Verucca!

There's a first time for everything, and today was the first time I have frozen a verucca. I've got a verucca between my little and fourth toes. It's quite painful, and today I summoned up the courage to use the freezing kit I bought from the chemist three weeks ago. "You MUST read all the instructions before proceeding" said the diktat. "Do not apply to broken or inflamed skin, apply for 30 seconds mininum but not more that 40 seconds" Do not, do not, so many do nots. "Do not use if not possessed of nerves of steel" it should say. Now I live in fear that I've done something wrong, that my toe will fall off or I'll get blood poisoning, etc etc. I don't need to go base-jumping or sky-diving; just burning off a verucca gives me all the thrills I need. The fun never falters at the far-out pa. (Perhaps I should use this as my blog intro.)
    Verucca is a lovely name for a gross, warty thing. It sounds like the name of a transgender super-model from somewhere like Bosnia-Herzgovnia. Move aside, Andrej, make way for Verucca.
   
    One year ago today, I was in Galzignano,  a smallish town in the Venetian Hills. It was my rest day on an eight-day walk, and fortuitously, the only day it rained. I spent the day in the hotel, the morning lying in bed trying to read Italian Vogue, the afternoon napping. My feet hurt, so did my old arthritic body, but most of all I remember lunchtime, not because of what I ate (which was excellent) but because of my fellow guests in the hotel restaurant. A large group of family and friends had gathered to celebrate a boy's first communion. They were all beautifully dressed and beautifully behaved. No one got drunk, or threw up, or did stupid embarrassing things to the guest of honour. The adults enjoyed themselves, the kids enjoyed themselves and I enjoyed myself. And wished New Zealanders could be more like them.