eric

The decision, after years of toyfully playing with the idea and then discarding it with a nervous laugh every single time, has been made. As a family we have always had pets. Well cats, that is. Right now we have 3 gorgeous kitties. I've always been a cat-person, dogs just never felt right. A bit like a fab coat that looks awesome but the minute you try it on, you just know it's all wrong. That's what the idea of owning a dog felt like to me.
So what the hell happened? Why am I all of a sudden possessed with the desire and need to have a dog? What's that about? This time it's not some superficial whim or crazy fantasy fuelled by my husband's secret desire to have a Pointer of some sort. It's deep, it bubbles up inside me and comes flowing out in great big waves of happiness because I've realised that having made this unheard of decision, feels righter than any pussycat can. There have been outside influences all along, especially of late. My sister-in-law has just acquired a dreamy Labradoodle called Archie, and several of my Twitter-chums have also come out of the blue as rather fabulous dog-owners. Of course there's D., my friend and fellow blogwriter (Salcottroad), who has been a steady, enthusiastic, enlightening and heavy influence where dogs are concerned. She is not only the owner of Max, a superb Kurzhaardackel, but has also recently become mum to Ottavio, the most beautiful Bassett Hound pup that you've ever laid eyes on.
So for years I've been listening with an incredulous look on my face to various friends telling me how they searched high and low for a particular breed and then drove 2 days across Europe to pick up their new little 4-legged friend. Who in their right mind would DO such a thing and why, for goodness sake? I never knew the answer until today. Today the penny dropped. It was probably an insanely wild mixture of emotions and situations, the full moon, my two boys growing as well as the knowledge that I'm not going to have another baby, the husband's and my realisation that we only live once and just generally why the bloody hell not?
It all seemed to become so easy once we decided which dog. That was the key to everything. It unblocked the fear of the unkown and just made it feel like home. We found a breeder and I've already bonded with her in a BIG way over the phone today and on some weekend in early December we are going to drive those 2 days across Europe ourselves to go get our little boy. Nothing weird in that, I can tell you. Imagine, he's not even born yet! But we won't have long to wait, the puppies are due in just under 2 weeks and I know that when my breeder NBF calls to announce their arrival, I will have trouble speaking to her because of my wobbly chin.
The husband, true to form, has started compiling endless lists of names (btw this all feels SO familiar - last time we behaved like this was when we were expecting the birth of our sons). This is all very well, you may say, but what exactly lies behind it, eh? Yes, I KNOW what it's about, call it what you like but an Ersatzbaby is what it so obviously is. Bring it on.
The name Eric is not final but it's a strong contender. And our new dog will probably look not very unlike the one above. Our 2 sons are beside themselves with excitement and we will of course be spending every single day from now until the puppy's arrival in December, talking, planning and dreaming of him. I can already feel the influence he will have on us.
Just for the record: I promise to stay reasonable and not lose my mind over my dog. If you do notice obsessive behaviour on my part, please slap me.

friends reunited

I am excited beyond reason. Do you remember when I told you about my blue and white friends way back? Well, I couldn't believe my eyes this evening when by sheer coincidence I came across this beautiful website. I was just googling "cornish blue butterdish" (my own shattered into a hundred pieces today after being accidentally hurled across the kitchen) and wasn't "feeling very lucky at all" when up from nowhere came this site - obviously pretty brand spanking new and totally, gloriously restyled! For us Cornish Blue lovers this is very good news indeed as there really seemed little hope that the company might survive its recent troubles but bless my knitted socks here it is, taken into new and clearly very capable hands.
They even offer an online gift service... oh and have you SEEN the packaging?
I wish the company all the very best and hope they reach new heights ensuring I shall never be without my dear friends again.
And, get this, they have a blog!

