The wind roars up the road where I live. There is nothing much between here and Africa, Greece, or southern Europe, so the wind gets up a good head of steam over the surrounding sea, gathering pace unhindered, before clattering full tilt into
Gozo.
There are some unfinished apartments on my street. The buildings tend to be 3-4 storeys high, they build the shell and
leave the windows, plumbing and electrics until they get round to it, nothing is done in a hurry around here. As a result the buildings are full of holes, and when the wind comes whipping up here they act like giant flutes, musical houses.
The big holes for the French windows provide the bass notes, the smaller inlets for water pipes and smaller yet for electrics
supply the higher ones. Depending on the direction and strength of the wind the tunes will be different, sometimes deep and mournful, sometimes positively jaunty.
During the summer of course everybody has all their windows wide open. There is a lad who practises the trumpet, every day, from 5 - 5.30pm, he is getting rather good. My particular favourite was a man who came on holiday in the summer, and
for two weeks, to the accompaniment of clattering saucepans as he cooked his dinner, would sing opera, loudly and beautifully, in Italian.
Gozo.
There are some unfinished apartments on my street. The buildings tend to be 3-4 storeys high, they build the shell and
leave the windows, plumbing and electrics until they get round to it, nothing is done in a hurry around here. As a result the buildings are full of holes, and when the wind comes whipping up here they act like giant flutes, musical houses.
The big holes for the French windows provide the bass notes, the smaller inlets for water pipes and smaller yet for electrics
supply the higher ones. Depending on the direction and strength of the wind the tunes will be different, sometimes deep and mournful, sometimes positively jaunty.
During the summer of course everybody has all their windows wide open. There is a lad who practises the trumpet, every day, from 5 - 5.30pm, he is getting rather good. My particular favourite was a man who came on holiday in the summer, and
for two weeks, to the accompaniment of clattering saucepans as he cooked his dinner, would sing opera, loudly and beautifully, in Italian.