THE OLIVE HARVEST NO. 6 -- A LORRY LOAD

This photograph is the cause of a domestic dispute. My plan for today's pic was of olives being bashed between gigantic granite grinders. Himself said that I was skipping a major part of the story of olive oil from tree to oil -- the olives loaded onto the Piaggio (a mini pick-up truck).

"Boring," I said.

"Not boring," he said.

"Mega boring," I insisted. "It's just a little white truck with plastic crates of olives in it."

"Not everybody has seen a lorry load of olives," he said, "and anyway, men will be interested."

Eyeballs rolled. Mine. I thought people would assume that the olives got to the press one way or another. If not by lorry then by donkey and cart or a train of wheel barrows, the latter two methods with actual photographic potential.

"You could," I said, "blip a picture yourself, then you need not meddle in my journal."

"No!" he said sharply.

Anybody who has dealt with teenagers knows that life is catch 22. Say nothing and nothing is done. Harp on a subject and nothing is done but there are hard feelings.
It can be the same with grownups. (He is not going to blip unless there are pictures of holes being dug or walls being built to be had. We have so many snaps of holes in the ground that even he can't identify the time nor the place.)

So I said I would take some shots and see.

"You bet," he said. "I'll do anything you want. We can go down to the press and I'll tip it up for unloading."

Yawn. "I'll take it from here," I said. Maybe you can get the dogs to sit beside the Piaggio."

Eyeballs rolled. His. It's true, our dogs are very yahoo and won't sit still for anything, not even diet biscuits.

So, here we are with a boring little white pick-up containing enough olives (254 kgs/500+ pounds) to make 35 litres of oil, supposing we get 14 percent. This is about the right amount for our own use. I have incarcerated Cloud within but as you can see, she is not being cooperative.

It's a bit scary to see that we use up that many olives in a year. I would hate to see the Piaggio loaded with the amount of pasta we use in a year or worse, the amount of wine. It's a sobering thought.

Late poppy and optimistic beetle.