Windy Sunday

The wind blows from the NE crossing the 80 mile wide Adriatic from Montenegro unimpeded. The whole East coast of Italy is golden beaches apart from the 500 square mile limestone clump that is the Gargano Peninsular rising sheer out of the sea up to 1,000 feet at its highest point.

Peschici clings like a limpet to this cliff and our house, Nido Aurora, is just 250 yards from the sea and 250 feet above the bay.

The wind thwarted by this blockage, buffets the house, the windows shake and it almost feels that the stone is moving.

For a small boat sailor the view is terrifying. Looking down at the lee shore, the scrotum tightening sea and the tight broadside turn against the waves to get into the shelter of the harbour, sends a shiver down the spine.


So we dress up in layers, woolly hats, gloves and off down the 350 steps to the harbour. When we get down to sea level, what felt like a gale from the house, is in fact a 6 gusting 7. Still, not one I would like to be out in.

We walk along the harbour wall, peep at the waves and then along to the bay. There we adopt the usual routine, pick up driftwood sticks to ward off the 2 dogs that protect the closed pizzeria and lido, then along the sand watching the spume blow across the beach like white balloons.


We head back home through the town and we are the only ones out. No cars, no pedestrians, not even a dog. The main street - Corso Garibaldi is deserted, just a street sweeper with his broom and dustpan.

Back to the house and an afternoon of planning the next Editorial Intelligence briefing at CASS business school on the 14th and the Taggs Island Management end of year accounts. Sadly, I still have to work on this trip.