Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
20
Phobias
“Noo, you musta closa the door immediatamente! The waspez, they are too dangerous
heera, we cannot usa the decka.”
Shocked by his sudden outburst we rushed back in to take cover from this lethal variety
of drone insects, but to be honest, we couldn't see a single one. This normally shouldn't have
been a surprise because it was still only April where typical wasp sightings usually involve
the odd sleepy queen going about her business.
Nevertheless, signore , convinced that we were imminently about to endure a mass aer-
ial attack of deadly proportions, dashed over, slammed the doors and locked them securely.
I've always thought that the Italians have a tendency towards melodrama. Surely a spot
of citronella would do the trick in gaining the upper hand in this battle against the insects?
Our host obviously had a very different opinion. He'd now worked himself up into such a
state of Italian flux (with wild arm gesturing and eyebrows dashing up and down) that I de-
cided to leave the matter of wasp-management counselling until later.
Jack, on the other hand, presumably due to overexposure to what was becoming an in-
terminable supply of eccentrics, was nudging empty on his international diplomacy gauge.
He gazed towards the ceiling in wonder.
“If only the French generals had known about this particular Italian phobia,” he
muttered to himself, “they could have planted a few wasp nests on the Franco/Italian border
and gone back to having a decent two-hour lunch.”
Fortunately his remarks were not overheard.
All in all, this part of the tour was a bit disappointing. Nevertheless, from the safety of
the salon, it was clear to see that the sun deck and smallish swimming pool were lovely. The
deck was designed rather like the prow of a ship that pointed towards the land and moun-
tains beyond. The views were breathtaking and promised great potential for use by people
who did not suffer from wasp phobias.
Having completed our tour of the house, Charles suggested we have a quick look at the
gatekeeper's lodge. I nodded, ignoring Jack's comment of “which gate?” and sought out the
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