Beginners, please

After last Sunday’s blip, when we were blessed with some much-needed rain, Monday saw blue skies and a return to settled, hot weather, but that wasn’t the only thing that returned.

On Tuesday, while out and about on various pieces of business with bff Manuel, Stephen called in at Autopompei to see what had happened with the brake cable he had left there the pervious Friday – there having been no communication received about it in the interim, but how foolish of us to think there would be. Much to Manuel’s disappointment the car was ready to be driven away, with not only the brake cable attached and in full working order but also the erratic fuel and temperature gauges were now pulling their weight. This, while it pleased Stephen, was a little galling to Manuel who was spoiling for a fight with the company due to his perception of the shoddy way they had handled the affair. No doubt he had warmed up his vocal cords accordingly for the arcane ritualistic showdown that only a trueborn Italian can achieve, and which only fellow Italians can fully reciprocate.

While his bff may have been slightly deflated, Stephen was more than happy with the eventual result, a feeling given a little fillip when he found out that during its time in the garage our Freeclimber had at least four different people showing interest and wanting to know if it was for sale. This at least showed that despite our teething problems, we had actually acquired something that wasn’t a total dead duck, a belief that was further strengthened following a spot of Internet research by Stephen. Apparently, there were only a couple of thousand of the Bertone Freeclimber manufactured, and that in the US they can sell for $20,000. Fancy that.

Wednesday I made a quick trip to the dentist for Claudia to check that all was okay with my new tooth, which it was, but if I thought that everything was now in order and I could take a break from dental procedures I had to think again. After smiling benignly over her work and showing me my set of improved teeth in her hand mirror, she then made an appointment for the middle of September for, if I understood correctly, a clean and polish and also to consider some more fine tuning. I will have to think about this latter carefully, for there is one thing making sure I have a healthy set of choppers and quite another making me look like I am auditioning for the Osmonds…

Thursday Stephen came with me when I went for my morning lesson with Michele in Porto San Giorgio, taking the opportunity to wander the market and purchase some more plants for the local wildlife to eat in our lotto. We were also treated that day to a bottle of Prosecco from Manuel, who wanted our opinion on it as it was a label he had not tried before. For what it is worth, we found it pleasant enough but not anything to write home about and not as agreeable as the half dozen he gave us a few months ago, an opinion that was somewhat academic as he had already bought ten cases of the stuff, and not, I think, on a sale or return basis.

We then hit the weekend, which should have been, based on previous years, the social highlight of the summer as the start of August has seen the five-day beer festival in MSP and the Sagra dei Maccheroncini in Campofilone. Whilst the latter ran as per usual the former was noticeable by its absence. This seemed like a strange aberration, what with it being an ostensibly successful and obviously well-attended event with standing room only on each of its five nights. The reason for its non-appearance this year, according to our reliable source, was a schism in the town’s Pro Loco, going back to some falling out around the time of the May Day celebrations, which may explain not only that day’s somewhat partisan vibe but also the lack of any other of the usual events so far this year. There is a fine irony that an organisation which is supposed to promote the town, and whose name in Latin means ‘in favour of the place’, fails to do so because they fall out with each other.

We also missed out on the maccheroncini, which, to anyone who knows us, is a bigger sacrifice than missing a pint of beer, as this weekend we had two other events taking up our time, one social and one cultural. Yesterday’s was our second trip to the opera festival in Macerata, after our baptism last year and the wonderful L’Elisir D’Amore. This year we chose Carman, and not just because we thought we could hum along to some of the better-known tunes. Whilst – at least to our unsophisticated ears – the music and the singing were just as good and the experience of sitting in the auditorium on a balmy August night with the great and the good of Le Marche as satisfying, the production itself was a bit of a let down. Like last year, the setting had been modernised but without the same success, and whilst it might be slightly carping, it was hard to imagine Carmen or any woman – or man, for that matter – getting hot under the collar over Escamillo in his tacky silver jacket and very dodgy leather trousers.

Which brings us to today and the habitual walk this morning on a very busy Porto San Giorgio beach now that the holiday season is in full swing. We were back there this evening at the chalet, Matilda, along with the usual suspects for the Carellis’ works dinner prior to closing for the holidays. And again, as usual, I tried my best to be inconspicuous so no one noticed how little of the various courses of seafood I actually ate while Stephen manfully fielded any untoward items that actually made it onto my plate. It was very kind of the family to invite me, and even kinder not to arrange an alternative menu to draw attention to my, by Marche standards, aberrational eating habits but I couldn’t help thinking that a plate of maccheroncini with a good meaty ragu would have been much more up my street.