'Tis the season to be meh-ry

It's almost that time of year. Of enforced merriment, bogus bonhomie and a sackful of bullshit that makes my alcohol stream steam. If you haven't completed your Christmas shopping by the 31st July or got your baubles up by the start of December then clearly you are a miserable party pooper.

*party poops*

Which is very unlike me. And I've lost my tree fairy; she hasn't been seen since the move in March so perhaps she's contrarily scampered of to warmer climes and frankly I don't blame her. The only reason I can think of to feel so unfestive is sheer exhaustion. It's been a long drag since the summer and after a bout of back pain which is never to be repeated if I can help it, I've had enough. I'm even missing the firm's Christmas party because there is the vague chance that *somebody* mucked up and I'm off to the theatre instead. So even corporate festive is a little lacking.

On the bright side, this Friday afternoon sees me walking away from WC1 for nearly three whole weeks. I should be returning on the 2 Jan, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Some baubles this summer

Those of you who know me...and even those who don't, will be aware that I'm writing an essay about intellectual stuffs. But as this evening is currently demonstrating, there is something about the biting cold and freezing fog that wraps itself around your face and snogs the inspiration out of you. On an essay related note, happily last Saturday some thoughtful Lovely arranged for me to go talk to the artist I'm writing about, whilst this Friday I have a trip to the Royal Academy library. After that, it's fingers to the keyboard...

As for my festive plans, I shall see where I am on Christmas Eve. I shall procure a Lidl ham, I already have a pudding and a bottle of brandy; I mean, what could  possibly go wrong? Like writing a bah-humbug blog whilst sipping a gluhwein mugful of hot spiced wine, the inner glow may actually come out blowing a party hooter and surprise me.

Just like my tree fairy. She can't possibly miss a chance to dance over the lights...

First mulled wine of the season

After an unfeasibly cold spell of exercise to assist with the back recovery (no running yet) I decided that flatmate and I were in need of a big cauldron of mulled wine. This would also have the added effect of increasing the oooo factor of the local council fireworks. My logic being that if we can see double, we get extra value for our council tax funded explosives.

Should you need a recipe because all super markets near you are lacking in 'mulled wine spice bags' this is what you should do instead.

Take some Bulgarian Merlot. Or Argentinian Malbec. Or Italian plonk, whatever you like. You get the picture, a couple of bottles of random red wine. Slice lemon and orange, add many whole cloves, a cinnamon stick broken in two, a grating of a knob of fresh ginger from the handy corner shop on Eric Street. Using a gentle motion, coax the ridiculously sticky lid off the honey and add as many dollops as you fancy. Add some water, this really helped ungloop the fragrant mix.

I also added a splash of Croatian prosek but any sort of fruit alcohol would be lovely. For extra warmth and aroma, a dash of vanilla essence and orange flower water was seriously nice. Let this come gently to almost boiling and then turn the heat off before you evaporate any of the alcohol.

Then sit back, drink and let the fumes embrace you. If you're lucky you may see some fabulous fireworks when you shut your eyes...

No giggling at the back

I briefly noted in my earlier piece that I was unable to do more than do a cursory vacuuming at my friend's . Yes fine, you may scoff that is more than I usually manage but this was serious; I couldn't have done it if I'd tried.

The tweaky back had been coming on for a while and I'd ignored it, hoping that the odd bit of running and stretching would knock it on the head. A few months of really bad posture plus a 39 year old spine equals silent-screamingly bad back pain which was only relieved by lying on my side. An unorthodox position for a Contrary Towers inmate...I like to sup my martinis vaguely upright, not prone. Not the first one anyway.

This obviously had implications on my trip to Italy and I can now confirm that marble slabs, wooden benches, stone, airport seats are all extremely uncomfortable to lie on and should be avoided at all costs. And as for the actual flight that was the most comfortable part of the journey. The new slogan should be 'Ryannair: Better Than Backache'. So unless I was reclining like a Senator at a Roman orgy, then it was pretty sore.

A week before my trip, as I lay on the floor on my back like a wounded beetle, I realised something would have to be done to put my mind at rest. I suspected it wasn't anything more than a nerve being pressed upon somewhere but agony like this wasn't to be ignored. The following day I saw an osteopath. He got quite close for a chap who was meeting me for the first time. And to be fair, anyone who asks me to press my knees into their groin without having had a couple of bottles of something beforehand is going to raise eyebrows. It might have in a previous no-pain life but what he was doing was causing my eyes to water. Anyway armed with a brief of exercises and strict instructions to travel light and stop running, I hobbled off.

