raining today (as he did all day yesterday) and although not cold you know what fun to go for samples with an umbrella in hand in the midst of all the other umbrellas (with their deadly treacherous dripping between neck and collar) and with your feet wet and cold marble? Come, people came to us at the festival, but it was not as it should go. What do you want, with the pale sun (although it does not heat, though it is autumn) would have been something else but that is gone and so should be taken: the Truffle Festival was half flop.
Note: the organizers have nothing to do anything, and nothing got to do the exhibitors, or shopkeepers, or those who set themselves to do the best to put together an event full of events and occasions, indeed, this year's festival seemed to me (or at least I think would have been) more complex, more varied, more comprehensive, more ... rain. The rain that had not been considered so persistent, intrusive, unpleasant, deterrence, and infinite.
Thus, most of those who had ascended, rock hard, ancient hill to German, eager to put to the test at least once their blood cholesterol (you know, with truffles chocolate, fennel, brawn, sausages of all types and then pecorino di fossa or wind, lard, mallegati the old way, and Sardinian nougat salsicciòli fat and seasoned to taste goes to the wedding but with blood values \u200b\u200bas we put it?) met at the end to return to the wet and fast cars squeezing tight (unoccupied umbrella in hand) the bag with small half-memories of the festival: the usual nooks of Frederick, a pound of finocchiona and small , rinvoltolato in a white paper towel that weighs more than him, tartufini representation, crooked, stunted hunchback and all that seems to require nothing more than to be left alone, in the midst of this turmoil, or that you just scratch the order of noodles, and you do not think more.
What can I say? There still a chance: the last chance. In short, it does not rain next Sunday, can not raining, it says the probability, they say the weather forecast, it complains about a call for justice and the hordes of traders, exhibitors, vendors and community leaders who saw in this last day of the Festival 'At their ransom. And then it also says a prophetic song that says, hopefully: "The drops fall but which - if you bathe a bit '- tomorrow the sun will warm us " and continues, confidently: "Do not Ludo, because life - is not over for those who believe in tomorrow "etc.. etc.. Here: we believe in tomorrow (or rather, in next Sunday) and for this we say: "Sunday in San Miniato all! Truffles! Truffles. "
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