The swimming pool at sunset
The swimming pool has now been cleaned by the robot and filled to the correct level.
The pump still has to be started and the fine particles, stirred up by the robot, hopefully cleared by the sand filter.
But I’m getting nearer to the point of being able to go in.
It would have been nice to swim at sunset today and break through those cloud reflections!
View of the pool tarpaulin
At last the weather has become just about warm enough to take the tarpaulin off the outside swimming pool.
The weird landscape in the photo is actually the surface of the tarpaulin. The hillock in the middle is made by one of the ice-expansion-compensators floating on the water underneath. The dark patches are fallen leaves.
When the tarpaulin is rolled back, all the water lying on top of it accumulates and is then too heavy to lift over the rim of the pool. I actually got into the pool and tried pushing it from inside, but it didn’t work. The only thing to do is to drain the water by means of a syphon.
Kepler had a wonderful time playing with the jet of water as it was syphoned off and then dashing in and out of the folds of the tarpaulin where it lay on the ground.
… bowl of cherries!
Hardly.
But anyway, our cherry lady was in her usual place today. It’s the first time we’ve seen her this season.
A bowl of cherries
These particular cherries aren’t Durone di Cesena but earlier cropping ones. They’re almost as delicious.
The photo represents a kilo minus the ones we couldn’t help guzzling in the car on the way home.
Clive is at last due to leave the Lymphedema Clinic in Germany where he’s been for 11 weeks.
I travelled there on Monday 14th with the Italian Croce Bianca (White Cross), leaving just before 10.00 am and arriving at about 7.00 pm.
We went the fastest route, which is notorious for a very long stretch of badly pot-holed road.
There was snow on the peaks in Switzerland, and smooth green meadows and dreamy blue lakes lower down.
Dreamy blue lake in Switzerland
I tried to phone Clive just before our arrival but I couldn’t get a proper signal so he had quite a surprise!
The Lymphedema Clinic where Clive is receiving his treatment is a relatively old building which he’s been told was once a Sanatorium for children with tuberculosis.
This may or may not be relevant.
Does something like this inhabit the cafeteria?
In any case, Clive has heard someone or something moving furniture around in the cafeteria in the middle of the night, around 3.00 am one night and at 3.40 am last night/this morning. The room is locked. There’s a way into it off a shared balcony, but that’s blocked off.
He’s not the only one to hear this disturbance. Other patients have heard it and he’s discovered that it’s a recognised phenomenon of the place. In fact it’s been named the Feldberg Ghost or, more correctly, ‘Der Feldberger Geist’.
Clive could hardly be more cynical about such things, but he hasn’t been able to come up with an explanation.
Could it be a poltergeist or something of the kind?
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