The campo grande

A strange day whittled away by inconsequential necessities: I seemed busy and yet disinclined to be. Chores came and went but nothing seemed to grip. Until I fetched wood from the coppice felling I did earlier this year. But even then there was always something or someone asking questions or irritating the bejesus out of me.

Later we hear of nine cases in the village today just when you thought the lockdown had had some purpose. Fatigue, boredom, frustration and political opportunism stalk the land. And yet we, and most of Italy, waits.