Take more water with it

With the clocks having gone back last Sunday, the days stretching and the promise of warm, relaxing evenings not far away, it was no surprise to see my teaching commitments begin the slow decrease as happens every year as we head towards summer. But before we get to that, there is the matter of Stephen and the Swarovski bedazzled heels to catch up on.

As he very much expected, the twenty pairs that he managed to complete over the weekend were not greeted with any great enthusiasm when he returned them on Monday morning. However, as no one else was managing to do any better he spent the rest of the week bobbing backwards and forwards. Much proverbial head scratching and frantic communications with the parent designer label ensued whilst some sort of solution as to how to make the crystals actually adhere and in a time-wise manner was explored.

Meanwhile, Cristian, the boss of the factory, offered Stephen some work there, which initially sounded like a good idea. However, after mulling it over, Stephen decided that it was not really feasible for two main reasons: (a) it would have a not wholly beneficial effect on the dynamic between himself, Cristian and Manuel where their joint enterprise was concerned, and (b) the money he earned would go to pay for a second car which we would need for him to get to and from Corridonia, effectively meaning he would be working for nothing other then the sheer joy of being in a shoe factory.

My work, as intimated earlier, also saw some changes. On Tuesday I was relieved to find that I hadn’t totally misunderstood my conversation with Romina at Bar del Borgo the previous Friday and indeed I was due to take a lesson with her daughter, Sara, at 2pm. She was, as ever, a very pleasant girl who was able to read and understand English well, but also as ever, looked completely blank when asked the simplest of questions (i.e. ‘Hello, how are you?’) and was without any apparent confidence to string a series of words together to make a sentence. We have been here before, but one does wonder when the Italian education system is going to make English a living language rather than an academic exercise.

The increase of one was more than offset on Friday, which had been my busiest day for the past few weeks but from now on will be my quietest, and not just because it was my last lesson with Mr Mancini before he left for a trip to the USA. When I arrived at Prosilas, with the period of notice usual in Italy, I was told it was the last session. This was particularly interesting as when I asked last week how many more lessons there were (if you recall, I had never been given either a number or an end date when it was all arranged – something which I now just accept as the way things run here), I was told by Samia, the lady who keeps the register, that she didn’t know. She did, though, say on Friday that it was the end of the current project and Vanna, the owner, would be in touch in the future; in other words, or so I took it in a Douglas Adams way, so long and thanks for all the fish.

In the afternoon, after my lesson with Adriana and Elisa, their father said that that would be the last one as well. With Easter marking the start of the season for the campsite in Porto San Giorgio that he and his wife run, their ability to bring the girls over to MSP to see their grandparents and combine it with a trip to me would be severely limited. Moreover, Elisa also needs to start focusing on studying for her end of Scuola Media exams. He did say some very complimentary things, though, including that since she had been coming to me Elisa had not only improved in her English but in her all-round ability to concentrate at school as well.

He also asked if I would be available to talk to Elisa’s prospective English teacher at her Liceo, which, being an obliging soul as I like to point out whenever the opportunity arises, I said I would. Stephen, who was hanging around at the time, mentioned that I might not be able to understand everything, to which Elisa’s father said, somewhat pithily, that the teacher should be able to talk to me in English, and if the teacher didn’t understand then that was his problem. Given what we know about students’ lack of competence orally, one hopes it was more of a joke than a prophecy.

So to the weekend and as with last Sunday, Stephen spent today ensconced in the downstairs workroom with heels, crystals and glue. This time, however, life was a little less fraught as the new glue was more powerful and faster-acting, though this brought its own challenge. Each phial held enough to do 20 heels, but once a phial was started you had to keep going otherwise it would set in the nozzle making the rest impossible to get out. And we are talking a short time space here, as Stephen found out to his cost when he stopped for a quick comfort break partway.

I don’t want you to think, though, that there has been no light relief as yesterday we made our first trip of the year to a garden nursery. Stephen has decided to try an elegant variation to his planting in the shape of artichokes, which he thought would be an idea to plant round the corner of the lotto shaded by the banking. Being perennials, he feels that they may stand a better chance of developing into something in an area that has significantly underperformed in the past, especially two years ago when he tried the tomatoes in this section. He is a bit late to expect any actual artichokes this season, but they will provide structural interest while they establish themselves and our fingers are crossed for a bumper harvest in fifteen month’s time.

While we were there we also bought some lettuce plants, as these do well in late spring and early summer, and were seduced by an unmissable offer into taking six tomato plants off their hands. These were at a bargain price because they were actually too far advanced, with flowers already appearing, but with our eternal optimism we thought that they were worth a punt, even if we only get a few tomatoes from them, and in the meantime they will stop the lotto looking as if it has been abandoned.

And that wasn’t the only highlight. As the nursery closed for the weekend at midday, we made a quick get away after my lesson with Alessio, and before heading to Lidl for a stock up on well-priced basics (including their 70% chocolate bars, very acceptable) we stopped off for lunch at Altamare self-service restaurant in Centro Commerciale Auchan on the outskirts of Porto Sant’Elpidio. Those used to queuing up with their tray in an orderly manner in Debenhams will find the Italian version somewhat bewildering, even if the food is fresher and better quality. Like everything else in this wonderful country, an apparent random free-for-all actually masks a well-oiled and effective machine, as long as you are in on the secret of its workings.

Should you ever find yourself in this position remember a few simple rules: make sure you get your tray, cutlery and glass first; if you want bread or an anti pasta get these second; chose your food station and stake your place, making sure your voice is heard when you tell the cook/server what you want, and don’t be put off by any ladies of a certain age in a tailored black coat who try to inveigle their way forward by calling the cook/server by her first name. Being lunchtime, we went for pasta and after an initial bottleneck, having foolishly timed it for 12.00, just as service opened, we didn’t have too long to wait for our tortellini. This was cooked fresh in front of our eyes before being mixed with the requested sauce (boscaiola) and served up with one hand while a different pasta dish was being prepared with the other.

Sufficiently replete, we headed on to do the shopping, which included bottles of Montepulciano wine - a snip if you bought a box of six. Well, it would have been a snip if Stephen hadn’t decided to act all macho for the first time in his life and carry them from the car with one hand holding the top of one of a side of the box. He only managed to get to the bottom of the steps before the cardboard ripped and all six bottles tumbled to the ground. I suppose we were lucky that three escaped unharmed, and that being outside he was able to hose away the pool of ruby liquid without it leaving a stain on the concrete path. Harry, who was in the garden at the time of the accident, came running to see what had happened. We panicked momentarily that he would come too near the broken glass, but one distant sniff of the alcohol in the air convinced him to turn tail and keep well away. If only we were all as wise.