Congrats to Alessandro and Francesca!

Who would have ever believed that ...
-I would find the right dress, (and that it was made of sheer bright silk and yet still managed to hide all my lumps and bumps),
- would mangae to walk on high heels
- I wouldn't bite my nails for two weeks
- find a gold designer clutch bag on sale in an outlet the day before
-the weather would be just perfect.

Yet I did and it was...




Such a lovely reception.













such a lovely young couple

and such a huge cake













And being a perfectionist I even got hold of the right shade of wool to knit Tidal Streams in Easyknit skinny semi solid plum jam yarn.http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/tidal-streams

San Martino di Castrozza

Peace, stunning views, good food a bit of knitting...need I say more?

Happy Birthday LittleOne

So I am now the mother of a 'grown up' !
How time flies....
Mind you she still seems to spend a great deal of time sleeping, after being up most of the night.
But its been a lovely 18 years.

She had two celebrations. Here is the bithday cake for the 'oldies' gathering. True to my warped British sense of humour, half were edible, half knitted. Nonna got caught out, trust her to pick the one with the biggest strawberry on!

Looking back

The River Enza is really a torrent, bone dry in the summer and subject to flash floods. It divides the province of Reggio Emilia from that of Parma. On Sunday we crossed over into enemy territory and walked along the ridge on the Parma side. Looking back over the river you can see the two castles on the skyline. The nearest one is Rossena where I go for coffee. And in the foreground the village where I live.

On Monday I did my ususal trot up to the coffee bar ( shut due to early hour).

But this is the view looking back over to where we were the day before.

And this is the flutterby which kept us company on Sunday.

New friends

Call me trendy but I do believe in this making-friends-through-Internet lark. After chatting with MrsOverall on Ravalry I knew I would like her. What a find, another English knitter, who has lived in my beloved Brighton, just a two hour drive away.
And here we are with her two lovely girls, Chloe and Daisy.





And they are, I must add, a very brave family, as they really do live in the middle of nowhere and are courageously restoring their home.
But when you see views like this you can see why.
(Bardi castle)
At this point I think I have exhausted the possibilities of waterfall front cardis. This will be my last for a while. It actually has some nice stitch detailing.


Slumber by Erika Knight, in Rowan mag 47, the original is sleeveless.


In sesia organic cotton on number 3 needles.

Views

Saxifraga Restaurant

Trauttmansdorff castle and gardens

Brenta Dolomites

A little snack on the way home

A sad day for cyclists

I first got the cycle racing bug 18 years ago (how time flies) when I had nothing else to do on sweltering hot afternoons but lay on the sofa, with Littleone kicking away in my tummy, and watch Tv. More or less every year since Victor and I, with brother Steve from Uk when poss, have struggled up mountainsides to nab a good place for watching the race pass us by. Whiling away time waiting for the cyclists to arrive, preceded, one hour before, by the publicity caravan and the TV helicopter, watching people dressed in pink, set up barbeques, have a drink or three, and even impromptu folkloristic displays. And even though the flight past rarely lasted more than a few minutes it was always well worth it.
But each year, without fail, the overall winner turns out to be a cheat and we feel that, yet again, we've been let down.

This year just about every team captain or big name has a drugs record. Yet when the race arrived in Reggio I just had to go for old times sake.

IF I Knew then what I know now I might have given it a miss.

Ihad a nostalgic morning picking up freebies and VIP spotting. And although the locals hardly joined in the festive atmosphere, moans about disruptive traffic and not a single pink ballooon in sight I sussed out the park where the cyclists coaches parked and even exchanged a few words with MARK. (As in Cavandish the Cannonball, holder of the pink jersey). Well I got his autograph and wished him luck!!!

And I thought the departure of the caravan and cyclists along the ancient Roman main street was spectacular.

But what a blow when I got home in time to see the arrival and learned that there had been an accident, a Belgian cyclist, Weylandt, had fallen off, broken his skull and instantly died.

Today, the day after, the cyclists are off on their next stage but there is no competition. Church bells toll when they pass. The different teams take turn to lead the pack but the finishing line will be crossed by the poor cyclist's 8 team mates dressed, obviously, in black.