The castle is located in the southern Chianti Classico countryside and has been there for over ten centuries, and owned by the Ricasoli family since 1141.
The newer part of the castle dates from the 1800s. The larger brick palace was built in the Gothic revival-style.
The new castle was built on top of the old castle’s ramparts
The walkway leads to the guard’s tower, and views over the countryside, and in particular, the styled gardens of English origin
And beyond these gardens, the vineyards
Yes, if the temperature was 20 degrees below zero and the forecast for the net week was the same, then that would be the big freeze.
In a more understandable way of putting it, to freeze something is to preserve it at a temperature below zero.
Some things don’t freeze, like petrol.
And you want to hope that you put antifreeze in your radiator otherwise you are going to have big problems with your car in winter.
It also means to stand still.
You can also isolate someone by freezing them out.
And freeze in fear, unable to move, like a deer in headlights.
But the worst example of a freeze is when your computer stops, and you forgot to save that 200-page novel, thereby being lost forever.
No. That would never happen, you had autosave on, didn’t you?
Didn’t you??????????
Freeze is not to be confused with a frieze which is a broad horizontal band of sculpted or painted decoration, especially on a wall near the ceiling.
Or frees, which in some countries type of football described multiple free kicks, in one sense, and, in another, what you do when you let them go, e.g. he frees the dog.
We visited Rome in August
It was hot.
It was verrrry hot.
We flew into Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino airport after a rather bumpy flight from London. Unlike most other airports the plane parked at a satellite terminal and after we disembarked we had to catch a train to the main terminal.
The most notable memory of this airport was my daughter’s discovery of a salami shop.
We had booked a transfer to take us to the hotel the Roma Corso Trieste Mercure in Via Gradisca from the airport. It was a white air-conditioned van and so far we had avoided the heat.
One of the rooms had a faulty air conditioning an absolute must as the rooms were very hot without it and necessitated a room change which was done quickly and efficiently.
The hotel was in the suburbs and without a car we were dependent on public transport. According to the reception staff, there was a bus stop nearby, and a longer walk to the tram or light railway. The bus seemed to be the best option as it would take us to the central terminal near the railway station, where all tour buses also operated from, and particularly the open top buses that went to all the major tourist attractions.
That first day basically was given over to traveling, arriving by plane and settling into the hotel, thus we didn’t get to feel the force of the heat. That came the next day.
After a walk around the hotel precinct to get our bearings and see what shops and restaurants were available, on returning to the hotel we were faced with the limited choices of room service or to go out for dinner.
My daughter and l go for a long walk up Via Nomentana to find several shops and a restaurant. We went into the restaurant and sat down. We waited for 10 minutes and got no service nor did anyone come and ask us if we wanted to order food so instead we left somewhat disappointed and go next door to what seems to be the Italian version of a delicatessen and order sandwiches and beer. I bought a half dozen cans of Moretti beer two of which I drank on the way home.
It was still very hot even at eight at night and the sandwiches are delicious. It just might be by that time we were starving and anything would have tasted great.
The next morning we are up and ready to chance the weather and some history. Breakfast at the hotel is limited but very good.
We were going to use public transport and I’d studied up on the Internet.
Traveling on the bus required pre-purchase of tickets which could be bought in certain shops and locally when exploring the area near the hotel, l found a tobacconist.
Next, we needed to understand how to use the tickets. There was no one on the bus who could help so when l tried to scan the tickets and it failed, l gave up. We had the same issue each day and in the end, the tickets never got used.
The trip to central Rome by bus took about 15 minutes. In the morning it was reasonably cool and showed us a little of suburban Rome. We also saw the trams but we would not be able to use them because our hotel not on a direct route.
That first full day we decided to go and see the Vatican.
Not understanding buses and which one we needed to get to the Vatican, we took a taxi.
Wow. It was the metaphorical equivalent of driving over the edge of a cliff with a daredevil. It was quite literally terrifying.
Or maybe we just didn’t know that this was probably the way people drove in Rome.
Shaken but delivered in one piece we found ourselves in the square opposite St Peters Basilica.
The square is impressive, with the statues atop a circular colonnaded walkway. The church is incredible, and took a few hours to take in and to top off the day we did a tour of the Vatican museum which took the rest of the afternoon.
Then it was back to the delicatessen for more sandwiches and beer, and an interesting discussion with several elderly Italian ladies, of which I did not understand one word.
The second full day we decided to use one of the open top bus tours and eventually decided on the hop on hop off tour simply because the bus was at the central transport terminal for trains and buses and it was getting hotter.
