Chain reaction

Those of you who live vicariously through these ramblings will be pleased to know that Stephen and I had not misunderstood the email from Alessandro, the electrician, and we were indeed invited to his house for dinner last Sunday, thus avoiding the embarrassment of us finding him in his pyjamas and slippers and wondering what to do with the two bottles of very fine red wine we’d taken.

Fortunately, Marco and Maddalena offered to drive the four of us over to Alessandro’s, as a dark, windy and rainy night would have made it even more difficult than normal for us to hunt out our destination. There may, though, be a more direct route than the one Marco chose, but previous experience has shown us that he seems to belong to the school of motorists who think that the time a journey takes is inversely proportionate to the number of turnings you make and side streets you travel down.

We had a lovely evening, though my Italian is still not up to following hectic banter between several people. There comes a point, and it happens pretty quickly with me, where you tune out because the concentration needed to try to zone in on the main thread of the conversation becomes too much effort. The food, however, to compensate was plentiful, good to eat and served with typical Italian sangfroid.

They do seem to have a much more relaxed attitude to entertaining, helped partly, I think, because they are not obsessed, like the British, with having to serve everything steaming. I don’t think my Dad is on his own in believing that if you don’t get third degree burns from drinking soup then it isn’t hot enough. The Italians, on the other hand, will serve meat and vegetables at room temperature, or cook them ahead and then give them a quick five minutes in the oven to warm them through. British health and safety would have kittens but no one here seems to come to any harm from it.

In something akin to taking coals to Newcastle, our new metal fly screen arrived from the UK on Monday, and Stephen had it in place in double-quick time. This may seem a tad previous, but as house is south facing, Bella and Harry have taken to choosing the area by our front door as their prime sunbathing spot. This means that we either have to leave the door ajar, giving free entry to any passing fly, or have to constantly open and close it as they wander in and out. The fly screen was the obvious solution, and will become increasingly essential as we head into summer. However, wanting one as befits his status as MSP’s style guru, Stephen eschewed anything cheap, local and plastic in favour of a linked metal one from Britain. The only drawback so far is that Harry, who is all mouth and no trousers, was petrified of it. We spent a happy afternoon coaxing him backwards and forwards through the screen as our supply of dog treats steadily dwindled. He has now got to the point where he will, after a few moments hesitation, rush through the chains, just as long as they don’t make too much noise.

As I’m due to fly back home tomorrow for a family visit, we’ve spent the last couple of days sorting stuff out and getting ready for my trip. The first port of call yesterday morning was the Post Office, which you will know from previous experience is not always the most straightforward of tasks. We had thought that by getting there early we’d be in and out quickly, even if the first of the month does equal pension day. How wrong we were, for as we pulled into the town square a host of superannuated citizens were already milling around the door waiting it to open.

Cutting our losses, we drove on and headed in a north-westerly direction to Montegranaro and a quick stop at the bank to draw cash needed to pay some bills… Or not, for whilst there were no people drawing pension money, there was also (and not for the first time) no service at the hole in the wall. Strike two. Fortunately we had more luck at Girasole and the supermarket, where as well as gathering a few items for ourselves, I picked up some big chunks of Parmesan and a couple of vacuum packed salami to take home to Britain.

From here, we went to see the nice ladies at Dream Ceramiche to collect our new showerhead for the bathroom. Whilst we have grown to be very fond of the ladies, we do hope this will be the last time we have had to visit them – at least on this prolonged project. We may, though, have to draw on their support one last time for Mirco the plumber said to let him know when we had the new fixture and he would be over asap to put it in place as well as install the filter to the pump. With his track record, we should have it done in time for Christmas.

And that is about that for the time being, except to say that we called by the post office on the way back home and there was enough clear water for us to do our business. Mind you, Stephen should consider setting up his own courier operation given the number of times he has had to chug up and down our road today to collect parcels from various so-called “delivery” services. Online shopping is all well and good, but unlike Britain, Italy’s concept of home delivery is very fluid.