What's in a name?

For the second time in two days we found ourselves in Cuore Adriatico, on this occasion it was to complete what we started on Sunday. So punctual were we that we had to wait for the doors to open (9 am – yes, so late; not like Retail World Britain) and the assistant in the Vodafone shop had not yet changed into his corporate t-shirt.

He did look a little surprised to have a customer so early, but dealt with us efficiently. Unlike his colleague from our previous visit, he did manage to walk around and sort us with a sim card rather than just sit on the stool behind the cash till looking like he would much rather be playing Grand Theft Auto.

A quick coffee and we were off up the autostrada to Ancona Airport, which is why were able to stop off at the mall, with it being sort of on the way. Stephen had to collect Chris, one of his shoe people associates who used to work for Kurt Geiger and now operates freelance in various guises. He flew in from Stanstead to visit the factory for a couple of days and was joined in the afternoon by three young entrepreneurs from Bolton, who are looking for some shoes to add to their Internet clothing line, which is also sold in various trendy outlets that we old people never frequent. For some reason best known to themselves, they decided to fly from Manchester to Ancona via Munich. This may have been an error of judgement, as one of the lad’s cases went to Monaco – which, I guess, is almost an anagram. They have quickly been dubbed Take That by the ones in the factory who have their fingers firmly on the pulse of what’s trending, though in their uniform black hoodies they look more like a photo opportunity for David Cameron.

The afternoon was one of horrendous rain but fortunately it cleared in time for Stephen to pick me up to join Take That, Chris and Luca (the boss) at the pub for a drink in the evening sunshine. After this we went to eat at Arco, Luca’s current favourite restaurant, which is in the old village square of Magliano in Tenna – Stephen left his car at the bottom of the cobbled incline rather than have to manoeuvre in the limited space. You could tell it’s posh, as not only did the young, slightly nervy waiter who looked like Mrs Overall’s grandson wear a long white wraparound apron but also there was no television! As we were with Luca, we had the obligatory Florentina, though there was some fine lamb for the less sanguineous of us, both of which had been cooked over an open fire in the dining room, the restaurant’s USP. One can’t help feeling, however, that Take That would have preferred something with chips. Still, at least I got to polish off the expensive wine – next time, Stephen, I’ll drive.

P.S. I’ve just been told that Monaco is actually Munich in Italian and not a tax haven by the sea; the case hadn’t actually been redirected incorrectly, they just hadn’t bothered sending it anywhere.