To the mountains we go, and make the roads extra windy.
Keep the views pleasant, the neighbours friendly (and mostly four-legged). And since we’re within the valley, don’t forget the most rural of aesthetics: bad 80s music belted out from an unknown source, and wafted across on the breeze.
(Don’t know what it is about farm valleys on the continent, but there’s always one place far away that can’t get enough of power ballads. It’s like no music later than ’89 ever made it into the village).
And so they play on the summer evenings under the stars. The sound of crickets over the Summer of ’69.
Animals begging around the bbq. A trip to an Italian A&E.…well, at least it started off relaxing.