Night Fever

After the cut and thrust of international competition, when Marco failed to bring glory back to the Bel Paese when he caused the Torre Matta to tumble, and even though it was still unofficially holiday time, thoughts turned to work on Monday when I had my first of three lessons with Roberto and Stephen spent the morning booking a trip back to the UK.

It is quite a while since he was last in Britain for work, but this has been prompted by his customer, Joshua (last here in November) wanting three days of his time to go over various matters. He will combine it with a visit to his sister and to see my mum and dad, and will be away for eight days at the end of January and beginning of February.

As for Roberto, he came on both Monday and Tuesday, in the afternoon, and proved as eager to engage and pick up what he could as I thought he would be. He then returned for his third session on Thursday, with the job spec printed out; we discussed the sort of things that they might be looking for and I tried out some generic interview questions on him, which made him very excited. Not being an expert in navel engineering, I am unable to comment about his suitability for the post in that area, but if the company want someone charming, enthusiastic and energetic then he is an ideal candidate.

Tuesday, of course, was New Year’s Eve and as mentioned last week we again, for the third time in a row, celebrated the event at Pina. As we had suspected when we revised our booking the previous Saturday, presumably due to the good press after last year’s dinner, numbers had substantially increased for this one, with getting on for 200, of which our party of nine made but a small part, gathered in the upstairs function room. The room had also been configured differently; last year the tables were all in the right had section whereas this time they were around the edges of this area, leaving the centre space free, with other tables running down the side of the room by the buffet and then filling the area to the left. There was also set up, in the corner by the open space, a large screen and table with what looked suspiciously like computer equipment, suggesting another elegant variation.

So what can I tell you about the evening?

Firstly, while the food was of the usual Pina standard the number of punters meant that the service was a little more random and the quantities not as abundant compared with last year. There was the usual antipasto buffet, of course, which was cleaned faster than Egypt when the Lord sent his eighth plague upon it. You have never, I can assure you, seen people eat till you have seen Italians sweep over a buffet.

Secondly, the purpose of the screen and computer became obvious when we moved on to the traditional lentils and zampone followed by cannelloni, during which we were entertained by a man with a microphone and karaoke app serenading us with the Italian equivalents of Agadoo and Matchstalk Men and Matchstalk Cats and Dogs. Of course, everyone loved this, as it was the usual round of songs that you hear at any celebratory function and also that make up the bulk of Saturday night variety entertainment on mainstream television. Eat you heart out, Des O’Connor.

Thirdly, after midnight and the concomitant fireworks, prosecco, exchanging of wishes and the obligatory conga line (which Stephen made me join while he stood aloofly aside watching) it was time for the disco – hence the open space – which got Marco very excited indeed. Who knew that he had an inner John Travolta? We did, when he threw himself wholeheartedly into the 70s Europop mix of extended 12” disco versions of such classics as Patrick Hernandez’ Born to Be Alive. Well he certainly was, and he was almost on the beat too.

By the time 1 a.m. was hoving into view and the desert eaten, we slipped away to let the party people get on with the fun. We would, after all, have to be up to take Bella and Harry for their early morning constitutional as they, being sensible, have no concept what seeing in the New Year entails. They did, though, let us have a slight lie in till 7 a.m., which we learned afterwards was not much later than Marco and Maddalena had made it to bed after getting home and making a snack of pasta. All that macho posing in the centre of the dance floor, arm thrusting upwards and index finger pointing to the heavens must take it out of you – but at least we know what to get him for his birthday in February: a white suit.

After a lazy day on the 1st, apart from taking Bella and Harry to collect the car and to enjoy the crisp morning, agreeably quiet at the ungodly hour of 9 o’clock, we had the pleasure on Thursday for a visit from Lorella. If you have been taking notes, you will know that Lorella was one of my first students, starting with me way back in July 2015, but had to stop lessons in October 2018 when her husband was made redundant. Since then, like so many in more countries than just Italy, he has been on a series of short-term contracts and until his situation is more stable Lorella doesn’t feel that she can restart lessons, even though she is desperate to do so as she loves English so much.