Ceasing the running was a mere inconvenience. Travel light to the style centre of the world?  My life was over.

As it happened the trip wasn't a disaster and I think I was only mildly drama queeny about it. I managed on 2 changes of clothes and the emptyish bag was an excellent excuse to pick up some gorgeous dresses. Being quite short woollen ones, they were light so no trouble to carry home. The trip to Kidderminster and the two bottles of champagne, that was slightly more problematic but I made it without resorting to drinking them.

Not what it looks like...

As the nice man promised, I've had a week of pain, a week of irritability (set to continue for a bit longer) and I think it is finally subsiding into a dose of sciatica. I'm following his instructions to the letter...plus a little more. My bedroom floor now resembles a rubber torture chamber of toys, with prickle balls, overly firm gym ball, rubber stretch ribbons (no idea what the technical term is) and a cylindrical foam thing to roll up and down on. I've also started yoga at work and there will be gentle jogging as of today. The feeling of being utterly helpless when you drop your body scrub in the shower isn't great and I don't want it again. And also there have been moments in the past couple of weeks when the flatmate and I have been in giggling hysterics leading me to gasp out, begging for mercy.

So for all you bad postured people. Sit up now. You have been warned!

Just your average teen

Friends. It’s been a great time for seeing some rather lovely people. After meeting with a friend in Bergamo during the previous week, early on Saturday I was en route to Kidderminster to see more people. It was my old school chum’s hubby’s birthday and there was a party involved so when she asked me up there I leapt at the chance to eat, drink and be merry. As I was there early we rushed round being domestic which is a hysterical thought given that:

1. Gill is perfect CT material in knowing nothing about the alchemy of the cleaning cupboard
2. We are highly educated and sophisticated ladies and are happier dawdling around Morrison’s baconz department
3. My back was too sore to do anything other than direct others and do some light vacuuming
4. We couldn’t stop laughing at the disgraceful gossip we were exchanging
5. I was utterly distracted by the cheap VC in the trade supermarket and an executive CT decision was made… 

Anyway once we stopped fannying around in the supermarket we made ourselves look gorgeous and headed downstairs. Now I haven’t been to a good old fashioned Worcestershire bash since I was 19 – I recall there was an incident involving cider, a young farmer, a haystack and … So there I was again but 20 years later, mature and adult conversing sensibly with Gill’s friends. 

This is why I was drinking purple alcoholic pop in a room full of late-teens. They covered a mind boggling spread of interesting topics and it was thoroughly entertaining; we covered the universe, existence of God, girlfriends, cigars, time travel, computer games and how many beers we’d drunk. The other party I believe got out of hand and very smutty.

The following morning we all took a medicinal baconandegg butty (patent pending) and vats of coffee and shuffled around finding a place to sit in her huge convivial kitchen. When I got downstairs photos of puppies were being passed around and it was decided that we should go see them. As you do. So a trip to Malvern Wells, a batch of cute dogs, and we had a thoroughly lovely day getting lost in the dramatic shadows of the Malvern Hills. On returning to the house I experienced something called ‘Skyrim’ and a quiet family afternoon. I am destined to be everyone’s favourite Aunt!

Earlier on one of the young chaps had nearly left without his phone and there had been some shaking of heads. So what did this idiot do? I got as far as the car without my charger, phone, book…I remembered the VC though. Priorities! So we legged it to the station and I got to Brum rather breathlessly. A rather marvellous weekend even if it did confirm that I’m no better than your average teen.

New and old

The reasons for coming to Bergamo are many; the art, the music and more personally and importantly, it was one place my dad recommended to me many years ago before he died. So it's more than just a random city break.

Tuesday is the day in Italy when all museums are open and so we had planned a fine balance between old and new, high and low town. We pottered around the old town seeing the Donizetti museum and the chapel of the condottiere Colleone. He clearly had no taste and a penchant for coloured Gothic marble tracery. And then some.

With this in mind I had an incredibly colourful pizza and then we headed down the hill on the funicular to the modern elegance of the new town. After a dead end and a detour avoiding the military zone, we were at GAMEC (contemporary art gallery), 5 mins before opening at 3pm. We waited in a public library installation and watched the doors being locked. Eh? After 20 mins we called it a day. Naughty contrary art. We performed a two person piece called 'Sulk' (2012) and then that concluded, headed off to a local park.