Our first stop was the Colosseum. There were other monuments nearby, such as the Arch of Constantine, but as the heat factor increased we joined the queue to go into the Colosseum and gladly welcomed the shade once we got inside.
The queue was long and the wait equally so, but it was worth the wait. It would be more interesting if they could restore part of it to its former glory so we could get a sense of the place as it once was. But alas that may never happen, but even so, it is still magnificent as a ruin.
Outside in the heat, it was off to the ruins which were a longish walk from the Colosseum, taking Via Sacra, not far from the Arch of Constantine. This day in the walkway there were a number of illegal vendors, selling knockoff goods such as handbags and watches, and who, at the first sight of the police, packed up their wares in a blanket and ran.
Included in these ruins were The Roman Forum, or just a few columns remaining, the Palatine Hill, Imperial Fori, including the Forum of Augustus, the Forum of Caesar, and more specifically the Forum of Trajan. It was, unfortunately very hot and dusty in the ruins the day we visited.
We walked all the way to the Foro Romano and the Septimus Severo Arch at the other end of the ruins, past the Temple of Caesar. I found it very difficult to picture what it was like when the buildings were intact, so I bought a guide to the ruins which showed the buildings as ruins and an overlay of how they would have looked. The buildings, then, would be as amazing as the Colosseum, and it would have been interesting to have lived back then, though perhaps not as a Christian.
I lost count of the number of bottles of water we bought, but the word ‘frizzante’ was ringing in my ears by the end of the day. Fortunately, water did not cost a lot to buy.
At the end of the day, we caught the hop on hop off bus at the Colosseum and decided not to get off and see any more monuments but observe them from the bus. The only one I remember seeing was Circo Massimo. Perhaps if we’d know it was going to be twice as hot on the bus, yes, there was no air-conditioning; we may have chosen another form of transport to get back to the hotel.
The third and last day in Rome we decided to go to the Trevi Fountain, see the pantheon and walk up the Spanish Steps. We spent most of the morning in the cool of a café watching the tourists at the fountain. By the time we reached the top of the Spanish Steps, we were finished.
To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.
But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.
That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.
It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and was finally completed as Walthenson’s first case, ‘A Case of Working with the Jones Brothers’.
He has now embarked on his second adventure, as yet untitled, but the latest episode can be found here:
The first is here, for those who wish to start with the first episode of his first case:
My private detective, Harry Walthenson
I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.
But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modeled Harry and his office on it. Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.
Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life. I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breath life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.
There is a saying, if God wanted us to fly then he would have given us wings.
Unfortunately, he didn’t, so we do not get to know what it’s like to be in flight,
Unless…
We take an aeroplane, which usually has a flight number such as QF607, or in conversation, ‘I’ll be taking the 6 o’clock flight’.
If someone runs away, then we say they have taken flight.
If we roll back a few years, say about 80, to World War 2, flight tales on a whole new meaning.
It refers to a group of planes, in one case a number of spitfires, or,
The man in charge, a flight lieutenant, also colloquially known as ‘flight’.
This is not be confused with the word flite which has several very obscure meanings,
First, it means to quarrel or argue, or engage in a debate, and
Second, to make a complaint.
But one that sticks in my my mind is Flyte, from Brideshead Revisited. they were a very interesting family.
I write about spies, washed out, worn out, or thrown out.
It’s always in the back of my mind, sometimes fuelled by a piece in the paper that has a sense of conspiracy about it, and from there, an idea starts turning into words that need to find their way to paper.
Then, if that’s the extent of the first draft, sometimes it goes into the ‘I will come back to this later’ folder and, sometimes, it’s gone and forgotten.
Until I wake up suddenly in the middle of the night, an old story with a new idea fills my head, and I have to get it down.
Then, it will bother me over the next few days, until I give it the attention it’s calling out for. This will often lead to more writing, but planning leading to a synopsis.
The first sentence of a novel is always the hardest. Like I guess many others, I sit and ponder what I’m going to write, whether it will be relevant, whether it will pull the reader into my world, and cause them to read on.
And that’s the objective, to capture the reader’s imagination and want to see what’s going to happen next.
The problem is, we have to set the scene.
Or do we?
Do we need to cover the who, what, where, and when criteria in that first sentence? Can we just start with the edge of the seat suspense, like,
The first bullet hit the concrete wall about six inches above my head with a resounding thwack that scared the living daylights out of me. The second, sent on its way within a fraction of a second of the first found its mark, the edge of my shoulder, slicing through the material, and creasing skin and flesh. There was blood and then panic.
