The rough with the smooth

Just when we thought it was safe to go back in the water, our complacency was shattered by....water – of the rain variety.

Up until yesterday the week had been glorious, with rising temperatures and lots of salad leaves freshly cut by Stephen from the lotto. The most exciting thing was when he spotted one of the local black snakes wriggling its way from behind the boot box at the bottom of the steps and over the grass to disappear into the barley field across the lane. We should have known, however, from previous experience that a run of sole, sole, sole would end, sooner or later, in tears.

And the tears came, metaphorically speaking, with a vengeance yesterday afternoon when, after a bit of a dull morning, the heavens opened. I think I have said before about the way precipitation of various kinds appears suddenly and are as violent as they are short-lived – my devoted readers may recall our abortive visit the first time we tried to see Giacomo Leopardi’s house in Recanati, this time last year when blue skies were temporarily interrupted by a hail storm so fierce it not only battered our car but flooded streets and forced the closure of the sodden house.

This time, we were safely inside LCDDB and, thanks to Loris’ work last year, no water came streaming down our driveway. The road, however, was not so lucky, nor was it saved by the Comune posting a warning about the imminent temporale on Facebook – especially as that didn’t appear till an hour after it happened and after Stephen had had time to inspect the damage. To say the road was saturated is, I think, a given, and in places it was like walking on a beach after a particularly high tide has decided to rearrange the shingle in swirling mounds. In other places the deluge had revealed much of the hardcore beneath the dislodged gravel and scoured jagged gulleys down either side of the road. Happily, we were able, when we tested it out a little while later, to get the car up and down without too much difficulty but the new state of the road would suggest that any car not blessed with good traction or a high chassis is going to be in trouble.

As for what can be done about it, the jury is out. While we know that the road is the responsibility of the Comune, we also know that the chances of them taking an interest in it and devoting funds to its improvement are as likely as Donald Trump writing a coherent tweet.

This afternoon, however, saw a return to blue skies, to celebrate which and forget the road we headed to Porto San Giorgio. After a wander for a bit of window shopping and through an unexpected market in the main square (the reason for which was a mystery, there being no indication as to its significance) we polished off a couple of mighty fine pieces of cake at Le Petite, which had just reopened after the proprietor’s holiday. Two mugs of Earl Grey (no such thing as a tea pot, even in the best regulated of establishments) helped to wash it all down, which, all things considered, was a much better use for H2O

than we encountered yesterday.