Things can only get better

After a few weeks with nothing much to show, things have taken another shunt forward with the house – though I do miss the hole. This disappeared on Monday when the plumber worked his socks off and finished stage one of his contribution to La Casa dei Due Baffi. All the new pipes are in as are the fixtures for the shower, sink, toilet and bidet. There was a definite feel that the depths had been plumbed and it was onwards and upwards towards the light at the end of the tunnel. How’s that for a mixed metaphor?

Which brings us to Tuesday and a glorious day of blue skies and sunshine befitting to my birthday, which started with cards from Stephen and Bella and Harry. This sounds fairly standard, and indeed it would be in the UK, but in Italy finding any greeting cards at all is a major task and finding ones that you would actually want to send is nigh impossible. So thank you Bella and Harry for spending all that time finding two lovely cards for you and your dad to send.

Mid-morning Stephen took me to the house to give me my gift. Now, bearing in mind this is my first present since we were married and knowing how apocryphal it is that husbands are terrible present buyers, it should come as no surprise that he bought me a washing line. Before you sympathise too much, I have to say that, even more sadly, I was very excited by it because it is not just any washing line but one custom made by Franco. What makes this so special is that it’s like a giant trolley which I can wheel in or out of the sun as required, and even (with a bit of a heave) wheel into the garage in the event of rain. Eat your heart out, Nigella.

We went to the pub for my birthday tea– where else could we take the dogs and walk home afterwards? Tortellini boscaiola with extra salsiccia, one of their wonderful dark chocolate deserts that is like a mini sacher torte and a bottle of wine was a fine way to spend the evening. I did, however, make one error when I went off-piste and asked for an amaretto with my coffee instead of the usual limoncello and was presented with something that looked like amaretto and vaguely smelt of amaretto but tasted of nothing. Stephen said it was probably because no one had ordered it since Teresa opened it at Christmas – we’re just not sure which Christmas.

Things got really exciting on Wednesday when not only two builders but also a painter turned up at the house. The builders set to reconstructing the bathroom walls and floor now that the plumber has set the pipes while the painter looked a bit nonplussed by having to work in what he considered a building site. Not only this, but he seemed puzzled when Stephen asked him what sort of white he was going to use, there being, apparently, only one – try telling that to Dulux. And as for removing and painting the radiators, that again seemed to come as news to him; maybe Corrado, the boss man, forgot to mention it when delivering the design brief. I suppose the consolation is that things, as D-Ream said, can only get better.

To give him his due, though, when we returned in the evening (the first time in the dark – and fortunately with a clear sky and a full moon you can just about see your way up the steps to the front door) the cracks in the snug and the study/guest room had miraculously disappeared. The painter had, however, with what appears to be his trademark lugubrious demeanour, informed Stephen earlier in the day that when there is an earthquake they’ll all come back.

Talking of returns, we had to make a quick trip to Cuore Adriatico in the morning to see the nice young man at the Vodaphone shop as my bog-standard cheap Samsung was refusing to open until someone entered the ‘Phone Lock’ code. Why it had closed in the first place I have no idea, and I am not about to blame Stephen who was the person who opened the phone to find the request (as we all know how he never, ever breaks things) but seeing as I had not actually entered a phone lock code we were a bit stumped. And so, it turned out, was Mr Vodaphone 2015, who said that he could not unlock it and the only option was to buy a new one. How’s that for a jolly wheeze to up sales figures. I suppose the good news is that I now have a phone with a coloured screen; beat that, kids.

After a run of fine days the weather broke on yesterday, which was grey and damp. The odd thing about this was that rather than making me feel glum it cheered me up as I realised that I do really belonged in MSP: the sunshine of summer felt like being on holiday, the drizzle of autumn feels like real life. Either that or it fooled me into thinking I was back in Lancashire.

Yesterday was another busy day at the house, with the builders and the painter pressing on with what was necessary. Stephen also had an appointment with a man, recommended by Dream Ceramiche, to clean and polish the floors, but not till after the super Mario brothers (and I really mean that) mounted another rescue operation. This time Marco, the head builder, managed to get almost to the top of the road before he decided to slide back down – with an elegant variation. Most people are content to give up the ghost and gently roll back to the bottom and await International Tractor Rescue but he thought it would be more fun if he veered sideways into the maize field and took down a few innocent vegetable bystanders in the process. It was Luigi rather than Mario who pulled the errant vehicle back onto the straight and narrow, but did so with the brothers’ trademark flashing smile and good humour.

Despite this mishap, work has continued on the house and I am able to report following my visit this evening that two whole rooms have been painted (and what a difference it makes to them) while the bathroom has been plastered and there are now no untoward views into any other part of the house. Now that is what I call progress.