Milliseconds later my brain registered the near-miss and sent the instruction: get down you idiot.
I hit the ground just as another bullet slammed into the concrete where my head had just been.
It can use some more work, less commas, perhaps shorter, sharper sentences to convey the urgency and danger.
Perhaps we could paint a picture of the main character.
He tentatively has the name of Jackson Galworthy. He has always aspired to be a ‘secret agent’ or ‘spy’ and but through luck more than anything else, he was given his opportunity. The problem is he failed his first test and failure means washing out of the program.
What had ‘they’ said? When the shit hits the fan, you need to be calm, cool, and collected. He’d been anything but.
Maybe we’ll flesh the character out as we go along.
OK, I just had another thought for an opening,
Light snow was still falling, past the stage where each flake dissolved as it hit the ground, and now starting to gather in white patches.
It was cold, very cold, and even with the three layers I still shivered.
What surprised me was the silence, but, of course, it was a graveyard beside an ancient church, and everyone who had attended the funeral service had left.
It was a short service for the few that came, and a shorter burial. No one seemed keen to hang around, not with the evening darkness and the snow setting in.
I stood, not far from the filled grave looking at it, but not looking at it. Was I expecting it’s occupant to rise again? Was I expecting forgiveness? I certainly didn’t deserve it.
The truth is, I was responsible for this person’s death, making a mistake a more seasoned professional might not, and the reason why I was shown the door. I had been given very simple instructions; protect this man at all costs.
It was going to be a simple extraction, go in, get the target, and get out before anyone noticed.
A pity then I was the only one who got that memo.
It’s a start, but with the TV going on in the background, Chester complaining about something, and the weeds in the yard are getting higher, there’s too much else going to consider this even a start.
It’s an idea. Perhaps I can expand on it later.
© Charles Heath 2020
We visited Rome in August
It was hot.
It was verrrry hot.
We flew into Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino airport after a rather bumpy flight from London. Unlike most other airports the plane parked at a satellite terminal and after we disembarked we had to catch a train to the main terminal.
The most notable memory of this airport was my daughter’s discovery of a salami shop.
We had booked a transfer to take us to the hotel the Roma Corso Trieste Mercure in Via Gradisca from the airport. It was a white air-conditioned van and so far we had avoided the heat.
One of the rooms had a faulty air conditioning an absolute must as the rooms were very hot without it and necessitated a room change which was done quickly and efficiently.
The hotel was in the suburbs and without a car we were dependent on public transport. According to the reception staff, there was a bus stop nearby, and a longer walk to the tram or light railway. The bus seemed to be the best option as it would take us to the central terminal near the railway station, where all tour buses also operated from, and particularly the open top buses that went to all the major tourist attractions.
That first day basically was given over to traveling, arriving by plane and settling into the hotel, thus we didn’t get to feel the force of the heat. That came the next day.
After a walk around the hotel precinct to get our bearings and see what shops and restaurants were available, on returning to the hotel we were faced with the limited choices of room service or to go out for dinner.
My daughter and l go for a long walk up Via Nomentana to find several shops and a restaurant. We went into the restaurant and sat down. We waited for 10 minutes and got no service nor did anyone come and ask us if we wanted to order food so instead we left somewhat disappointed and go next door to what seems to be the Italian version of a delicatessen and order sandwiches and beer. I bought a half dozen cans of Moretti beer two of which I drank on the way home.
It was still very hot even at eight at night and the sandwiches are delicious. It just might be by that time we were starving and anything would have tasted great.
The next morning we are up and ready to chance the weather and some history. Breakfast at the hotel is limited but very good.
We were going to use public transport and I’d studied up on the Internet.
Traveling on the bus required pre-purchase of tickets which could be bought in certain shops and locally when exploring the area near the hotel, l found a tobacconist.
Next, we needed to understand how to use the tickets. There was no one on the bus who could help so when l tried to scan the tickets and it failed, l gave up. We had the same issue each day and in the end, the tickets never got used.
The trip to central Rome by bus took about 15 minutes. In the morning it was reasonably cool and showed us a little of suburban Rome. We also saw the trams but we would not be able to use them because our hotel not on a direct route.
That first full day we decided to go and see the Vatican.
Not understanding buses and which one we needed to get to the Vatican, we took a taxi.
Wow. It was the metaphorical equivalent of driving over the edge of a cliff with a daredevil. It was quite literally terrifying.
