Home and away

Yes, a whole fortnight has passed since the last blog entry, which is due to an unexpected trip back to the UK for a week. This we will come to presently, but let’s dispense with some more mundane business first.

After the usual nonsense on Monday it was back to yoga on Tuesday. There had been the suggestion, as you may recall, that Peppe would run a beginners class at six o’clock, but as nothing had been heard about this I went at the same time as previously. I had to make my own way, however, as Manuel was on one of his frequent business trips, but with the aid of the sat nav and what I remembered from last week I was able to drive through downtown Francavilla to the school. I was a little later, maybe, or maybe there was something happening in the school as there were a few more cars than previously. I did, though, spy a spot against the side of a house that edged onto the road, and checking that I was nowhere near any gate, doorway or garage parked up. I should have known that it was not going to be that easy and about fifteen minutes into the lesson a lady appeared at the door wanting to know if anyone had a green Panda. Of course I said that I did, and I went with her thinking that maybe there were two green Pandas as I couldn’t see what the problem was with where I had left ours.

As it turned out, our car didn’t have a doppelganger and the problem was that the spot I had chosen had remained clear because everyone else knew it was where the man of the house parked his large Audi saloon. Not that he or his wife were funny about it, and we all apologised and thanked each other profusely for causing any bother. The lady also showed me where I could move my car to, which was a place a little way down the road on the opposite side, and which I had briefly considered but had dismissed as not suitable. I had, though, forgotten that we are in Italy, the land of the counterintuitive, where parking on the street against a blank wall is the wrong thing to do, and parking in front of a garage isn’t.

As for the yoga, it was about as tough as the previous week. The hardest part was again trying to sense what every part of your body was doing as you were executing the movements and stretches, while the second hardest was having to keep assuring the teacher that I was ok and that I was understanding. He must have been relatively happy with me as we exchanged a few pleasantries at the end, discussed the lesson a little. He even showed me where I could keep my gripping socks, flip-flops and yoga mat so I didn’t have to bring them every week, though nothing was said about a change of time or an alternate group so it looks like I’ll still be playing with the big boys.

Thursday made for a mid-week double when I was out for a second time in the evening – on this occasion with Stephen rather than leaving him at home to get the tea ready – when we finally got together with Computer Luca and Claudia, the dentist, for dinner. This, for several reasons not interesting enough to go into here, had been long in the planning process though Luca had only made the booking two days ahead of time. This was considered, or so he told us when we were mithering him about it a couple of weeks ago, more than adequate notice in Italy.

We met up at Casa Azzurra, which is, according to its website, a country house, restaurant, and wellness and spa. Stephen had eaten there before, but several years ago now, but it was my first time. It had been chosen, being on the other side of Loro Piceno, as convenient for Luca and Claudia but, more importantly, it had a good choice for Claudia who is coeliac. We had a very fine meal, dining on various forms of fish and seafood, including a fish and guacamole taco and a tuna hot dog, made all the more enjoyable when Luca announced that in November he was to be appointed a full professor at the University of Camerino. Sounds like an excuse for another celebratory get together.

It was also on Thursday that we made the decision I should make an unplanned trip back to the UK to visit my parents, and more particularly my mother who is in hospital. She had already been there for a fortnight, which might make you wonder why I was so unfeeling as not to have gone before. This is because while she had had to be rushed in, the condition was not particularly grave and had been, more or less, treated. She had, however, as is the nature of these things, picked up a chest infection which delayed her recuperation, but then on the Thursday new symptoms presented themselves that caused the doctors serious concern.

The good news is that these new symptoms appeared much more worrying than the reality, and by the time I had booked my flights and hire car on Friday morning and communicated with my brothers on Friday afternoon, the initial urgency had passed. Still, being a dutiful son, it was high time I made a trip back home to do a spot of hospital visiting and to keep Dad company and feed him up a bit.

Inspired by Douglas and Susan’s most recent trip, and by the fact that (a) it was the cheapest on offer and (b) the return flight was at a sensible time, I opted to travel easyJet from Ancona to Gatwick where I would pick up a hire care for an alleged 3½ hour journey north to Sheffield. As it was an evening flight, it would be after midnight before I made it to Yorkshire so Douglas and Susan kindly agreed to offer me lodgings on the first night so I didn’t have to disturb Dad or keep him up. This was just as well, as not only was the flight late in departing (apparently the plane was late leaving Gatwick as they had to wait for a pilot) but road works around Cambridge added an hour to my journey time.

A section of the A14 was closed, meaning a magical mystery tour following diversion signs round the back roads of Cambridgeshire until one that helpfully said ‘Diversion Ends’, with no indication of where you were or where you were supposed to go. Fortunately, after trusting that the sat nav was heading in the right direction and not trying to take me back to the closed stretch of dual carriageway, I saw a sign that said ‘To the North’ and breathed a sigh of relief, as I’m sure did Douglas and Susan when I eventually pulled up outside there garage at 1.40 am.

I will spare you a blow-by-blow account of my week in Sheffield as the days followed more or less the same pattern, i.e.:

A. Sorting stuff in the morning (including doing a spot of shopping for essentials like Yorkshire Tea bags and packets of humbugs).

B. Having lunch then braving the bizarre traffic system in and around Sheffield, which seems designed to funnel the optimum amount of cars to the same place at the same time.

C. Visiting mum on Ward Q2 of the Royal Hallamshire Hospital – and yes, Q is floor Q or, if you prefer numbers, floor 17. This added a whole entertaining dimension with the game of see how long it takes to be able to get into a lift when pushing an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair. You would think that waiting on the ground floor would give you a head start in the game. Not so. This is because of the three operational lifts that serviced the 17 floors, one only came out to play every now and again and the other two were more likely than not full when the doors opened onto Floor A, and no one got out due to those seasoned users on the lower floors who, wanting to go up, would get the lift going down so as not to miss out on a spot.

D. Spending more quality time on the roads of Sheffield, taking almost an hour to do a journey home that, according to the sat nav, should take twenty minutes

E. Preparing tea for Dad, who wolfed down almost as much as me – and that’s saying something.

F. Keeping him company while he played solitaire on his tablet and watched some TV – and I will never again complain about Italian television after the mind-numbing experience of sitting through back to back episodes of Emmerdale and Coronation Street and the mawkish winsomeness of Doc Martin.

As for Mum, by the end of the week she was much better and ready to be discharged medically. However, she is still in hospital at the moment as she needs to be assessed by the physiotherapy department before a short-term care package of two weeks can be triggered to ensure she is safe in her home environment.

And as for me, I made my return journey yesterday with considerable more ease, arriving, thanks to there being no hold ups, at Gatwick with plenty of time to return the hire car, buy some eau de cologne, and have a spot of lunch before my 2 pm flight. Stephen met me at Ancona and I was back to a hero’s welcome from Harry and Bella before seven o’clock. At least I think their rapturous welcome was because they had missed me so much and not because they could smell the pizze we had stopped for on the way home.

And as for today, the balmy weather Stephen has enjoyed while I have been shrouded in mist in Sheffield continued, prompting a return to polo shirts and encouraging us to make a lazy day of things. This we did, apart from some serious messaging between me and a one Marco Mancini (no relation to the pasta, I don’t think) who contacted me about English lessons while I was in the UK. He’s coming on Wednesday for an initial meeting to see what I can do to help him, so it very much looks like from tomorrow everything will be back to normal - which is no bad thing.