Decked out

We may only be days away from the universal closedown that is known as Christmas, and people’s thoughts may be turning to parties, get-togethers and holidays, but some of us (i.e. me) rather than winding down appear to be winding up.

This is because I received an urgent phone call on Monday morning from Giordano, the notario, speaking on behalf of a third party who must have collared him in his office on the basis that he had my telephone number. Now bear with me as the connections here are a little complicated (aren’t they always in MSP…) as the third party was Silvana, who used to stitch shoes when Stephen worked for the Stefonis, and who was there on behalf of Massimo’s (of Bar del Borgo, whose daughter Sara I gave a few lessons to in May) brother whose daughter, Sofia, was in dire need of lessons as her teacher, presumably at the recent parents’ meeting, had said she was behind with her understanding of grammar.

Still with me? Good.

Silvana was the appointed runner as she, due to Sofia’s parents both being out at work, looks after the flat and Sofia in the afternoon. Besides, her existing connection with Stephen would have bestowed on her a certain status in the proceedings, and her cries of joy when Stephen – who had taken over the call when it became obvious that arrangements had to be made – said that I could come the next afternoon showed either the high regard in which my powers as a teacher are held or the family’s desperation. I will leave you to decide.

In the event, after all the rush, the lesson was rescheduled to Friday, due to the family all falling prey to bad colds and high temperatures on Tuesday. You won’t be surprised to know that when I met Sofia it was the usual story: lots of work completed in the textbook but a debilitating dread of having to actually say something in English. She was, again as usual, charming and eager to work so we will see what I can do for her.

Also on Tuesday Stephen spent some quality time with me when we went to Corridomnia in the morning, after doing the shopping in MSP, to get some bits and pieces for Christmas presents. This was just as well as on Wednesday he abandoned me to a lonely lunch while he was coerced into accompanying Mirko to a trend meeting in Civitanova. I’m not sure that he found out anything particularly earth shattering, and the paltry buffet offering afterwards went no way to making up missing pasta at home, but entertainment was to be had at the end of the presentation when certain delegates kicked off.

The disagreement concerned the key trend identified, which is to do with sustainability and recycling plastic into shoe production. While some took an ethical stance over this, others pricked their sanctimonious bubble by saying that it had nothing to do with saving the planet and all to do with being a marketing strategy; if the local shoe industry were really so concerned it would overhaul its entire production process as slipping in a bit of plastic doth not the world redeem.

Something that has been given a stay of execution, to our relief, is the pub. Last week I was heralding its imminent closure, but when we went for pasta on Wednesday with Marco and Maddalena we found out it is not, in fact, being closed. Rather, Zeppa and Teresa are bowing out and leaving the running to his niece, Laura, who, I am told, has experience in catering. Whether she will maintain the status quo or bring innovative new life is yet to be seen, though as far as we reactionaries are concerned, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

What was making its last appearance, however, was the famed MacIntosh Christmas tree, a small artificial one that sits on the bar and which has been adorned for many, many years with miniature portraits of the erstwhile regulars executed on corks. Teresa offered Stephen his doppelganger but he refused for the time being, saying he would get it next week. He is putting it off as taking it signifies the end of an era going back to when he first started coming to MSP, and calling in at the MacIntosh after a day’s work at the Stefonis’ factory, just across the road, was a sacrosanct ritual. We cannot expect things to stay the same forever, but that doesn’t mean we can’t look back with a certain wistful nostalgia.

You may have noticed that nothing has been mentioned about the state of communications at LCDDB, which might suggest that all is now well. While the Internet is indeed holding up (touch wood), the same can’t be said for our post. We have had occasion to be less than happy as it has become very much hit and miss as to whether it is left in our box in the main square or delivered to the redundant box at the top of the road, where rain and nibbling creatures can cause problems.

We should, therefore, be pleased that on Thursday afternoon Stephen looked up from working at the dining table to see the postman standing at the door with two cards in his hand, but this elegant variation left us even more puzzled as he obviously had no idea what he should be doing with out post, using neither the official box in the square nor the one by Mario and Luigi’s. Still, you have to admire his determination that, like the Pony Express, the mail must go through – but maybe he wished he were on horseback when he struggled to get his van back up the hill.

He obviously thought better of trying the personal approach the next day as shortly before lunch Stephen received a telephone call from Mario to say that our post box was full to bursting and he was concerned that the contents would come off worse in any encounter with the elements. Stephen duly collected them, and in bemoaning the situation when at the factory that afternoon, he learned that we are not the only people whose epistolary patience is being tested as currently it appears receiving the correct mail in MSP is something of a lottery. Maybe moving responsibility for deliveries to Porto San Giorgio and its postmen, 22 kilometres away, was not one of Poste Italia’s best ideas.

Fortunately, the rest of the week proved more felicitous. Friday night we cracked open our bottle of Hendrick’s gin, which we have been saving for a special occasion since Douglas and Susan arrived with it on their last visit in July, the special occasion being the proximity of Christmas coupled with Stephen picking our first ever lemon from our own lemon tree. I’m pleased to say that neither the gin nor the lemon, with its punchy zestiness, disappointed.

Yesterday afternoon, while I was otherwise engaged with mundane chores, Stephen transformed LCDDB into a festive wonderland as only he is able (the responsibility being far too much for me to cope with). Besides the tree, there are various pockets of decorative interest, making use of the embarrassing amount of Christmas paraphernalia we’ve accumulated over the years. It was then my turn to be busy today while he went gallivanting as I turned the kitchen of LCDDB into a biscuit factory, baking tray after tray of my classic ginger biscuits to give as presents to my students.

While I was piling up the biscuits on the cooling racks, Stephen was in Porto San Giorgio for the Carellis’ Christmas works do, which I had been excused from by the devious means of him telling the family that I was not going. Even when Nazareno pleaded for me to go, Stephen stood firm, because what is the point of me sitting there for three hours politely not eating anything but then being included in the bill? I did, to be honest, feel that I might have missed out when I discovered that the venue had been changed from the usual Matilda to Ristorante Campanelli 1940, which judging by the pictures Mirko put on Instagram, appeared to have much nicer plates. I was assured, however, when Stephen eventually came home (proclaiming that he couldn’t eat another mouthful, but still managed, later, to keep me company in the torta salata for dinner) that I wouldn’t have been able to eat any of the food. It’s just as well, then, that he ate enough for two of us – or make that four, if you include Bella and Harry.