Red red roses...lying on the ground

The roses are so red in the sun they want to bust the sensor on the camera. Taken from upstairs through the mosquito netting with its coating of Poplar wool (I think I said 'fur' the other day) the sensor just about manages to do the job.

I have completed my 'Summer Collection' of clothes from - dare I say it - the delightful Barberino Outlet just off the super-duper Firenze-Bologna autostrada. In one store they now greet me with a familiar 'Ciaooo' and a handshake.

The discounts on North Face stuff are to die for and I am now equipped with some super-light, ultra-wickable, sun-protected duds.

Even if I say so myself, (and I'm saying it, baby) scrubbed up and with a linen shirt and pre-worn shorts, shades and my new Columbia flip flops I am looking quite the business. If a little north of an ideal BMI but the Fitbit collar is going to see that.

Meanwhile the MotoGP is coming to the nearby autodromo on Sunday. Already the roads of roaring with a certitude of leathered-up Rossi wannabees doing terrifying things and usually appearing to come straight at the car at improbable  angles and improvident speeds around impossible corners sunk in deep shade.

Still there is something exciting about the young and not so-young out on their machines in their groups and commandos giving it some. Particularly in the tunnels when you roll down the window down and just let the roaring, exhilarating nowness of it all overwhelm you . (Who said I'd grown beyond Jack Kerouac.)

I've booked flights on Tuesday to go and see my Mum in Oxford. I'm flying from Florence to Heathrow via Zurich. She is up and down with the post-op delirium. I'm relieved to have finally settled on a date.

The photo title is from the Little Feat song, Juliette.