I like the Brazilian song Águas de Março (The Waters of March) sung by the lovely Elia Regina.
I often hear it on Italian radio or Italian tv, especially at this time of year. The words sound deceptively Italian in parts.
March is a wet and tempestuous month here. It’s muddy too!
Many Italian cities have very charming and civilized cobble-stoned streets, but move away from the town centres – it need not be very far away – and you’ll find very primal soggy, boggy quagmires that are supposed to serve as carparks or walkways.
It’s no coincidence that one of the first words I learnt when I came here was fango (mud).
My local swimming pool, which is not far from the city centre, has a particularly sorry parking area.
It can’t be practical to have patrons stomping lumpy, clumpy mounds of mud into the swimming centre.
Why can’t they pave the carpark or fling some gravel down? Can’t they make a pretence at being civilized?