mad

Not much of a feminist me, so I'm not even going to start. It kind of bothers me, actually, feminism. The sheer idea that there could ever have been a difference between the sexes intellectually or on any other level drives me nuts, and that we even had to discuss it and fight about it, bores me. It's all down to ignorance on a monumental scale. I've always been of the opinion that this is a humanistic issue rather than a social one. Of course I'm not sticking my head in the sand, nor am I that stupid to claim that there hasn't been "an issue" of sorts, but I've never felt the need to fight for my right. Then again I was born in '68, which may explain my attitude. Also I've probably arrived at a table that is all set and has allowed me to just go ahead and tuck in. I think what I don't like is feminism amongst my agegroup. That's the (big) difference. So before some of you ladies log off never to be seen again, please rest assured that I'm talking about MY timezone and not eras gone by.
Which leads me straight (?) into Mad Men and my slight obsession with Joan Holloway. I only discovered Mad Men about 4 months ago and it's taken my admiration for American TV show making to another level. Apart from being the most supremely stylish show ever to hit our screens I love it for its subtlety and it's very satisfying attention to detail. First class stuff. Also love it for all the fantastically un-pc things it doesn't say but that are glaringly obvious in the beautiful delivery of its cast. Subtlety can be so wonderful. Plus it's totally rekindled my love affair with America, especially with New York.

a good look

We came across a beauty of a shop on our daytrip to Luzern the other day (well to be honest quite a few but this one's colour-scheme was particularly photogenic). I should have taken more pictures but the shop owner was hovering around and I'm never quite sure if my snapping at their wares and stylish displays is that much appreciated. Then again we all know it ends up here, on t'interweb. Once, on a city-break to Munich visiting my father, I was very snap-happy in a store of sorts (remember this?) and was given a right old telling off for my impertinence. The Bavarians are ever so slightly tetchy though, so I should have seen it/her coming. I tried in vain to explain that I wasn't there to copy or rip off but just to praise and promote. She wasn't having any of it and and it turned into a bit of a mind battle. There was me hoping for closure on what seemed such a trivial misunderstanding. By this I mean a simple smile, signalling her delayed appreciation ie. trust in my regard, but looking at the icy stare, I knew that was about as likely as seeing the Pope in a pair of Lederhosen. I stomped off in frustration. So much for closure. I wonder whether her insistence with me and other visitors will ultimately pay off.
Anyway, in Luzern it was fine, the owner of the above pictured flower shop actually smiled and was not at all bothered. The shop was Blütenblatt and can be found in one of Luzern´s most charming quarters, in the Kleinstadt.

Afternoon tea time

This is what I'm going to have (well, Julie two and me two, obv) just as soon as I've finished typing. In fact I reckon I'll have scoffed my share before I've finished this post. Being an accomplished multi-tasker that shouldn't really present a big problem. Rainy afternoons were made for this. Of course I'd love to stay and write more interesting lovely stuff for you to read but I simply can't. Oh, and I've just noticed An Affair to Remember starring Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr is about to start (thank you, Lord!).

Bye now.

posy

The smallest, simplest things make such a difference. A posy, courtesy of Eveline, whose undervalued concept of selling freshly cut, random-coloured and intensely fragrant roses direct from her walled rose garden in Avegno is one of my absolute favourite spring/summer pleasures. Prices are great too: CHF 1 to 1.60 a stem. She has a large fridge from which you can pick and choose your blooms, and a tatty old till into which you are invited to deposit the relevant amount. The whole transaction is based entirely on trust, which makes it all the more charming. Eveline has 2 fridges laden with roses (does anyone know of a third or even a fourth?), one is, as stated, outside her house and garden in Avegno and the other on the piazza here in Verscio. 

puppy love

I seem to be surrounded by stylish dog owners at the moment and when I saw this I couldn't help but think of my dear friend Dani. She has just become the very proud new puppy mummy of the most gorgeous Bassett Hound you have ever laid your eyes on. All ears and big eyes and huge paws. Beautiful. Her name's Norma and this "Pup Tent" has her name on it, I feel.

Click here to find out more about  super cool Slade Architecture and their fantastic contribution to the annual auction for New York's Design Trust for Public Space.  

Once again this particular style gem comes to you via the rather smashingly wonderful Contemporist.

