Rome Letter: The scent of jasmine in the evening air, the steady purr of garden sprinklers, the stirring sight of a thousand belly buttons and the not so edifying sight of a thousand knobbly knees all tell us one thing - summer is upon us, writes Paddy Agnew.
Now, dear reader, let me remind you about summer. This is, of course, a season unknown to Irish mankind when windows are shuttered up to keep the heat out, when mosquitoes re-enact the Battle of Britain on unprotected flesh, and when you keep the lawn nice and green only by the daily irrigation of about half the quantity of water in the Nile valley.
Summer, too, is the season when gardeners tend to get busy. To be fair, the Baroness gardener around here has been busy for some while. Preparations were made during the unusually long, late, wet and cold springtime. Lawns were dug up, terraced and replanted, box loads of flowers planted everywhere barring the tooth brush beaker and husband of Baroness sent off in the pouring rain in search of 200 "sanpietrini" (cobblestones to you).
Once a source of the latter was identified, all that remained was to haggle about the price (Baroness business that) and then load them into the back of the car. Given that each cobblestone weighed roughly as much as a bag of cement, it only took four trips and half a day in the ongoing downpour to bring home the booty. Soaked to the skin, with knuckles scraped and back wrecked, one is all too clearly reminded of the joys of gardening.
Local lore suggests that a cold winter and long, late, wet spring will be followed by a long, hot summer. So far, that long term forecast is holding good. After a winter which saw the coldest night recorded in Rome city for more than 200 years (around here 55 kilometres north of the city, we were regularly below zero at night), the first blast of summer heat has come on strong and welcome.
Almost overnight, it seems, we are back at the evening round of watering not to mention tinkering with moveable sprinklers and the permanent watering system in an effort to keep plants, flowers and grass alive. For those unfamiliar with such foreign practises, let me explain.
Basically, the sprinkler nozzle never quite does what a Baroness requires. There is always room for adjustment. This requires husband of Baroness to poke a screwdriver into the nozzle in order to change direction, quality and quantity of spray.
Sounds simple? Sure. The really good part is that you can only adjust the nozzle whilst it is running.
If you are clever, you can avoid being sprayed by the nozzle you are working at but even a Mr Bean style, madcap, zig-zag dash will not save you from a soaking from the other nozzles (the little blighters run simultaneously, of course). Conclusion - water systems only to be adjusted when wearing wet suit, flippers and snorkel.
Summer time is, too, the season of forest fires. We had one in the wood behind the house two years ago. As a result of that, the town council (commune) decreed that the wood should be "cleaned". This effectively means chopping down four out of five trees to make the wood "fireproof".
The result is a horrid, but necessary (so say the local experts). Where once there was the wood, there is now a sort of post-Mons, first World War landscape.
One is also cheerfully assured that, given the upheaval and damage to reptile habitats, we can expect more than our usual supply of thirsty snakes to drop in on us for afternoon tea on the watered lawn.
Another splendid consequence of the wood "cleaning", too, is that bird life has been greatly disturbed. Where once there was only the odd finch and pigeon to leave its little visiting card on the clean car, now we have a full range of North Lazio bird life in the garden, shouting and roaring at us from the lime trees from four in the morning onwards and leaving their little offerings all over the place.
I almost forgot to mention, of course, the other great joy of summer, namely the beach. Before making an appearance on the beach, however, one must first deal with one's little "pancetta" (potbelly) or risk creating a very "brutta figura". Thus, we are on a Baroness-ordered diet of salads and no wine. Bellisimo. Aren't you lucky not to have summer in Ireland?