A hodgepodge

A bit of a mixed bag this week, featuring a couple of encounters with wildlife, a few jaunts, a spot of work on the road and some serious advances in populating the dressing room with Stephen’s upcycled furniture (even if this proved more dangerous to one’s wellbeing than the wildlife).

Our first brush with nature answered the question that was posed a couple of weeks ago: who or what has been gnawing away at the bag containing the plastic for recycling in the downstairs back room. Our lead on this was provided by Harry, who, during morning playtime, was finding something of great interest by the back fence. When I investigated, I found him sniffing at a field mouse that was trapped at the other side of it. The mouse must have made his usual nocturnal sortie to reconnoitre the recycling bags only to get his head caught in a mesh bag that once contained lemons, which then snagged on the wire fencing when he made good his escape. A quick call to Stephen and a few snips with a pair of scissors released the delinquent rodent, who we hope has learned his lesson.

The next encounter, thankfully at a greater distance, occurred when Stephen, who again was in the garden with Bella and Harry, saw a lightly speckled brown snake slither across the grass. It disappeared behind the small storage cupboard at the bottom of the outside steps, which we use for housing our wellingtons. This obviously caused some concern to the gecko that had been enjoying forty winks as it immediately shot out and skittered away up the wall. I was just leaving for my afternoon lesson, so there was no time to do anything about the snake then but when I returned we made like David Attenborough. Well, maybe not quite, as we hesitated about what course of action to take for the best. ‘Shouldn’t we put on our wellies,’ I asked, ‘just in case?’ The problem with this was that they were in the said cupboard, so very tentatively, not wanting to disturb any slumbering serpent, Stephen hooked open the door and pulled out the boots.

A good shake showed that the snake had not decided to curl up in one of them, so, now with armoured ankles, we moved in and carefully shifted the cupboard only to find that the snake had disappeared. I guess it was a bit of an anti-climax, but given that the alternative might have been wrestling with a scaly mass, I’d take the disappointment anytime. When Stephen told them at the factory the next day, they said that as it was brown and a bit speckled then we would probably have been all right, as long as we didn’t let it bite the dogs (!). Brown and very speckled would have been a big problem but there would have been no need to worry about black ones. And with that snippet from the Beginner’s Guide to Snakes in Italy, we’ll move on to other matters.

Just as we were about to settle down to breakfast on Thursday morning, Bella and Harry started their habitual barking at the sound of an approaching car. A car is not a common sound at any time of the day, and certainly not before 7am. It turned out, however, to be Loris, the road man, who had come to see if we were going to be at home all day. His compacting machine, like a mini steamroller, was back in working order and, if we were agreeable, he’d come and finish his work on our section of Contrada Forone, though it did mean we shouldn’t really use the road while he was working on it. This was no problem as neither Stephen nor I had any reason to venture further than the lotto. Consequently, Loris reappeared about an hour later (presumably after he’d eaten his own breakfast) with his various pieces of equipment loaded onto the back of his flat bed truck, like a homespun Virgil Tracey in a quirky Thunderbird 2, and spent the day flattening the loose scree into submission.

He did need some assistance, however, and when work recommenced after lunch, it was with the aid of what we presume was his son, who we are not convinced was totally enamoured of the proceedings. As Loris had been let down by the weather, what with it not raining as it had done with sudden intensity the afternoon before and which it was forecast to do again, and needing water to complete the bedding down process, he called on his ingenuity. So it was that he had attached to the back of his truck a large container that sprinkled water onto the road as he slowly climbed up it, with his son walking behind making sure everything was all right, his shorts rolled up as if about to go paddling in 1930’s Blackpool, and getting soaked in the process. Still, whatever the pair did has seemed to work and we once again have a smooth exit from the house; we just hope it will stay that way for a while and that it won’t be churned up by the spinning wheels of any wayward traffic becoming stuck half way.

