It’s that time of year again. Aldo was summoned to the olive mill at six this morning to watch 330kg of our olives being squashed and line up the bottles to be filled. He predicts that we’ll need another two bookings at the mill as the faster olives move from tree to mill the better the oil. For the last two days Jasper and I worked as a team, with Aldo up a ladder working on different trees. Unfortunately my competitive spirit reared its ugly head, coolly observed by the infinitely more evolved person working with me. He said that competing for quantities of olives picked was a “sad” idea, and filled in the time by stopping up some of the gaps in my woefully incomplete knowledge of history.
“So what do you really KNOW about Julius Caesar?” he asked me, leaning back on the branch of our tree whilst I leapt about, trying to get those difficult ones high up.
My answer was vague. “Apart from Et tu, Brute? Um, well, emperor?” He almost fell off his branch with shock, “well, let’s see, ruler?” So as I picked olives he began the slow and daunting prospect of educating his mother.