                              

                                           

shady spot no.3

shady spot no.2

shady spot no.1

The time has come for summer guests. Every year we hope they return and this year, we shall not be dissappointed. The heat is practically unbearable (for some - not for me - and possibly for the houseguests as they arrive from cooler climes) and therefore I thought it might be a good idea to think about shady spots. Here are a few which might take our guests' fancy and which will give them a taste of things to come (you know who you are!). The sunlounger is my particular favourite and in the afternoon there is nothing better than to read ones favourite book and nod off ever so slightly.
We are considering launching as a B&B...

nostalgia

First time back on the computer in 3 weeks! Feels weird and very big and really comfortable. During the hols I've been posting from my iPhone (don't you know it) and after my initial exhilaration at having conquered my temporary inability to write, I soon realised that miniature blogging was about as appealing as applying factor 30 on sand covered skin. Of course I'll never stop loving my iPhone (until I realise that I can't live without the iPhone 4 - which I reckon will be real soon or at least once they've sorted out the signal probs) but nothing beats a good old chunky keyboard where I can blindly and flawlessly tap away without forever going back to correct the ridiculous amount of typos that appear when I blog from my phone. No offence Steve, but you need fingertips the size of chopsticks to type, even when going horizontal.

Anyway glancing over my recent holiday posts, sat here in my holiday blues stance in front of above mentioned computer, I realise that the photos are just a tad over-sized. Funnily it doesn't bother me much, in fact I rather like it and they suit the blog, particularly when taken with my beloved Hipstamatic (if you haven't got it, please do just get on with it). For anyone my age, who loves a little weep while leafing through old family photo albums, then this is the app for you. I've just taken a load of pics of the family beachside and if I didn't know any better, then I'd swear they were taken in 1968 or '72, depending on which fabulous lens/film you choose. I'm sure most of you actually have it already installed, but you never know.

'bout time

OK well that only took a week. To unwind, I mean. Don't know why I'm making it sound like some great, big revelation. Year in year out it's the same story: nothing but tension and apprehension during the first week followed by such total relaxation, that you'd have trouble finding a pulse between the lot of us. Luck would have it dear readers, that the kids have give or take three months off in the summer and we "as a family" insist on taking a ridiculous 3 weeks' holiday (because we're worth it) in glorious posh Sardenia (but we're camping so that's ok), and so we just settle and try to enjoy. Like I said it takes a while but oh, does it happen. We're now "in the zone" after bickering and swearing under our breath for a week, and can look forward to sweet abandonmemt on the sand, in the sea, and by the bar. I was getting a bit nervous this year but what a relief when not a moment too soon it happened after all.

wrap it up

GeoTagged, [N38.89710, W8.87803]

I remember being delighted at the sight of this paper last summer and thinking "oooh, I must put that on the blog" (but alas that was pre-iPhone and therefore inconceivable to post on the spot; and to do it 3 weeks later in the lull of homely doings would seem a bit irrelevant as one of my BIG things is to give in to my impulsiveness). I couldn't resist therefore when I went to our little supermarket for provisions this morning and was handed several little parcels neatly packed in this lovely "Nonna Isa" paper. Simple and lovely, don't you think?

proof?

GeoTagged, [N38.89710, W8.87803]

As if you needed proof that this camping malarkey is all it's cracked up to be and more, right? Here is a peek at a moment this afternoon, post-lunch. Sarongs blowing in the wind and hammock-happiness.

living in tents, part 2

GeoTagged, [N38.89710, W8.87803]

Am deliriously happy that our campsite has WiFi. It's completely changed the whole feel of the place. Well, of the bar at least. All of a sudden everywhere you look there are iPhone users and people sitting at tables under the eucalyptus trees catching up on goodness knows what - it all looks very serious but I bet most of them are either tweeting or on Facebook. As for me I have no laptop, let alone an iPad, but I have pen and paper and a serious bout of writer's/blogger's block. Handwriting though seems to be so NOT the point with this blogging thing. It has to be typed, surely. I did try yesterday to scribble in my notepad (no not the electronic kind, just a plain old hardbacked black 'n red book) and whilst I felt fabulously intellectual and old-school, I somehow couldn't get half the momentum going that my tapping fingers can, plus my hand really hurt. I have my trusted iPhone though (and WiFi!!!!!) and some app that promises to link up to my blog and publish. We will see. I have a feeling the format will leave much to be desired for but as I have some serious catching up to do, post-wise, I really see no other option. My posts will look a bit different over the next few weeks dear friends, but heck, at least I'm writing and seem to have got over the temporary but rather disturbing aforementioned block. All I needed was a bit of sun. And some coffee. And some time off. And to be back here, in our beautiful hideaway. With WiFi.

