Don't let me be misunderstood

Just a short post this week to let you know that we’re still in the land of the living, though judging by the lack of activity around LCDDB recently that might be debatable.

I did think that I’d have a bit of a jaunt to report as we’d been expecting to go to Fermo this evening to hear our friend Stefano, who is of a theatrical bent, reading Poe’s ‘The Pit and the Pendulum’ at an urban chic café in the main square. Stephen has had his eye on this place for some time as a spot to linger and was much looking forward to trying it out. However, as I discovered on Monday morning, the niceties of language scuppered all those plans when I received a text from Stefano asking us where we were and saying we’d missed a good event the night before.

And this was where the misunderstanding became clear. When he had sent a reminder the previous Friday saying, in English, that the reading was ‘next Sunday’ he’d directly translated the Italian rather than saying ‘this Sunday’, as in English usage. Apologies were made on both sides, though really it should have been my responsibility to check. It isn’t the first time this dichotomy in time scales has arisen, though it is the first time that it’s led to us missing an event. Stephen will, then, have to wait for another opportunity to try out the bar and next time we get an invitation we’ll make sure to ask the date as well.

Elsewhere, the new refuse regime started on Monday and Stephen has duly monitored our daily ferrying of the appropriate bin or refuse sack to the top of the road. We may, though, need to make an elegant adjustment as something is finding the discarded paper used to wrap the salumi too much to resist. Consequently, we’ve been having to tidy up bits of litter from ripped refuse bags; we may have to invest in some sort of cage to keep the bags intact.

There was also a change to the weather on Monday when, as we were having lunch, Stephen noticed that the trees outside had started swaying with a bit more alacrity. Not only had the wind increased, it had also changed direction, coming northeasterly off the sea and therefore bringing cold air. This continued for the rest of the week till Friday when again the wind veered and it was almost spring-like.

This relative increase in temperature was good news for Stephen, as he had to spend part of the morning shifting tiles in the garden. The reason for this rearrangement? It would seem that something, which we strongly suspect is the fox we saw last week under the cachi tree, has been getting into the garden for a mooch around then using the tiles as makeshift stairs to get out. Now whilst having a nocturnal visitor was not of overdue concern to us, the fact that Harry had become obsessed with that corner of the garden was. First thing Thursday morning he was so intent on sniffing around there that he showed scant interest in going for his morning walk, and then later when he was back in the garden for playtime he completely ignored Bella and their ball as he attempt to follow the example of the fox and scale the tiles. Visions of him leaping over the fence and haring across the local countryside spurred Stephen into action and now, fingers crossed, the leap onto the tiles will be too high for him to make.

Friday also saw us making a trip to Girasole shopping centre in the afternoon, where, as you ascend the travelator, the main entrance is suspended with glorious giant scarlet baubles as a presage of Christmas. We were there to do a bit of clothes shopping, as Stephen had spied some good value hooded fleeces for sale on a quick visit earlier in the week. We thought we’d combine this with our weekend grocery shopping at Oasi, the supermarket in the complex, where we were pleased to spot one of our favourite pastas for half-price.

Our delight, however, took a tumble when we were scanning our purchases though the self-service till. We try to avoid these as much as possible; they are bad enough to deal with in English, never mind in a second language. However, as the Italian supermarket policy is directly opposite to that of their British counterparts – i.e. why open a second checkout when there’s plenty of room for customers to queue – we foolishly thought it would be quicker than waiting in line. Not so. Fortunately, however, the assistant supervising the self-service area soon realised we had no idea what we were doing and kept a cheerful demeanor despite having to come continually to our aid.

It was when we scanned our half-price pasta that she must have finally given up all hope for us. On enquiring why the full price had appeared on the screen, she asked us if we had a supermarket loyalty card, as the offer was only available to those that had. Taking pity on our crestfallen look as we replied in the negative, she pressed a few buttons then asked the lady at the next till if she could borrow her card. She then scanned it through on our shopping, allowing us after all to get the discount. I find it hard to believe that such a thing would happen in Tesco, but that is one of the joys of life in Italy: rules may be rules, but they are there to be bent if it means helping someone out a little… especially if they’re crazy and British.