It never rains

The warm weather of last weekend proved a harbinger of things to come, and temperatures this past week have been as they should be for July, hovering around the 30C mark come siesta time after lunch. Not that this, I know, is going to impress anyone in the UK, where it has been hot and sunny for some time now, leading to the usual warnings of water shortages and hosepipe bans. The only observation I will make is that while such extended sizzling conditions are considered a heat wave back home, here they are simply known as summer.

Not that it was wall-to-wall sunshine, for there were the usual couple of cloudbursts habitual for this time of year. The first was very ill timed, coming as it did just as we had started a post-dinner stroll down Civitanova’s main shopping street. We were in Civitanova to meet up with a couple of friends, Max and Fabio, for an aperitivo (in the same square where we had helped the somewhat the worse for wear old gentleman last week – but of whom, fortunately, there was no further sign) followed by pizza at Duca 26.

We have passed this particular restaurant many times, and have commented on its spare urban chic décor, but have never ventured inside until Tuesday night when Fabio was in the mood for some gourmet pizza. I was, though, a little bewildered when it came to ordering for I thought saying the words ‘quattro formaggi’ would get me by. I hadn’t bargained for a follow up question from the waiter, which left me completely flummoxed until it was pointed out that not only did you choose your topping but you also had to choose from one of the four options for the base, each one featuring a different artiginal flour. Being at a loss as to what the difference was, I took the default route of having the same as everyone else, though at least I now know what transforms an ordinary pizza into a gourmet one – bamboozling your customer.

As I said, it was after this, as we did a spot of window-shopping, that the heavens opened and rain plummeted down. Fortunately, we found a shop awning to shelter under until it let off enough for us to scurry across the road and over to the station car park where we had left our Panda, with only resultant minor dampness.

Tuesday turned out to be the start of a social whirl – or at the least the nearest we get to one – all the more unusual for falling in the middle of the week. On Wednesday we called in on Maddalena with a present for her birthday the following day, and were forced into sharing a bottle of Prosecco with her and Marco. It would have been rude not to. Then on Thursday we were in Civitanova again (the third time in just over a week – one would think we were living purely for pleasure) to introduce Marco (the other one, of zumba fame) to Mandì. He was most impressed, partly with the food (he is not going to eat nowhere else, he claimed) and partly because, as we were leaving, he discovered that the lady who was serving us was the daughter of the woman who used to make his dance routine costumes when he was a teenager with dreams of bright lights.

Being a warm summer night, all the tables had been arranged round the corner of the building. We had, however, to share the space with a group of astronomy fans who had turned up for the third in a series of talks given by an earnest lady supported by a PowerPoint presentation fed through a large television screen at her side. This talk focused on living in space, with lots of information about Skylab and how different the reality is from how it was imagined in the 50s. I’m sure it was fascinating if (a) space is your thing and (b) your Italian is up to the challenge and (c) you don’t mind the lack of dynamism in the accompanying visual display, the lady believing that a thousand words are worth one picture. As I don’t fit any of that criteria, and having my back to the lecture, you will excuse me for not hanging on her every word, though the man who shot us a filthy look when we had the temerity not only to raise our voices above a gentle hum but also to laugh was less forgiving.

After such a hectic social whirl, we spent the rest of the week quietly at home – apart, of course, from Friday shopping, Sunday beach walk and my trips to Montegranaro and Fermo for lessons. There was a change to this last one as, due to Pietro having an appointment, the Friday lesson was switched to Thursday. This turned out to be fortuitous as the second of the week’s cloudbursts occurred round about the time I would have been driving. This downpour was longer and more intense than the previous one, and whilst it may be a slight exaggeration to describe it as biblical, when the skies darkened and the rain started hammering the ground, if one hadn’t been incarcerated in the workroom due to its ferocity, one might have been tempted to try to gather up pairs of the local wildlife.

True to form, however, the summer storm spent itself out after half an hour, leaving a fresher feel as well as three inches of rain in the bowl on the outside table. Being old hands at these things now, such sudden and violent deluges no longer faze us, rather we are grateful for the good soaking it gives the lotto and the consequent benefit to the plants – though any suggestions as to what we are going to do with the tons of tomatoes swelling and ripening as a result would be gratefully received.