Sand in my paws

2nd June and a Public Holiday here in Italy. Apparently, it is Republic Day; hence the reason why the news was full of soldiers in plumed hats parading, with something approaching precision, in Rome and various provincial cities and towns. The Italians have a jolly wheeze, called The Bridge, where these holidays are concerned. It goes something like this: if the holiday falls on a Thursday or a Tuesday, then you also take off the day sandwiched between it and the weekend as an extra day, thus having a four day break. Don’t be fooled into thinking that this is an ad hoc arrangement, as official institutions like schools and colleges follow it. If only British bank holidays weren’t always on a Monday…

And how did we spend out Republic Day? We went to the beach, of course. Well, when I say we went to the beach, we actually spent an hour there first thing so that Harry could get a good run and both he and Bella could be introduced to the sea before it grew too hot. So it was that we sneaked quietly out of the house at something gone six o’clock and headed to Pedaso, forty minutes away. It was glorious; cool enough for the dogs to walk comfortably and with just a few other early risers walking or setting up for a morning on the beach or coming in from a fishing trip (two of whom seemed to have made their daily catch from a pedalo).

Bella took the whole experience with her usual sang-froid, while Harry assumed his default position, which was to growl threateningly at the sea then back off hurriedly when the waves rippled onto the shore. He did, with some coaxing, eventually come paddling with us, even making it up to his undercarriage, but when we made him to take his paws off the sand he quickly dog paddled back to safety.

A quick stop for a brioche and cappuccino (the latter allowed because the morning was still in single numbers) and it was home before 10 to shower and change for our appointment with Luca – another one, this time it was Luca the pork butcher and friend of Samuel who had houses to show us. When I had been told this, stupidly I thought it meant he could let us into houses to view them but not so. As with most of my other experiences of looking for a house it meant looking at secluded properties, half hidden down roads that were little more than scree. At least by now we are so used to the scraping of the car on the rocks and stones that is causes little more than a slight wince. Besides, we do have the escape clause that Avis gave us a duff motor in the first place.

As for the houses, Luca number three did show us a range, one in particular that Stephen was very much taken by, as indeed was I. It was an utterly charming 200 year old villa of pleasing proportions and fine old wooden shutters way down a crumbling road. If we were in a Richard Curtis romcom, we would have bought it despite the crippling price, and in a few moments of montage photography we would have thrown open the shutters while a becoming village girl swept clouds of dust into the dancing sunlight, selected surprisingly available antiques and objets d’art from a local flea market and within minutes the house would have been miraculously transformed into a bijou b&b. Unfortunately, in real life we had to face the fact that it was completely impractical and move on.

We did see a promising house not far outside of MSP in the small village of Alteta, one that has a good view and shows potential – at least from the outside. Luca said he would see what he could find out. As the family has recently moved from the area, we will have to wait and see but at least there is something else of interest.