All in the family

I could say that it is a little odd being here in MSP without Stephen while he’s in Leyburn sorting out all the various things that need to be done following his mother’s passing, but really I’m lucky to be here at all considering the unhelpfulness of the Italian road system.

I drove Stephen to Ancona airport on Thursday afternoon after a hasty lunch, as there was no way Flavia was letting him depart for a heathen country (i.e. anywhere that isn’t Italy) without a full stomach of pasta. I deposited him safely around 2pm then left for home with his parting words tumbling in my head: “You’ll be ok, just follow the signs for Pescara.” Or was it Pesaro, or Asocli Picena? I’m sure it began with a P or had a P in it, I thought, but anyway surely Civitanova Marche will be listed on the road signs so I just need to head that way.

And that is where I made my fatal mistake, believing that the Italian road authorities would think it helpful to put the names of local places on road signs and not just the name of a random town 200 km away. It’s a bit like a foreign visitor with scant geographical knowledge of Britain having to choose between Liverpool and Hull when they want to go to Huddersfield. So when I came to the split in the access road with a 50/50 chance of success I, of course, took the wrong fork and found myself heading into downtown Ancona with no idea where I was going.

What I needed to find was a way back to the autostrada, but what I did find was that Ancona is as bereft of road signs as everywhere else in Italy. Oh well, at least I had a tour of the city even if though I wouldn’t put it on a ‘not to be missed’ list for any future visitors. I’m sure Ancona has a pleasant side to it, but my exhaustive recce failed to uncover it.

Eventually I came to a roundabout with several exits, one of which said SS16 (or was it 13, I forget). SS? SuperStrada perhaps? That’s pretty close to autostrada, I thought, so it was worth a try. And indeed it was – some 40 minutes after leaving the airport I was on the right road, heading the right way and feeling mighty relieved – and €1 to the good, being what I saved on the toll fee.

Elsewhere on Thursday, there were positive steps forward at the house with Marco starting to prepare the office floor ready for the concrete, which he laid on Friday, and Alessandro made one of his intermittent visits to fit the snug lights – and fabulous they are too. Well done him for fixing them and us for choosing them.

Friday was another glorious day, weather-wise. We have been enjoying an extended run of sunny days and crystal blue skies with temperatures hovering around the high teens. And this, I think more than the heat of summer, is the real benefit of having moved to Italy. To have days in late November where we can stand on the terrazzo and feel real warmth from the sun is much more satisfying than sweltering in August.

As for Stephen, he made it safely to Leyburn (without getting lost) and faced the thorny problem of what to dress Mar in for her funeral. After some discussion, he and his sister, Jackie, decided against her new jumper with a teddy bear on the front but did find some leopard skin pumps, of which she would have approved. It also transpired that she was wearing her favourite purple nail varnish in the ambulance – fabulous to the last.

This weekend has generally been pretty quiet. I’ve been pottering around at the house doing some general tidying and cleaning, there not being much to do now that we are ready to move in the furniture, but at least Bella and Harry have been able to enjoy playing in the garden.

I had my usual lesson with Lorella yesterday morning and we looked at family, including the different nomenclature for family members – a topic that highlights a key difference between the British and the Italian way of life. While we have a defined and rigid hierarchy, differentiating between nephews and nieces and grandchildren and cousins and second cousins etc. etc., the Italian’s just have family with very little distinction between the various members. You’re either in it or you aren’t, which to me seems so much warmer, if chaotic. A bit like the Italian character.

To prove this, two things happened yesterday which showed that although not a blood relative, I might actually be considered family by the Stefonis (whose children call Stephen ‘uncle’). Firstly, Romolo asked if I wanted to join him for coffee after lunch, bless him, but I politely declined as I didn’t really think I would fit in with the elder statesmen of the village as they put the world to rights over an espresso and a glass of something stronger in the bar. And secondly, Elsa invited me, along with Flavia, Remo and Romolo, to her house for dinner – I think to make sure I was all right being on my own.

I’m not sure, though, that I am the one they should worry about, as Remo is still suffering with his gout-ridden leg – but that didn’t stop him hopping into the back of Romolo’s Fiat van as we three men went round to Elsa’s house (Flavia having gone earlier with her contributions to the meal). You’d have thought it would have been much easier for us to go in our Panda, what with it having four doors and front and back seats, but no. Remo insisted we go in the van. This surprised me as I couldn’t remember it having back seats – which is because it doesn’t. Remo made me sit in the front while he opened up the back door, sat on the edge then shuffled backwards till he could get his gammy leg up into the van where he squated on the floor. And he insisted on doing it on the way back too. Well, if it made him happy. After all, that’s the sort of thing you do for family.