Colour my world

The independence of our own transport again and the whole of Le Marche at our disposal, and what did we do? Yes, we went shopping.

Part of this was necessity, as Bella and Harry were soon to be on starvation rations. Now they have 15kg to get through, which should last them some time, as well as chews, a couple of new toys and a new drinking bowl for the veranda. We need this last item as Harry has the happy habit of tipping over the current bowl, which was cheap and lightweight for travelling, emptying the water then picking it up and running round the garden with it. The new one is made to imitate a large pebble, so is hard to rock from side to side and is too wide for his jaws to grasp.

Besides the pet shop, we also went next door to Aqua e Sapone. This is a wonderful chain specialising in all things to do with cleaning and bodily requirements; whatever you need to spruce up either your house or yourself you can find there, and at a good price too. It may sound like small beer, the excitement of having a choice of floor cloths, but to some of us it’s like heaven.

In the afternoon we turned our attention to sartorial issues when Stephen took me to a small shopping complex in Civitanova Marche, not far from the beloved Cuore Adriatico. My mission was twofold: to get a pair of shoes and to brighten up my wardrobe. It occurred to be earlier in the week that all my clothes seem a bit on the dark side – muted grey, blue, greyie-blue and bluey–grey with the odd splash of red and the obligatory black. When I mentioned this at the pub on Thursday, Andy (one of the very nice chaps from Kurt Geiger – there, I’ve let it slip) said that your eye for colour changes when you’re somewhere hot and sunny; there may be something in this as, funnily enough, my colour palette never bothered me in Ramsbottom.

Anyway, the outcome of the expedition was a success, as I came away with an orange polo shirt, a lime green t-shirt, pale green linen shorts, a white linen shirt, powder blue suede driving shoes and a short sleeved washed out denim shirt, which Stephen says looks like I could have worn it in Ibiza in the 80s. The Italians will most likely think one of three things when they see me coming in all my rainbow splendour: 1) My goodness, doesn’t that man know how to dress – I wonder who his tailor is? 2) What does he think he looks like – hasn’t he heard the phrase ‘age appropriate’? 3) Oh no, not another Englishman who thinks wearing pastels makes him look continental.

This evening we had a wander round the town square to check what was afoot with MSP’s historical weekend and saw a small troupe gathering by the church with mediaeval instruments and what looked like juggling batons, which may at some point have been set alight. It did all seem a bit earnest and as there was a glass of limoncello with my name on it calling, we decamped for coffee to the relative quiet of the pub.