanished into the ferns. There's a snail making its way across the landscape of the shed, I usually hate/fear them, the bastards eat holes in everything but this one is beautiful with a blue-patterned shell. I watched most of Spain/Italy, my nephews had helpfully informed me that Italy are rubbish, they are Barcelona supporters, and must be delighted at outcome. Watching Italy is just not the same since the days of Totti and Maldini, though Pirlo and Buffon are quite beautiful (as is Balotelli though I am, of course, old enough to be his mother). I was curious about the word pundit and discovered it comes from Sanskrit 'pandita' which means 'learned' (although the opposite of learned is what you feel listening to some of the commentary). It's the 2nd of July and 14 degrees, fucking appalling weather, I will need more than foxes and snails to cheer me up (though An Exploding Case of Mangoes is making me laugh out loud). ME has not been good, whenever I try and do any tasks/errands I get that creeping/clammy/adrenaline feeling, I used to get this a lot, it means things are not quite right. Still coughing like Steptoe, but not so frequently or violently.

Gorgeous

At the weekend, my nephews' village primary school won an inter-school football tournament, an unexpected victory.  I heard that one wee boy who didn't even play - too young - took his shirt off and did a lap of honour. Gorgeous. The team is  being taken to an Italian restaurant for lunch this week, what a fabulous treat (I can't recall anything remotely as sumptuous at primary school). But this is a  generation of nephews who ask for Jamie's summer salad in their packed lunches.

My older nephew, still glowing, actually glowing, from the gold cup victory, can now play 'Mull of Kintyre' on the trumpet. He wanted to skype and play to my mother, not realising she is too ill just now. I can't wait for my session.

And: 'The clouds are punctuating the ceiling': my stepdad's explanation of the crazy May sun/shower cycle we're having.

*for those not in UK, this is Jamie.

Good news

Authors for Japan has raised almost £11,000 for the British Red Cross relief fund. Keris Stainton did a brilliant job of organising the auction and I'm pleased that The State of Me has been a tiny part of the project. I'll be posting off a copy to a young English woman who lives in Germany. I kind of like this connection, with my nephews being half German, it has synchronicity. And I will see those wee ragamuffins when they visit in a few weeks, the nine-year-old is a bit peeved that I don't have a football team that I actually support and was not remotely impressed when I cited Totti (Francesco) and Henri's (Thierry) handsomeness as reasons to support their respective teams.

Cold

As you know I am often angry with BBC Scotland because of its fucked up scheduling - giving us the Mod, curling, darts, and Scottish politics/football instead of the lovely advertised programmes - but I do sometimes enjoy Eorpa, a gentle current affairs programme in Gaelic (though I would have this evening preferred the documentary on secular Turkey that London got). I don't understand a word of Gaelic so rely on the sub-titles, and often there are interesting slots about Europe. It's really quite soothing, no babbling narrator denting your head, and tonight I learned that because of rising fuel costs, and crap insulation in older housing, people in the Western Isles fear winter more than people in Sweden. I tried not to laugh at such an odd-sounding statistic - it must be hell for those on low income trying to keep warm in these exposed, far-flung landscapes. (I had a brief desire last month to move to the Hebrides and travel in the post van, but this has woken me up.) There are currently various Executive intiatives to help the vulnerable with heating costs, but, of course, it will never be enough, people will still be cold in winter - people all over the UK. And then the focus shifted to Holland, and we saw Ali, a Sudanese man whose entire family had been granted asylum - except for him and his eldest son. It was just too sad seeing him in his sparse room with his guitar, in limbo while he waited to hear his fate.