Elsewhere, Stephen has been hard at work all week with finishing the polishing of the furniture for the dressing room, and I myself have even leant a hand with ferrying the various pieces upstairs and then assisting in reassembling the pair of wardrobes. This was more of a challenge then was anticipated, for coming from a time before IKEA perfected the art of self-assembly, the pieces in question seemed to owe more to the Robinson Crusoe method of home management. It was mainly the doors which proved obstinate, either refusing to slot into their housing or, once there, to actually close. Stephen eventually conquered the first one after we tried various ways, including laying it on its front and then hoisting it upright, but it was the second wardrobe that fought back.

“Just come and hold this,” said Stephen on Friday afternoon, “it’ll only take a minute.” Well, from my experience a DIY minute is roughly equivalent to 60 in Earth time, and so it was on this occasion. After something of a struggle, we eventually managed to get both doors in place, only to find that not only wouldn’t they close but they were also significantly out of true, which was a clue to Stephen that we’d been trying to attach them upside down. Out they came and back they went the right way up, only the wardrobe was obviously taking umbrage at such undignified treatment as this is when things turned nasty and one of the doors fell out, hitting me first in the chest and then slamming onto my foot. A quick douse with cold water succeeded in getting some feeling back into my toes, which managed to wriggle if not quite on command at least with enough animation to show nothing was broken, before turning a rather fetching mottled purple.

Now it had had its paddy, the wardrobe was more cooperative and the doors went in with only a modicum of fuss, though some work is still needed to make sure they close smoothly. This was not before time, as shortly afterwards, we had a surprise visit from Marco and Maddalena who appeared with their friends, Samuele and Sara, on the way back from an overnight visit to a beauty farm and spa in the mountains. Samuele, I think, was keen to see the house, which he has heard a lot about. Both he and his wife seemed suitably impressed with what we had done and everyone thought Stephen’s furniture looked might fine – though Maddalena did wonder if the drawers had too many handles on them… It must be an Italian thing.

And that is about it other than our downtime. Monday we had a second visit to the Beer Festival, this time after dinner, which was packed. There was standing room only at the stage end, featuring a performance by a local comedy group specialising in sketches designed to please the local Le Marche audiences. We found a spot near the back, conducive to talking with M&M and some of their friends. Thursday was another return visit, this time to the market in Fermo, which included, on this occasion, a spot of dinner at a table overlooking the Piazza del Popolo. Whilst the weather had cleared considerably since the beginning of the week, the temperatures were still struggling and when I asked Stephen if he was going to take a jacket his reply was that no, if it was cold we’d just get cold. Well, he was right there, as we sat dining al fresco while the bulk of locals walked past in jumpers or jackets (padded winter ones in some cases). We were brave enough to make a quick recce some of the stalls, and ended up buying a pair of hand made scarves from the nice lady from whom I bought one last year. Stephen immediately threw his dramatically round his neck, allowing it to drape over his shoulders. I think he hoped the effect was akin to Isadora Duncan, only without the car wheel, but I rather think it was more like Margaret Rutherford in ‘Murder She Said’. Either way, his mum would have been proud.

To finish off the week we took a trip yesterday afternoon to Macerata, at last in temperatures approaching what they should be at this time of year. We spent a happy hour wandering around the streets of the old, central part of the town before pausing for a beer on the Piazza della Libertà and another spot of shopping: chocolate and designer underwear. The former we got from a charming bomboniere (wedding favours) and gift shop and the latter from the sale in a small but stylish clothes shop run by two chic ladies of a certain age. Then today, after stopping off at Cuore Adriatico to buy bed linen in anticipation of our first guests next month, we took a gentle stroll along Civitanova Marche's lungomare, to the port and back, in the afternoon sunshine of a glorious blue sky, making time along the way for un po’ di gelato. What more could one ask for?

And here, gentle reader, is where I have to warn you that there will be brief interruption to these pages, as I am flying back to the UK on Tuesday for a visit to my parents. All that is left, therefore, is to wish you buon ferragosto and reassure you that normal service (whatever that is) will resume shortly.