As it happened Parco Suardi was a pleasant place to waste time; established trees, fountains representing the bergamesco landscape, children falling off scooters, a couple of kids in said fountain, and simply lying on a bench was good. The weather looked down, saw I had no brolly and decided to have a giggle. We headed back to the funicular as it started to rain - performance piece number 2 'Soaked' (2012).

The need for contemporary art had evaporated as quickly as the rain so we headed for the town hall and an extract of the best art from the Accademia Cararra which is currently under restoration. This exhibition 'Vincere il Tempo' in the palazzo Ragione was stunning and the mix of styles suitably wide as a taster. For me the Jacopo Bellini Madonna was worth the entrance fee. Poetry hit me!

The day concluded with drinks at the local and a polenta dinner. Doesn't get much better than that. And I agree with my dad, it's a beautiful place and not to be missed.

Storms, battlements and danger!

Monday is a bit of a cultural non event in italy because galleries are usually shut. Even the shops here weren't opening any time soon, mind you they were lovely when they did open. But as this town was still quite new and uncharted territory, after a splendid breakfast, we headed off eith a map for a planned perambulation.

Actually breakfast: over coffee, choc croissants, cherry jam rolls and a spectacularly messy orange, we chatted to the other person in this B&B, a israeli/US lady called Laura. She has been here for a few days longer than us so we asked for some travellers tips. Always useful. She is travelling alone so I think it was nice for her to speak English. After Syrian politics, travel, the weather etc, we departed.

The direction was chosen by taking a road we hadn't gone down before and headed for the walls of the city. The view was incredible, the new town spead out below and the roads coming up to the old town clearly visible. What a place to defend! As we walked under the old leafy battlements, there was a mysterious thud and cracking...horse chestnut trees had decided it was time for a game of conkers with humans and were dropping their fruit with impunity. Beautiful brown conkers were sat in the cobbled areas, smiling up glossily from their fresh white casing.

Apparently from Istanbul to Rome the pavements are awash with conkers!

We were heading to the botanic gardens however we got distracted by a funicular going up hill. It was just in time for the last one before lunch so after being shown how to use the ticket machine by the well travelled one, we hopped on excitedly. Ok, I did. He just looked at me as if I were a child. And we went up. And up. And as Bergamo receded we arrived in St Virgilio, a village on a hill.

We headed for the Castello and after commenting on the newness of the gardens and fountains 'work in progress' we found more stairs to climb. Because we clearly weren't high enough. Oh my. Our vista of Lombardi from the exposed lookout was suberb. Just little towns, forested green hills as far as you could see. The weather however was starting to turn interesting and we thought it wise to head back down into town on foot because gravity Watson our favour.

We prevented a group of French students marching briskly up the hill from going further. The sensible older man at the back with the map asked where we were and, yes they were heading the wrong way. Didn't chuckle at all...

After pizza in an increasing dark town square, the rain threatened. Street lights were on, car headlights on...it was 3pm and twilight. The view of the storm rolling in was marvellous so we watched it through the open window of our high up room for as long as possible. The constant thunder and lightening rumbled around and we were glad we weren't on that exposed castle roof.

At that point I had a nap!

You really don't want to hear about my shopping trip or the deliciously falling apart osso bucco with cheesy polenta. Or the Campari spritz in our favourite bar. I mean, I don't want to spoil you. Today we are hitting the galleries and more trains on hills.

All about the food

The theme so far has been food. I arrived here quite hungry and since then the shops, trattoria, and even the lovely host of the B&B have tempted my appetite for local viands.

The mountainous north of Italy is all about meat, mushrooms and polenta. Last night was a perfect example of elegant trattoria cooking with traditional ingredients. The wine list was bigger than the actual menu which can make decisions impossible so the lady recommended a local brew, a Cascina del bosco bonaldi cantoalto 2008. I'm now looking at a vista which includes the vineyards at Sorisole, just north of Bergamo.

To start was a well flavoured soup of barley, sausage meat, carrots topped with crispy scallops. Mopped up with loads of bread and washed down with the almost black fruity wine, an utter hit. My friend's casonsei rabbit stuffed pasta with pinenuts looked amazing. I followed mine with beef cheek on chickpea purée. Frankly I'd eat that as my last supper; utterly melty, crispy and mouthwatering. With desserts of mixed sorbets and an appley thing the whole meal was exceptional.

Today I'm hoping for some kind of tasting menu and wines at an enoteca. Also a trip to a patisserie for the speciality polenta cake. The 'polenta e osei' looks like death by sweet... marvellous. Not sure I'll be buying that size 12 just yet!