Burano

On a dull, damp day we crossed the lagoon to visit the island of Burano

where the houses are so colourful that they can brighten the most miserable weather.

Burano was a fishing island and the story goes that the houses were painted in individual colours so that the sailors would recognise their own home when returning from sea. When I first visited, almost half a century ago, things were not as colourful as now!

It was high tide and in places the water lapped the edges of the pavement.

 Some of the houses had fitted flood gates to their doors.

My raincoat fitted in well!

Oops, the tower has a bit of a lean!

Not every house had been lavished with colourful attention.

But the patina of neglect has it's own beauty.

There were plenty of little alleyways and corners to explore.

And one brave soul had hung their washing out!

What's not to like!

Life is unpredictable

This morning's post brought a letter from a building society offering me a funeral plan. The letter began "Life is unpredictable..." Oh, please, don't make me laugh because it's painful. I've got a fractured rib and an aching, bruised body. I've been on a diet of painkillers for days. What an ironic letter, because on the fifth of October I was pretty sure that my number was up.
Our daughters and their partners lead busy lives and we are rarely all together in the same place. But last week was my birthday and the celebrations had been planned and eagerly anticipated for months. I had booked an apartment in Venice, my favourite city, and the family had booked time off work to join me. We were driving on a clear stretch of dual carriageway an hour or so after leaving home when a car drove straight out of a side road without stopping. Himself was driving my car, small and handy for street parking, and I was in the passenger seat. I just had time to say, "They're not stopping," and to think, 'why now?' before there was an almighty collision and we ended up, luckily, on the central grass reservation. The fire brigade cut off my door while a very kind stranger, who had been driving behind us, came and held my head still until the ambulance arrived. Many, many thanks to him. I was strapped on a body board and head support and whisked to hospital for a series of X-rays. My car is a right off and I consider myself very lucky to be alive, with, hopefully, no lasting damage.
Note to all blogging friends, ALWAYS WEAR YOUR SEATBELT and be sure to drive a car that has LOTS OF AIRBAGS.
Anyway, I thought that I might as well ache and eat painkillers in Venice as at home so I got whizzed through the airport in a wheelchair. Wee One, who works in the NHS, looked after me wonderfully. On my birthday I got to blow out the candles on the breakfast buns.

I had a stab at it anyway, but deep breathing is sore!

The apartment was lovely, which was a good job because I spent a lot more time in it than I had intended!

Some of the days were wet, but it's a city of water, impossible to be spoilt by a bit of rain.

I sat on the water bus and took a great many lopsided photos of palazzos on the Grand Canal (and, yes, I might just bore you with them all.)

We took a ferry to cross the Grand Canal. Venetians stand, but a rather large American by the name of Dave came on board and threatened to land us in the water so we thought it best to sit down!

Talking of bicycles....

Before we left for Yorkshire we were invited for drinks at The Hall in Bradford-on-Avon, which was the home of Dr Alex Moulton, the creator of  Moulton bicycles.  The Hall is an Elizabethan mansion, built around 1610 on an older building; some of the walls at the rear of the property are from the medieval period. The property was bought by the Moulton family in 1848 and the fancy renaissance south front was rebuilt in the 1850's. A number of stone fragments are now dotted about the garden.

Possibly a rather spooky place to wander around alone at dusk!

Something altogether more modern was on display on the terrace, an eye-wateringly expensive Moulton bicycle. It was surrounded by a small group of men looking like children in a sweet shop.
Come on, boys, get a grip!

Did we want to see the workshop? Yes, please!

It is housed in the stable block. Sadly, no photography was allowed, but I can tell you that  these state of the art, of the moment bicycles are created in the most old-fashioned, positively Dickensian environment. Some of the tools looked as though they had been made during the Industrial Revolution, others had been created or adapted in Heath-Robinson fashion. I loved it!

Back at the house I had a little wander around. Can you see the wall decoration?

Lovely murals depicting The Hall and it's occupants.

When we went home to our little cottage it seemed to have shrunk. But on the plus side it's cozy and warm and there's nothing scary in the garden!