Arriving home from queuing at the post office all afternoon in order to pay the alarmingly high electricity bill (don't they have direct debit in this country?) I noticed that the wisteria around the entrance to my building has come back into flower. It had a huge great go of things in May, blossom everywhere and a lovely scent assailing you every time you went in or out of the flat. Now it seems to be having a second bash at it, a more low-key affair this time round, a few flower heads here and there, but all the more welcome for the unexpectedness. I thought it would be too hot by now. Meanwhile the plumbago someone has planted in a pot on their windowsill is also in flower. It has always been a favourite of my mother's, though when I was a child I learned to remember the names of both plumbago and wisteria from their similarity to diseases, and some vague half-recalled taint of sickness lingers around the names in my mind.
All thoughts of flowering climbers were, however, immediately banished from my mind as I rounded the corner to where the portiere - the caretaker/ porter, here, not a goalkeeper - hailed me with a Roman bellow of Aaaòòòò signorì which I immediately and correctly took to understand that my parcel has arrived. And what lurks within this jiffy-bag of joy, you ask?
The new Harry Potter book, of course. WOOOOO. Obviously everyone has already finished it (by which I mean family, friends, people who have been carelessly posting right left and centre all over the interweb for the last week). Not expecting - foolishly and incomprehensibly - that the book would be available here in English on its launch date, I ordered it online. And, in a fit of virtue, not from Amazon or someone who would have delivered promptly, but from a local independent bookstore, in an ethically minded fashion. Hence the delay. I have had to be extremely careful to avoid spoilers. I will confess that in an agony of desperation I read the first three chapters standing up in Feltrinelli on Largo Argentina. And then made myself put it down.
What I would like to do is read it slowly and patiently, take my time, luxuriate in it (incidentally, my best ever compliment received from a non-native speaker of english, possibly translated via the power of babelfish: I luxuriated in our time together. Bless.) What is more likely to happen is that I will guzzle it all at a sitting and then wish I hadn't.
Anyway I am going to make a salami sandwich and get a beer out of the fridge and maybe sit on the balcony and start reading. If any fucker posts spoilers in my comments section I will slowly but comprehensively eviscerate them, ok?