Pressure drop

A stcky night followed by an unctuous day that turned hot as we motored down tiny back roads to the airport. I dropped The Boss off, Embra bound, and skedaddled along dual carriageways and the motorway back to the climb up to the Consuma.

From Frescobaldi I saw a huge wall of ochre muddy cloud battering its way down the Arno valley. in less than an hour the temperature fell from 28C on the Fiorentine plain to 9C at the height of the Consuma. Rain crashed down and a breaking horizontal line of lightning - un fulmine - scared the living wits out of me. (Extra added - it seemed ochre at the time but the photo recalls it more slate/payne's grey)

I was reminded of all those winter drives back and forth across the pass when I seemed the only lone fool traveller risking all. Or so it seemed.

This is the view across the valley from the house  to the new agriturismo of Quata with a lovely pool.

The motorway was full of German cars belting south for the less crowded beaches and vistas of September Tuscany. Schadenfreude, you current account surplus, beggar-my-neighbour, ordoliberals, I  shouted  somewhat halfheartedly.

Tomorrow there is an artisan's fair in our nearby village of Prato di Strada - the'meadow of strada' - an ancient autumn marketplace.

The forecast is for merciless rain.

Oh gods forebear.