Yeah yeah. Back again. It's cold outside, it's raining, the heating's on inside, and the computer's available. This had better not become a habit.
So what does a boofy Old English Sheepdog get up to in Castinforintinosomething or whatever this village is called? For starters, he has a look around:
Note the vertically-challenged Barbra having a close-up squiz at a cold, hard lump of stone. She seeks out these kindred spirits.
While she communes with a fellow traveller, I, from my lofty heights, muse on distant horizons:
Is that Arezzo in the far, far distance, I asked myself, on the horizon, in the saddle in the hills, about a third of the way across from the left in this snap I took with my trusty Kodak Bow Brownie?
There was only one way to find out. Ask the locals:
"Si, certo, Dermott!", said the locals. It was, indeed, Arezzo.
So that's how to win friends in a foreign country in a village with an unpronounceable name. Show an interest in the place.
While Barbra's contribution to international relations is to catch 'flu and give it to the locals. Hasn't she heard of a warm pair of wellies?
And she wonders why she's friendless in Castinetforitenosomething.