Mind your own biscuits...*

Whilst the Italian postal service continued to play fast and loose with us, with the odd card going to the box in the centre and others emerging from the one at the top of the road only slightly damp around the edges, other preparations for Christmas were steaming ahead.

These included a visit, on Tuesday afternoon, to the new Chinese shop in Monte Urano, which was very swish indeed. It looked more like an orderly TK Maxx with serried aisles in white and Perspex, complete with a separate clothes department upstairs, displaying all your bargain basement heart could wish for. Needless to say, we didn’t leave empty-handed, including things we hadn’t known we needed (special cloth for wiping dogs’ paws a particular find), and having caught the shopping bug stopped on the way home at the Frantoio Sassetti just outside MSP for some of the new season olive oil.

This was a fortuitous decision as we were served by my former student, Silvia, who stopped her lessons earlier in the year due to her expecting the charming little bundle of loveliness that she presented to us shortly after we walked into the shop. After much cooing over her daughter, we purchased our five-litre can of oil, a small bottle of Varnelli for a Christmas box and sampled their new line – olive oil chocolates. This I thought was very good; well-flavoured dark chocolate with a fruity/peppery edge, but Stephen thought the aftertaste was a trifle oily. I wonder why…

It was time on Wednesday for the second stage in the ginger biscuit offensive. The first batch having been bagged in a suitably artistic way (thank you, Stephen) and some dispensed, it was time to make some more for the great giveaway the following day. When I was FaceTiming with Mum later she asked how many I’d made altogether and seemed reasonably impressed when I told her 155. My dad’s reaction, on the other hand, when she told him was more unexpected. “Will they appreciate them?” he asked, which seemed initially bit odd, but as a die hard Daily Mail reader he will have realised that Italians, as being not only Johnny Foreigners but also Europeans, won’t have been brought up with sterling British values, such as jingoism, xenophobia and an overweening sense of entitlement.

When I went on my Santa runs during the next couple of days the ginger biscuits were gratefully received, particularly at Mancini pasta where I popped in, not having seen them during this busy month for them. I actually came off the better for this visit for while I gave out bags of biscuits, I was given in return one of their fabulous gift boxes, complete with elegant ribbon, containing eight kilos of pasta in various shapes and sizes. What better gift for an adopted Italian?

Food was also on the agenda on Wednesday night, but not quite how we had expected as our plans to meet Marco and Maddalena for a bowl of pasta at the pub were scuppered by it being closed. There was no indication why this was so, and our fears for its demise, which had been assuaged the previous week, were once again rising. We were sitting in the car about to set off, with Bella and Harry perky on the back seat at not being left behind for a change, when Stephen received Maddalena’s message. After a hasty exchange it was agreed to meet at Pomod’oro instead, which was not such good news for B & H, who seemed not a little puzzled, not to mention crestfallen, to find themselves bundled out of the car and given a quick walk up the lane as poor compensation before being locked in the house with only the Christmas tree to give scant consolation.

It wasn’t surprising to find Pomod’oro busy, it being the week before Christmas, but they managed to find a table for us while the large conservatory area was awash with works dos. As so often happens, it was a case of cherchez la femme, for whilst the tables of two or four were for the most part mixed, in the annex testosterone reigned, as did an interesting concept of what passed for an appropriate dress code for a night out with the boys, but that is another story.

As for the weekend, Stephen had more than a moment of panic when, yet again, his accommodation booked for Micam in Milan hit a snag. At least this time it was well ahead of the event and not as he was on the train there, like last time, but receiving a message last night to say that his booking had been cancelled was a bit of a blow. He spent some time this morning on the Internet, and managed to find somewhere suitable for only a few euro more, so let’s all keep our fingers crossed that this one is honoured.

This was all sorted in good time before we headed out to Diver Xo in Corridomnia, which we had so liked the previous time, and which Stephen had offered as a Christmas treat to Luca and Sauro, and me of course. We had a very happy time and between us managed to sample more of the menu. Sauro had a particularly fine looking bowl of ramen noodles, complete with fried egg, which we have our eye on for trying next time we lunch out there, maybe in the new year once we’ve got through all our pasta. It’s enough to make you think that these foreigners do actually know a thing or two, after all.

*....and life will be gravy.