Musings on a balcony

Earlier this evening senior management was in communication with another regarding my "Musings on a balcony" which obviously is not what this blog is all about. Each day is different. Each day sees a new challenge, new opportunity, another inspiring series of events that well, inspire.

Today for example. Woke up. Breakfasted on the balcony. Looking right revealed:

 

Straight ahead Manoel Island looked superbly calm and Valletta looked magnificent through the heat haze. Not only was it still. It was hot. A traipse up to Pastor Joe's was considered but in fairness the absence of rain and cooling breezes meant that the risk of sunstroke was over the threshold of healthy safe acceptance.

So we remained on the balcony.

Inevitably, this led to a more rapid depletion of the milk supply than had been accounted for. Thus, about middayish I was required to fetch milk. I did offer reasons why I was not the best option but was overruled in no uncertain terms. 

This involved sending me out unattended with a pocket full of shrapnel. Metal euros are a bit of a mystery to me, especially without reading glasses as the embossing is particularly poor as is the size differentiation. If you really want to know how poorly thought of the euro metal is try finding out what the symbol for cent is. We all know the € symbol but thus far the great and the good in Brussels when they're not in Strasbourg for their soptofrench week have failed to agree on the adoption of a euro wide agreed symbol for the humble cent.  At this rate the € will be history before the cent has it's own symbol. Shame.

Anyway, I was not so much let out as shoved through the door. Seems that I wasn't needed on the balcony to identify the passing vessels nor to offer differentiation between V6, V8, V12 and one V10 as opposed to the more mundane with exhausts from Amazon.

I did get the milk. Fortunately, no instructions were given as to what I couldn't get so I managed to find an Italian hole in the wall offering bolognese arancini's which management doesn't really take to even after having watched Salvo Montelbano sing their praises in subtitled Sicilian. My deduction that yesterday's bread roll, toasted, with the remnants of Friday's mixed salad would be acceptable especially if the salad cream was placed so as to cover the brown bits.

I was proved correct but as a totally unexpected surprise I also found these on the other side of the Italian counter.

The arancini was delicious.

So was the afters, seriously delicious and easily five a day in one hit.

A Cisk saw lunch taken and the traffic reverted to Sunday normal, I assume that's what it was as this is our first sunny Sunday.

The heat became a bit too much for us mere northeners so I retired indoors midway through the first half of a rainy Rome rugby match. I noted that it was not going well for Wales so I expected something good. Alas, when I was woken by management's unsilenced door opening procedure it was all over. And had been for a while.

By this time the balcony had reverted to bearable so once again I was able to watch vessels (various) returning and lift the bulk occasionally when an interesting noise radiated upwards. All morning it was exotica, late this afternoon it was Mini's (proper Sir Alex Issigonis A Series ones), Capris, Mustangs (old ones) and various others that we would call classics. Some of which I couldn't identify from this vantage point.

Finally, the last Grand Tour of the series was enjoyed, Countryfile is being endured as I type and once The Midwives do what they do I shall be off to lie down with my book.

I may sulk a bit as the next two days are forecast to be pretty stormy so balcony time may be restricted. What on earth will I do then?

Musings on a balcony? No, it's far more than that, isn't it?