The world from my window

We're in Genoa. The Italians are a noisy lot. But possibly not as noisy as the Greeks. This is a beautiful city. In Via Garibaldi, the grandeur of Italy's largest port hits you right between the eyes.   Our hotel was hard to find in a 1969 Beetle in the blistering heat. But it's quirky, just as I like it.       We're heading west today, off to my dad's cousin in Provence before sweeping across to Toulouse to visit a former colleague and catch up with her news. And then it's up to the Dordogne to see our old chef. (I was a publican in a previous life. Christophe became our good friend). And, then, on Oak Apple Day, King Charles II's birthday, we'll board a cross channel ferry back to Blighty. Bella the Beetle will be dwarfed by all the other vehicles. Here she is coming off the ferry from Corfu to the mainland. It'll be good to be back home, at least for a while. But, I have to say, the Corfiots put on a great sho...

As the clocks went back, so did we. A wild old ferry crossing was predicted as we headed across the English Channel back to my beloved Dorset after twelve, adventure-filled months in Corfu. I felt like Odysseus. Would our friends in Lush Places be held captive by new 'suitors' eating them out of house and home? Would Mr Grigg lash himself to the mast as he listened to the Sirens' song? Would we have to go through various tasks before being accepted as the rightful heirs to our home? No Scylla or Charybdis crossed our paths on the journey home from Corfu. No cyclops outwitted us, no witches turned those close to us into pigs, although on Calypso's Isle we were tempted to stay for more than just a year. This time, it was an interesting, but, thankfully, uneventful trip home. We stopped in Italy outside Faenza...     In the Italian Alps...   In France...   At an old school friend's...   And not far from the ferry...  ...