To hell in a handcart.

Three interesting articles in yesterday's papers throw light on the current economic crisis. The article by Antonio Puri Purini in the Corriere della Sera, Dalla Finanza all' Antipolitica i Nemici della Moneta unica, identifies the two enemies of the single currency: international finance and the far right. The former object to the EU 'perché unica a mantenere un sistema non interamente dominato, grazie all’ economia sociale di mercato, dalla logica del profitto' [because it is the only one to maintain a system not entirely dominated by the logic of profit, thanks to its social market economy]. The leaders of the latter are the agents of international finance and their followers its dupes, driven by ignorance and fear.

An article by Philip Inman in the Guardian dissects the failures of Monetarism. Although its proponents' recipe for growth is cutting workers' terms and conditions it 'is alarming how easily monetarist ideas have prevailed …monetarists have convinced working people they are the reformers and that social democrat parties are a conservative barrier to recovery. Social democrats only seek to preserve the privileges and outmoded practices that got us into trouble, they argue.' And so the turkeys vote for Christmas, repeating Cameron's cry that it woz Gordon Brown wot got us in this mess, when in reality his mistake like that of 'Hank Paulson in the US and finance ministers across Europe of all political colours was to believe in the low regulation story and watch, with regulators at their side, as banks went on a lending spree.'

The third article, by Dominic Rushe JP Morgan investment boss Ina Drew quits over bank's $2bn losses, reminds us that the spree isn't over. The only block would be strong EU institutions opposed to 'una parte della finanza internazionale dominata da hedge funds aggressivi e insofferenti verso regole e freni, è inesorabilmente attratta verso la prospettiva del guadagno immediate' [the section of international finance dominated by aggressive hedge funds, intolerant of rules and restraints and inexorably attracted by the prospect of short-term gains]. No wonder they want to destroy first the single currency and the EU itself and reduce its workers to the miserable condition of Chinese coolies or Indian untouchables.

Llareggub's guidebook

I've often felt that Montefalcone is a cross between Hardy's Little Hintock, nestling amongst the woodlands, and Thomas's Llareggub, complete with a castle, lying below the bosom of Milk Wood. Like Little Hintock, Montefalcone is an achingly nostalgic anachronism in this rootless modern world, with its packed parish church and families who've lived here since the 16th century. Like  Llareggub in Mary Ann Sailors' closing pæan, we know Montefalcone is 'a God-built garden … [a] Heaven on earth and the chosen people of His kind fire in [its] land'.
  In an earlier post I referred to the visitor's guide book I've compiled. Yesterday Angela asked me to add three items to the guide. As her husband is financing its printing I could hardly refuse. However, the additions are making it increasingly resemble the spoof guidebook entry Thomas included in his play:

Less than five hundred souls inhabit the three quaint streets

and the few narrow by-lanes and scattered farmsteads that

constitute this small, decaying watering-place which may,

indeed, be called a 'backwater of life' without disrespect

to its natives who possess, to this day, a salty individuality

of their own. The main street, Coronation Street, consists,

for the most part, of humble, two-storied houses many of which

attempt to achieve some measure of gaiety by prinking

themselves out in crude colours and by the liberal use of

pinkwash, though there are remaining a few eighteenth-century

houses of more pretension, if, on the whole, in a sad state

of disrepair. Though there is little to attract the hillclimber,

the healthseeker, the sportsman, or the weekending motorist,

the contemplative may, if sufficiently attracted to spare

it some leisurely hours, find, in its cobbled streets and

its little fishing harbour, in its several curious customs,

and in the conversation of its local 'characters,' some of

that picturesque sense of the past so frequently lacking in

towns and villages which have kept more abreast of the times.

The River Dewi is said to abound in trout, but is much poached.

The one place of worship, with its neglected graveyard, is of

no architectural interest.

When you bear in mind that I'd unconsciously echoed Under Milk Wood in my guide's opening words - 'Montefalcone Appennino may have fewer than 500 inhabitants' - and it now contains the following item added at the Avvocato's request, I think I can rest my case:

L’Osteria Quintilia. The former tavern boasts a bar counter and glass cabinets dating back to 1907. Until the retirement of the owner, Signora Mercuri, its restaurant - part of the Slow Food movement - enjoyed a region-wide reputation. Although the tavern is no longer open for business, if she is at home Signora Mercuri is happy to show the traditional bar to visitors.

http://www.jamesrichards.eu/The_Pool_of_Narcissus/Welcome.html

No country for old men

Yeats may have been right in thinking that Byzantium, or the New Rome, was no country for old men, but the same does not apply to what was once the heartland of the Western Empire. Italy's former priapic premier is far from being the country's only elderly politician.
   Today's Corriere carried a news-item  about the 95 year old retired doctor, Mario Spallone, currently standing for election as mayor of Avezzano in the Province of L'Acquila. Although he was the late leader of the Communist Party, Palmiro Togliatti's, personal physician he is not, as one might have expected, standing as a candidate of the left. "Io sono communista … Io non ho niente a che fare con quella robaccia del PD!" [I'm a communist … I've nothing in common with that rubbish in the Democratic Party]. I guess he feels the same way about the PD as I do about New Labour.
   His interviewer expressed astonishment at the unrepentant Stalinist's claim that he would be helped in his electoral campaign by the late Padre Pio. "E certo! Padre Pio morì tra le mia braccia, e io sono suo figlio spirituale. E lui mi aiuterà a vincere queste elezioni. Lui può …" [It's a sure thing! Padre Pio died in my arms and I'm his spiritual son. And he'll help me to win these elections. He really can …]
    And so, dear reader, you can see why I like living in Italy so much: it's full of crazy old men just like me.