Don't tell him, Pike*

With the drama of the telephone line and lack of Internet over, it was back to browsing to our hearts content and adding more money to Amazon’s coffers. We have also been able to turn our attention to some other matters, which have not so much been gently simmering on the back burner as having been left to go stone cold.

Most important amongst these was the question of where the official documents for our purchase of the house were hiding. Our suspicions that we had not actually been given them were confirmed when they failed to turn up following a good look through all of the paperwork in our meticulously cross-referenced filing system (“Is it in that folder? No? Well try that other one then.”). Which is why Stephen presented himself at the end of my lesson with Giordano on Tuesday afternoon to ask him about them. Giordano seemed a good place to start as not only did he act as notary for us during the buying process but, being an all-round good egg, he would do something about it.

We need the documents for without them we cannot prove to the Comune that we are actually living in the house as opposed to being a remarkably convincing hologram. We need to be officially registered with them to trigger other bureaucratic actions, you know, minor things like getting our rubbish collected, changing our identity cards and logging our new address with the bank.

Also on Tuesday, Stephen had taken a morning jaunt into MSP to do a spot of shopping. This, as ever, took longer than it should due the key but unspoken law in Italy that whenever three or more people are gathered together, each upstanding and law-abiding citizen has a duty to spend at least twenty minutes exchanging gossip, spreading rumour and chewing over tasty piece of fat might be to hand. On this occasion, having called into Alimentari Casali for one of their three litre jugs of local wine, he had to wait while a couple of matrons of the parish discussed the best way to make an apple tart before grilling him about what was happening with his old factory. Wisely, he gave them only his name, rank and serial number before making good his escape with the wine and a carton of strawberries. These the lady in the shop said were very special Italian ones, only available at this time of year; and indeed they proved to be very tasty.

Stephen also found time to call in on the other Giordano, the ironmonger, where he again manfully fended off a series of questions as he bought a plastic washtub. This is much needed as Bella and Harry’s paws are becoming increasingly clogged up with clayey soil from running about in the garden during playtime. While we try our best to give their feet a good rub down afterwards, the crevices in their pads and behind their nails hug the soil, which then dries and leaves a find sandy dusting around the house. I’m not sure that they’re going to be best pleased with a dunking in a tub of water after half an hour’s fun, but needs must.

The rest of the week was focused on house related activities. On Thursday afternoon Marco the builder arrived with Luca the railings man. They came to measure up properly for the actual fabrication of the said railings, as opposed to the earlier measuring up which was for estimation purposes. They spent a good couple of hours with tape measures and angle contraptions, so hopefully they now have all they need for the process to go ahead. Marco will be responsible for the actual installation, while Luca will make the railings in his workshop. He said he should have them completed by June (he is a busy man), which in Italian speak means we should hopefully have them by Christmas. But you never know, he may be as good as his word and we will be spending balmy summer evenings watching the sun set from our newly refurbished terrazzo

For his part, Stephen has been moving the various roof and floor tiles from where they had been abandoned at the back corner of our land (which, when we erected the fence, remained outside our defined garden area) to the opposite corner by Mario and Luigi’s barn. So far he has spent a couple of hours each day ferrying the tiles by wheelbarrow and neatly stacking them either side of his compost bins. This has had a beneficial side effect in that Harry has now stopped barking at them. We’re not sure why he’d taken against the bins, presumably he saw them as some strange alien infiltration – though any extra terrestrial life form choosing this particular town to make contact with homo sapien would have made a serious error of judgement. After all, should ET have turned up in Monte San Pietrangeli it would have been a close encounter of the disconcerting kind – and I don’t mean for the humans.

*In case there are any whippersnappers reading this who don't appreciate the significance of the title, then you better click here.