I had suggested, when we exchanged Christmas greetings, that she come for a coffee and a chat, which she did, bringing a friend with her for good measure. We had a very pleasant hour or so, catching up, and we said that if she wasn’t able to come for lessons she should just come over from time to time for a natter. She liked this idea, so hopefully it will be less than fourteen months till we see her again, and much less than that till her husband finds a permanent position.

Someone else we hadn’t seen for a time, but a somewhat shorter one, was our friendly vet. This was rectified on Friday when we decided to take Harry for a consultation as the irritation on the back of his neck, which had prompted our last visit, had returned, together with what looked like a spot of the same in the corner of his eye. On examination, the vet said that it was an infection, and this time instead of cream he prescribed antibiotics and gave us two samples of a disinfectant shampoo (for country animals, it said on the sachet), two because he suggested we bath both Harry and Bella to ensure there was no cross infection. He also said that we should buy a bottle of the shampoo as we would need to repeat the procedure every week till we were sure the skin had cleared up completely.

We stopped at the chemist in MSP on the way home, where the nice assistant saved us some money. Seeing the stamp on the prescription she asked if the antibiotics were for a dog, and when we said they were she suggested we buy the generic medication rather then the branded one as it was exactly the same apart from being half the price. Who would have thought the world of pharmaceuticals was on the make… She also ordered a bottle of the shampoo as it wasn’t in stock – finding it most amusing when Stephen said we didn’t need the litre size as we only had small dogs – and we were most impressed when she said it would be here the next morning, as by that time it was getting on for 7 p.m.

And indeed when we called in yesterday morning, there it was. We certainly can’t complain about the service, though Bella and Harry might as they were decidedly unimpressed when we bathed the two of them after their afternoon walk. You would have thought they’d be grateful that we left it until they could dry off in front of the fire but maybe it was having to wait for ten minutes between having the shampoo massaged into their coats and having it rinsed off, while Stephen and I held them still to prevent them from shaking it all over the bathroom that made them disgruntled. We haven’t told them yet that it is due to happen all over again in seven days’ time.

We combined the collecting of the shampoo with the collecting of this year’s supply of bags for the various recycling bins, which once again were being handed out in the old, empty church in the square. The council worker on duty greeted us heartily, remarking how cold it was – to which we agreed, thinking that the small oil-filled radiator he had plugged in would make little difference in the cavernous building, even if he sat on it. Still, he seemed happy in his work, though he looked a little taken aback when he asked what name the house was under and Stephen said Webster. ‘Auita me’ he said, though I’m not sure how much help telling him it began with doppia vu was as he started at ‘t’ and worked backwards. When he got to ‘g’ with no luck we thought we should intervene, and spotting a renegade sheet that had come unattached from the others, pointed to the top and to my name. Beaming at us with relief, he asked me to sign beside it and handed over our various rolls of bags.

With tomorrow being Epifania, we dined with Marco and Maddalena for the third time in eight days as she was anxious to return the complement of last week’s dinner before the holiday season officially ended. Not a lot and keep it simple, Stephen had said when we were invited, which we suspected would be a vain request even though she assured us when we arrived that she had only made three things. What she meant was that she had prepared three courses, starting with an antipasto of frittura, galantina, squares of torta and a heap of insalata Russa. Then followed soup plates overflowing with tortellini in brodo, with enough left in the pan to ensure any army would not be marching on its stomach as it wouldn’t be able to move from being so stuffed. The main course was slices of roast beef, served in two different sauces, accompanied by just a salad to make sure we weren’t overfaced – though she did send us home with helpings of both of the varieties of meat.

It wasn’t just Maddalena, either, who made sure we went home well provided for. During the dinner on New Year’s Eve, Samuele had told Stephen that he was going to his grandmother’s the following day and would bring us some of her cannelloni, a treat not to be missed. In the event, he didn’t bring it to us but left it with Maddalena instead, who had taken the unilateral decision to freeze it until we came. In the event, however, this being Italy where the mantra is why have one thing when you can have half a dozen, we left not only with two tubs of roast beef and an oven dish of cannelloni, but Samuele had also thrown in a bottle of his grandmother’s homemade wine, a jar of her jam and a large jar of white peaches preserved in syrup. What can we say but thank you; next?