Bags are packed and she's ready to go ...

The Boss leaves for Blighty tomorrow to give talks and other stuff before a late return on Friday to join me for the drive out of Italy through the St Gottard and the long road up the Rhine through Germany to Ijmuden.

The evenings settle quickly here once a certain point is passed. Hot again but not hot as.

Chasing that house, checking the many different local structure plan geological and planning maps, wondering about water supplies, chivvying our lawyer who works late into the night, being ready to rush out to the Casentino to look for  springs and wells (sorgenti e pozzi) and talk repairs, costs, access, the bloody farmers' right to buy.

The house, I discovered today, sits at just over 500m, a lovely altitude, and exists on the 1825 maps of the area. Hard to believe it might happen. Hard to believe it might not.

It's been a good time here. As hard as I thought it might be. I miss my things, my tools, a garden, purpose. But maybe now that possibility is hoving slowly into view.

Meanwhile we drink Silverio's explosive white  frizzante. He used bottle tops intead of corks. Taking the top off the plastic cap burst from the bottle and could have had my eye out. But I trust Silverio and Oriela. Such good people. And the Gage-Montanas.