The Contemporist

I'm not saying it's my ideal house but I just can't get enough of The Contemporist's daily feeds. And a few of you seem to be house-junkies like me so I reckon you'll find the pictures and the articles interesting.This is another lovely example and be sure to visit the blog to view all of the interiors and front views.
Well, I'm not sure about you but I've certainly had my daily fix.

a toast to summer

 It's that time again. It's summertime at Toast. Go see before there's nothing left.

thought of the day...

 A taste of things to come. Full blogpost will follow shortly.

chasing houses

My beloved sent me a link today (click it NOW... loads more amazing pics) and it completely got me. I am bewitched. The architect is Natalie Dionne and the house is in Montreal, Canada. It's called the U-House. It was featured on the CONTEMPORIST a while ago, which by the way, is a fabulous blog for architecture and interiors junkies. 

changing it no more

Living in a small village is probably some people's idea of purgatory (it's my new favourite word: purgatory - so on point, so Dante), but to me it's heaven and a real life-saver. We moved our big family-life, lock stock and 15 barrels four years ago now, although by the roots growing beneath my feet you'd think we've been here most of our lives. Which is in fact what I'd like you (and myself) to believe, but then I wouldn't be the person I am today. Without those 8 longdistance moves (I'm talking countries people, not houses, please!) I probably wouldn't be able to tell a story or two on this blogthing.
Nevertheless here we are, in our bliss, having to once again face up to the idea of change. As some of you know the word "change" brings out the worst in me. Just ask my husband what happens when he suggests something along the lines of "Why don't we move the sofa over there?" I go all weird and pannicky, it's not a pretty sight. In fact he knows better now than to just make such suggestions without priming me first ("Take a deep breath, nothing's going to happen, we can put everything back the way it was in a jiffy, I promise"). Unsurprisingly I already have my fingers dug deep into the ground, desperately gripping with my hands and feet in an attempt to not alter the status quo.
But the good thing about this change I suppose, is that it doesn't involve another country but only another house. Heck! I can do that with my eyes closed. But even to take me out of the village (nevermind the country), would mean you'd have to kill me first. Even the neighbouring village is difficult for me. I am so woven into the fabric of my local surrroundings now, the friendly and very familiar faces, my little superstrong supporting network of very good friends (some of which actually do live in the neighbouring villages but I won't hold that against them) that leaving all this now would cause irreparable damage (how dramatic does THAT sound, eh?). What I'd like to know though, is how I got to this stage? What happened in the last four years that have turned me into this wanderlustless person? It's probably my age and it's more than a little likely that it has something to do with the fact that I have spent too much of my time moving around and now that my greys are growing quicker than I'd care to mention, I am possibly showing the first signs of intollerance that from my personal recollection, become a very recognisable character trait in the elder generation. Just kidding, I'm young and I'm raring to go. But I am petrified of change. Make of that what you will.
So, after this very longwinded prelude I finally get to the point. Which is that we are in the market for a new house. Here in this part of the world, real estate agents don't really have a great time as most transactions happen through word of mouth. Houses are not seen as investments and they certainly don't increase in value over time as they do in the UK. Once you buy a house here, you stay in it forever (now there's a nice word) and if you do decide to move, you tend to let it as selling it would instantly place you in a much higher tax bracket.  Land on the other hand is much more desirable as architecture and build-your-own are 2 very realistic and also very chic options. So how about it? Why don't we try our hand at this housebuilding malarkey? As it happens I have a dream. It's a Neutra kind of dream...and I'm sure you'll agree, it would look spot on, on trend, on point etc, right here in my little village. It looks something like this.