The Fireman

A relative of the firm came today. He brought a large suitcase with a sort of Dyno-rod see-down-your-pipe camera. The camera revealed a straight run of concrete pipes with two intrusions of roots, a sharp slope and then 8m in blocked pipes.

It turned out the larger-than-life GP was also a local part-time fireman - his radio crackling away on his hip. He asked me if I knew any firemen in Scotland with whom he could do a shirt swop - fireman to fireman so to speak. I said I knew one in Kent.

Then I remembered that back in the day when I did a bit of mudlarking on the tidal Thames in London I had found a London Fire Brigade hat badge on a shingle bank.

At a quiet moment in the conversation I snuck away and amazingly found it. I gave it to him. For me it was a curiosity but for him a treasure, a part of that fireman brotherhood. Money can't buy this stuff, he more or less said. Well. He did say it.

It's funny to think that all those years ago wandering along the Thames bank that that badge should have finally found a home and, of all places, in Pratovecchio in the Casentino in Tuscany.

Despite the bright blue sky in the photo it was a bitingly  cold day. Four days of snow are now forecast. I'm away tomorrow to see my Mum in England and meet up with The Mucker chums.

The local council special commissione meets tomorrow, (one hopes/they should as they say in Italy hedging their bets) to decide on the roof. But we'll be looking at some internal work if the snow really does come. Bitter cold forecast for Sunday.