Or maybe we just didn’t know that this was probably the way people drove in Rome.
Shaken but delivered in one piece we found ourselves in the square opposite St Peters Basilica.
The square is impressive, with the statues atop a circular colonnaded walkway. The church is incredible, and took a few hours to take in and to top off the day we did a tour of the Vatican museum which took the rest of the afternoon.
Then it was back to the delicatessen for more sandwiches and beer, and an interesting discussion with several elderly Italian ladies, of which I did not understand one word.
The second full day we decided to use one of the open top bus tours and eventually decided on the hop on hop off tour simply because the bus was at the central transport terminal for trains and buses and it was getting hotter.
Our first stop was the Colosseum. There were other monuments nearby, such as the Arch of Constantine, but as the heat factor increased we joined the queue to go into the Colosseum and gladly welcomed the shade once we got inside.
The queue was long and the wait equally so, but it was worth the wait. It would be more interesting if they could restore part of it to its former glory so we could get a sense of the place as it once was. But alas that may never happen, but even so, it is still magnificent as a ruin.
Outside in the heat, it was off to the ruins which were a longish walk from the Colosseum, taking Via Sacra, not far from the Arch of Constantine. This day in the walkway there were a number of illegal vendors, selling knockoff goods such as handbags and watches, and who, at the first sight of the police, packed up their wares in a blanket and ran.
Included in these ruins were The Roman Forum, or just a few columns remaining, the Palatine Hill, Imperial Fori, including the Forum of Augustus, the Forum of Caesar, and more specifically the Forum of Trajan. It was, unfortunately very hot and dusty in the ruins the day we visited.
We walked all the way to the Foro Romano and the Septimus Severo Arch at the other end of the ruins, past the Temple of Caesar. I found it very difficult to picture what it was like when the buildings were intact, so I bought a guide to the ruins which showed the buildings as ruins and an overlay of how they would have looked. The buildings, then, would be as amazing as the Colosseum, and it would have been interesting to have lived back then, though perhaps not as a Christian.
I lost count of the number of bottles of water we bought, but the word ‘frizzante’ was ringing in my ears by the end of the day. Fortunately, water did not cost a lot to buy.
At the end of the day, we caught the hop on hop off bus at the Colosseum and decided not to get off and see any more monuments but observe them from the bus. The only one I remember seeing was Circo Massimo. Perhaps if we’d know it was going to be twice as hot on the bus, yes, there was no air-conditioning; we may have chosen another form of transport to get back to the hotel.
The third and last day in Rome we decided to go to the Trevi Fountain, see the pantheon and walk up the Spanish Steps. We spent most of the morning in the cool of a café watching the tourists at the fountain. By the time we reached the top of the Spanish Steps, we were finished.
To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.
But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.
That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.
It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and was finally completed as Walthenson’s first case, ‘A Case of Working with the Jones Brothers’.
He has now embarked on his second adventure, as yet untitled, but the latest episode can be found here:
The first is here, for those who wish to start with the first episode of his first case:
My private detective, Harry Walthenson
I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.
But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modeled Harry and his office on it. Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.
Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life. I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breath life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.
I’ve managed to get some writing time for this story, mainly to keep continuity as it’s quite often lost when stretching it over a long period of time.
For a long time I always knew how the story would end, it was probably one of the few that I’ve written that had an ending in mind. Now, that’s all up in the air.
What had brought on the change of heart? It might be one of the hazards of being a pantser, which when I took to the notion I would finish it come this NaNoWriMo, and when I didn’t, realised something was fundamentally wrong.
Not with the story, but just how it would end, which for Marigold, will always be the same, but for the realm. The thing is, the deeper you dig into a story, the more people who are affected, and the different points of view, and variations on the story from kingdom to kingdom, the more the resolution is affected.
What’s good for one might not be the same for another, and once there are new variables, new people, now wishes are taken into account, the more impossible the job is. And especially for a young princess who just came of age, and had no experience of a world beyond her own orbit.
In a way it reflects the world on my eldest granddaughter, for whom it was written, and her life has changed as much momentously as had Marigold’s. Different people, different ages, different times, that transition from wide eyed child to difficult teenager wasn’t as hard as I remembered it, but then things were different when I was young.
And perhaps more telling, not a princess either.
For the word counters, another 4,258 words this session, for a total of 144,369.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
Perhaps it was.
© Charles Heath 2020-2021
Coming soon. Find the above story and 49 others like it in:
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 