I had never heard of Ennio Morricone until I was on Ryanair flight from Bologna to Bari.  I had been visiting James in hospital near Parma and was on my way home. It had been a stressful and emotional time and I had  already booked another trip in a few weeks so that I wouldn’t   cry all the way home. I was supposed to be staying in Bari overnight as I would  arrive too late to catch a bus or train back to Pisticci. I had been feeling faint and a bit sick while hanging around in the airport for several hours and I was worried that I wouldn’t  be able to find my Airbnb…and to make matters worse rain was forecast for my arrival time.

I had just sat down in my usual seat near the back of the plane when a young man in the seat in front stood up and turned round. He asked if I was Anne Parker.  I didn’t  recognise him. But he explained that he and his friend were from  Pisticci and had been to a concert with Ennio Morricone  in Bologna and now they were on their way home. And they would be happy to give me a lift home to Pisticci in their car if no one was meeting me.

I thought that was as close to a miracle as I was likely to experience . I didn’t actually throw my arms around them and hug them, but I didn’t  stop smiling until I reached Pisticci and was back in my little house  . I doubt they will ever know how much their kindness meant.

And that is how I first heard of Ennio Morricone. And every time I hear his music I remember that day.

However today I was out for coffee and proseco with a good friend. We were celebrating my house selling, being able to stay in Italy after brexit, Christmas and New Year.  And catching up on all the news that’s too long to put in a text. It was a lovely time. We sat outside ( because we can in Pisticci…it was warm enough.) and felt very lucky to be living here and in these days, being able to meet up.

This morning I printed out about 60 emails containing extracts from a phone diary I kept in March and April. I had emailed them from my old phone which then refused to connect with my temperamental printer. It prefers my laptop. It is a pernickety little thing and insists on shooting out the printed pages onto the floor or sometimes even the shelf below I got a lot of exercise running back and forward from laptop to printer so that the pages stayed in order. I was of course not sensible enough to have numbered or dated them . But they are all now in 2 piles …. March and April . All I need to do now is write them up in literary fashion.( or something like that.)

Now it’s dark again. It will soon be the longest day …

Cheers . Tonight I can’t find the wine symbol on this phone.