Say aah

I had thought that this entry was going to be all about Stephen, as my week was proving far less interesting than his (depending, of course, on what you consider ‘interesting’). That was until circumstances so convened that I underwent what I believe to be my final right of passage where life in Italy is concerned, and one, which I had to face alone due to Stephen’s extended leave of absence from daily life at LCDDB.

This was occasioned by the arrival, on Tuesday (which happened to be an unexpected free day for me, with Alessio postponing his lesson to Thursday and Mancini cancelling altogether due to some work issue that needed urgent attention), of Joshua, his and the Carellis’ main customer from the UK. After a morning at the factory Stephen managed lunch at home for the last time till today before heading to Ancona with Mirko. They met Joshua at the airport then drove some 165 kilometres up the coast to visit a belt manufacturer in Forli (no, I don’t know why they didn’t find one nearer, either) before heading back and stopping off for dinner in Civitanova. Pizza was the order of the day, preceded by an antipasto of crostini, because bread followed by bread is always a good idea. Or maybe not, as Stephen found it all a tad salty and suffered from irritable indigestion during the night. I was suitably sympathetic.

He was back in time, on Wednesday, to enjoy dinner in the comfort of his own home after a day spent at the factory and various points around the area. This, though, did allow him to call in at the pet shop in Porto Sant’Elpidio, the only one in the vicinity that has a dispensary. If you recall, this was necessary as we had still to cash in the “electronic” prescription for the Drontal worming tablets. Stephen dutifully handed over the piece of paper with the pin number and access code as given to us, after some mopping of his brow, by the vet but which the nice assistant couldn’t actually get to work, because, while the pin was accepted the code turned out to be for something completely different. In the end this was of little consequence because the medication is available over the counter. There is, actually, no need for a prescription, so all that wrangling with the iPad was for no reason whatsoever.

Thursday was another day when Stephen abandoned his home and family to traverse the length and breadth of the provinces of Fermo and Macerata in search of all things boot, but he was, again, available for dinner. This time we introduced Joshua to the wonders of the MacIntosh pub, where, despite both of them protesting that they were still full from a Mrs C lunchtime special which had made them both feel like they were being fattened up for Christmas, they still managed to polish of a plate of tortellini alla boscaiola each. I, on the other hand, settled for the more becoming choice of penne arrabiata, working on the basis that the spicy tomato sauce might go some way to comforting the sore throat that had been nicely brewing for the past couple of days.

It did have a bit of an effect but not so much as the glass of mandarino punch that Stephen suggest I try as a soothing digestivo. This was a first for me (but not the aforementioned right of passage), though often mentioned by him in the past as a thing to have when the weather turns cold. I was actually given a choice of three flavours, each ready-made in bottles, but opted for the mandarino as the erbe one smelled too fiercely curative and the rum one just too unexciting. Heated up by the steam from the coffee machine, it certainly slid down easily with an aromatic twist and an alcoholic hit that, even if they didn’t see off the sore throat, at least stopped me caring about it.

I was, however, back to caring the next morning having spent half the previous night awake due to the searing pain whenever I tried to swallow, which had also shot up into my left ear. A visit to the chemist seemed in order, and Stephen took some time out from his shoe duties to accompany me, after we had made a detour to Corridonia to collect my new glasses.

If we deal with the happy part first, I am incredibly pleased with my new lenses and can again, after two years of less than perfect vision, see with sharp clarity. Let’s hope the Vi3 supplement will help maintain this for some time at least, and not only for the sake of my pocket. As for the now more pressing matter of my sore throat, when we called in to the farmacia, the chemist and her assistant both shook their heads when I described the pain, saying that if the ear was involved then I needed to see the doctor as antibiotics would be needed. And this is where we come, eventually, to my last great right of passage.

Those of you used to the British way of doing things might be surprised to learn that up till that morning I had no idea where the doctor’s surgery was. Surely I must have noticed the local health centre at some point during my four years plus as a MSP inhabitant, as indeed I would have if there were such a thing. Fortunately, Stephen, who was still with me, marched me out of the chemist’s, across the square, up the street by Pina then down a side street where we hung a left and marched up that one to stop outside an unprepossessing building, indistinguishable from all its neighbours apart from a small sign by the door announcing the surgery times. You can see now why I had no idea where the doctor’s was: because it is nestled inconspicuously amongst all the other narrow old houses in the warren of streets that make up the old centre of the town.

The sign showed that the doctor was available for a couple of hours every day, alternating mornings and evenings. As Friday is an evening session from 17.00 to 19.00, there was no seeing the doctor then so Stephen went off to do what he had to do while I went home. I returned (on my own) just before 5pm to stake my claim to be seen, there being no such thing as an appointment system, but had obviously left it a little late as when I walked down the street to the doctor’s there were already thirteen people waiting outside in a raggedy queue, chatting away and joking with each as if waiting for the coach to take them away for the day. And a bit of a wait we had too, as it was a good ten minutes past five before the doctor appeared, whereupon she made a loud announcement to the people gathered, of which I understood not a thing, and then opened the door.

Whatever it was she said didn’t seem to bother the others waiting so I just followed them into the waiting room, although we did lose a couple of people in the process who had just been hanging around keeping some of the prospective patients company and sharing in the crack. Once inside, the general air of disordered order continued and that special Italian way of queuing in which you don’t actually queue but everyone knows what his or her place is and honours it, as shown when we were joined progressively while waiting by others, whose first question, after a general greeting, was to ask, “Chi è l’ultimo?” The relaxed, air of bonhomie also continued, with much jollity and general chatter, aided by the presence of a young girl, who seemed a particular pet, and who disappeared midway with her mother for ten minutes, only to reappear with a large bag of crisps. Obviously she wasn’t there because of her throat.

My turn eventually came just before six, so not too long really – I’ve waited almost as long with an appointment in the UK – and I went through into the surgery where the doctor, a young woman, was sitting at the desk, twirling her hair, and still in her padded jacket and scarf (this is Italy, remember). I explained my problem and answered her questions as best I could while she examined my throat and ear before saying that I had a throat and ear infection and would write out a prescription for antibiotics and something for the fever. Before she could do that, however, she had to register me via her laptop as it was my first time, which is where my tessera sanitaria came in handy as I was able just to hand the card over for her to take the details.

Clutching my prescriptions, I thanked her, went out to tag in the next patient and say ciao to all the people still waiting. I took the prescriptions over to the chemists, where I again waited in line behind several of the people who had been ahead of me at the doctor’s; it’s always a pleasure to see old friends. I then headed home to start hibernating and nursing my illness – still on my own as Stephen after finishing work had to head out for dinner with Joshua and the Carellis’, who were most disappointed that I wasn’t able to join them as, for once, they were eating meat, not fish, and I could have enjoyed everything.

You won’t be surprised, given the above, that this weekend has been more or less cancelled. I struggled through yesterday, taking medication and sitting around quietly, though Stephen did have to finish his chaperone duties by keeping Joshua entertained in the morning by window shopping around Civitanova before taking him to Ancona after lunch to catch his flight. He was back earlier than expected, however, as J had managed to take his room keys with him from the agriturismo, where they were needed with some urgency as guests were due to arrive and there was only one spare set. Stephen dutifully hastened J to the airport a little ahead of schedule so he could rush back with the keys. Such excitement obviously did me little good, for after pretending yesterday that I was feeling better than I really was, I had, today, to give in and take to my bed. Poor Stephen, after spending most of the last week running around after Joshua and the factory, he has had to spend today running around after me. You’d almost think I’d done it on purpose.