Life is a minestrone

Three years ago, almost to the day, Great Britain experienced sporting success at the Olympics; today we had our own Golden Saturday though on a somewhat more domestic scale. Before we get to the finer details, however, I feel that I need, in the public interest, to offer a warning to all my readers so that they do not suffer the trauma that befell Stephen this morning.

I had wondered, when we were at Aqua e Sapone a few days ago, why Stephen was buying hair dye, being follicly challenged up top and the idea of him suddenly appearing with a jet black beard was just plain bizarre. The answer came when, after a somewhat prolonged stint in the bathroom, he appeared looking like an extra emerging from the mine’s lift cage in ‘How Green Was My Valley’. The dye was neither for his head nor his beard, but for his chest – what he had failed to realise, however, was that it would colour not only the hair but the skin as well. How he managed to get it on his arms as well as his torso I will leave for you to imagine, but please before you too decide to dabble in home hairdressing, take a look at this advice Hair Colouring and make sure you buy a product written in a language of which you possess a modicum of understanding.

Having resorted to spring wear despite the blazing temperatures in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment, we headed to the Comune and another tête-à-tête with Fiorenza, this time to collect my identity card. Stephen exchanged pleasantries with a couple of his fellow habitués before heading into Fiorenza’s office. She smiled and greeted us, looking as coolly elegant as usual, before disappearing into her inner sanctum. I wondered what the delay was, but I shouldn’t have been so pessimistic because after a few moments she started shouting out questions - how tall am I, what colour are my eyes, do I prefer tea or coffee, which is my favourite Teletubbie – just the usual commonplace stuff needed to fill in a proof of identity so, should you be stopped by the police, you can prove who you are.

To our amazement, in little more than ten minutes we were leaving the Comune, my carta d’identita clasped to my bosom. Previous experience meant we were prepared this time and were able to pay the €5.37 without resorting to raiding the local bar. Funnily enough, all those details we had been told were vitally important, such as proof of my parents’ names, had been dismissed with a flick of the wrist, as had the visit of the Guardia to check we were really living in MSP. Maybe it was all part of the test: if we were persistent and kept showing up on a Saturday morning, maybe that was proof enough that we really were here to stay. All we need to do now is return when we are in residence in our house so our address can be updated – which is a whole new nest of bureaucratic unravelling lying in wait for us.

In the afternoon we went to see our friend Mr Pompei and, after the final documents were signed, the keys were handed over and the Fiat 4x4 Panda Cross (the Cross is important) became ours at last. Mr P’s handsome son gave us a quick run down of its workings (which is just as well as the manual, we later discovered, is in Spanish – at least in Italian we could have had a stab at understanding it) and we were off. Well I was. It fell to me to drive the pristine vehicle home as Stephen was too wary of the responsibility. Fortunately, there was a petrol station just next to the car dealership as, unlike in Britain, it is not the custom to give you a full tank of petrol with a new car. In fact, I was dubious that I would actually make it to the petrol pump before spluttering to a standstill as the orange warning light glowed spookily the moment I switched on the engine.

But make it we did, and I have to say we are very pleased with our choice, despite the contortions we had to go through to get it - I sometimes think life in Italy is like living on a glacier - everything goes quiet then there's a sudden juddering that could take you either backwards or forwards. I 'd like to say that it was worth the wait, but really we would have been just as appreciative of it several weeks ago and much better off without the expenses of the hire car - do you think, if we popped into the Comune, Fiorenza might be able to find the means to reimburse us?