Reap what you sow

The first part of this past week was action-packed, in a relative sense, that is, when compared to the second part which had about as much going on as Donald Trump’s brain. But enough of searing political satire, let’s cut to the chase.

Monday morning was a hive of activity when I had my usual Skype lesson with the Montegranaro two, only this time it was to the backdrop of Marcello using the chainsaw to cut up the fallen branches still hanging around from the winter and early spring into manageable chunks for Stephen to move into storage. While this was going on, we were pleased to see that the road man’s word with the Comune had had some effect as the grass cutter appeared to chop back the vegetation at either side of the lane. Whilst this couldn’t be counted as remedial work on the road itself, at least clearing away the undergrowth made it seem like you had a better run at things.

Despite having electric saws and heavy machinery in operation, Marzia, Diego and I were still able to hear ourselves speak, which is just as well as the lesson turned to be talk heavy as they hadn’t been able to print out the emailed materials. I wasn’t totally surprised, as my mail server was acting up when I sent them, but I did try to point out politely that having them five days in advance was done so that if there were any problems they could get in touch with me. I suppose I am being a tad unreasonable in expecting teenagers to think for themselves, even ones as intelligent and pleasant as these two.

The other thing of note on Monday was making an appointment with the oculist in Corridonia for a check up on my eyes. He had said when I visited him last November to come back in about eight months, but the earliest appointment we could have was the end of August, as due to Covid-19 that particular surgery is only open on Monday afternoons from 16.00 to 20.00. That puts the check up a bit past the eight months, but not by much.

It can’t, however, be said that I have a shortage of appointments where my conversations are concerned, having another two new contacts. The first was on Monday, when Iacopo, from just north of Bologna, got in touch. He was very keen and we had our first chat that afternoon as well as another on Wednesday. This keenness was due, it turned out, to him wanting to brush up his English (which is very good but a bit rusty) as he is looking to apply for jobs abroad, probably the Far East, and needs fluent language skills, which also accounts for why our sessions are a bit more rigorous than my other casual conversations.

The second contact came through this afternoon from Claudio in Rome, so we are just in the midst of sending messages and trying to find a mutually agreeable time. All I know at the moment is that his interests are books, opera and psychology, so I’ll have to try to get away with appearing intelligent and avoid the urge to swap ciambellone recipes.

Despite my burgeoning Internet presence, we did find time on Tuesday morning for a long overdue trip to Lidl to stock up on basics, suitably masked of course, though we were a little surprised as to how much busier it was then pre-lockdown days. Still, it was good to see that to celebrate our much anticipated return they had litre bottles of Aperol on special offer – so that’s summer sorted then. On the way back we stopped at Frantoio Sassetti to buy a five-litre can of olive oil, the one we bought just before Christmas having run out. Roberto, the owner and husband of my erstwhile pupil, Silvia, served us and expressed great surprise that it had taken us so long to get through such a modest amount; we didn’t bother explaining that we don’t fry everything as is the MSP way. That would have only confirmed the Italian belief in the strangeness of the English (used advisedly), especially as he segued, with a wry smile, onto the topic of Boris Johnson, or, as he called him, England’s Donald Trump (see above).

While all this was going on, Stephen was finding more than the odd moment to pursue

his hunt for a house for Jonathan’s wedding next year, which came to fruition on Tuesday when Douglas and Susan agreed to his number one suggestion. The deciding factor as far as he was concerned seemed to be that there were pottery parrots in the online photos, which trumped hands down Susan’s initial preference, which appeared to have nylon sheets. She wasted no time the next day, and before lunch we had a message from her to say that it was booked and the deposit paid. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have sorted accommodation (fingers crossed) in such good time, as that means we have over a year to concentrate on the more important matter of what to wear.

Wednesday was also harvest time for the beans in Mario and Luigi’s field, that in contrast to the joyful sunflowers opposite looked like they were part of a scorched earth policy. They’re not ready for picking till the plants have become dried and black, but I wouldn’t let that worry you as these beans are destined for animal fodder so are unlikely to turn up in the salad bar at your local supermarket. The good news, though, was that when there was enough of a yield to fill the double container waiting at the side, it was pulled by tractor at a very regal pace up the road, thereby doing a little to flatten it out and knock some scree into the crevices – though there is still much left for the Comune to get its teeth into.

And this is where the week starts to peter off. It being that time of year, Stephen called the fierce lady at the insurance office in Montegranaro to see if she could give us a figure for the various premiums we will have to pay when we call next week. We want to be forewarned as we will have to draw out sufficient cash to pay the total as, for some reason, despite our bank card being welcomed and effective in all other outlets it has never yet worked in their machine. Thursday was another Covid red-letter day when Computer Luca became our first post-lockdown dinner guest. We treated him to a new recipe, Nigella’s pork steaks cooked with dried figs and port, though, as we have found in the past, we had to be creative with what was actually available in the local shops. For figs read prunes, and for port read red wine, as there was not even any vino cotto or Marsala even for ready money, it being summer when you are not supposed to drink such things. Where we did come up trumps, however, was with her foolproof and speedy recipe for mayonnaise, which Stephen whisked up in a couple of minutes with a stick blender – and an egg, some olive oil and couple of other ingredients, of course.

Following our mammoth shop at Lidl, we needed very few things for the weekend so Stephen did the necessaries at Sigma da solo following his haircut. This turned out quite fortuitous for if we had both gone as usual we would have missed Simone who came for the biannual check up of the fire extinguishers required for the external gas tank. He was very chatty, no doubt aided by his lack of a mask, and didn’t seem at all perturbed that the extinguisher sign was wedged in the outside bolt on the downstairs door across from the tank or that you had to wrestle the said door open to get at the extinguishers themselves, which might not be the best of plans in a sudden conflagration. He duly signed the ticket attached to the extinguishers, I duly signed his form and we discussed the sunflowers and life in Italy in general before he shook my hand and took his leave. I immediately dashed upstairs to wash my hands and throw on some sanitizer while he took three attempts to get up the road. Next time he might find it easier if he wears a mask with go-faster stripes.

And that, as they say is all she wrote. This weekend has been totally without incident or interest. It might not make for good reading but does make for a very relaxing time, which given the current heat is no bad thing.