I know a place...

To save you any disappointment when you get to the end of this week’s offering I’ll come clean at the outset and say that this weekend, like last, was notable only for its lack of anything whatsoever worth writing about. Those of you, then, who like to live life with a frisson of vicariousness will have to mine what pleasure you can from the first few days.

Things did indeed get off to a thrilling start, at least in the parameters of life of LCDDB, when I spied a digger at the top of the lane when out on our Monday morning walk, appearing to clear away the mini mudslide still hanging about there, as well as tidying up the banking above it. What good that will do when next there is a heavy rainfall we are not quite sure, but at least it looks better and we have a clear run past the entrance to Mario and Luigi’s house.

Of greater effect was the work carried out the next day when our friend, the road man, came himself in a small excavator to work on the rest of the road. We exchanged pleasantries with him both when I was out with Bella and Harry and when we passed later on our way to do the shopping. And very jolly he was in return, as well you might be, for trolling up and down in your own little world in the sunshine of a July morning must be quite a pleasant way to spend your time. We were, moreover, very happy with what he achieved, digging out a channel on either side of the road as well as opening a couple of ‘slip roads’ into the fields to encourage any water to take a less damaging path. He did such a good job of clearing away all the vegetation that, as Stephen said with forgivable hyperbole, you could now land a jumbo jet on the road.

While life outside was looking on the up, inside we were visited by one of our perennial summer problems when, as we were relaxing having a post-lunch caffè, we heard a knocking coming from the kitchen. At first we were a little puzzled but Stephen quickly realised, when we went in to the room and caught a flash of movement behind the glass of the fireplace door, that a bird had come down the chimney and was trapped. We shut Harry and Bella in the back room, where they had been happily napping on the settee next to me but of course immediately started agitating as they thought they were missing something, while Stephen opened fire door and started removing the summer arrangement of logs.

Of the bird there was no sign, and we feared that it might have got itself caught in the flue, but just as he got to the last couple of logs it flew in a flurry past Stephen, bringing soot along with it, made an abortive attempt at the window and then veered to the right and out through the fly screen. From the way it made its escape, it seemed that there was no damage done if you don’t count the sooty fireplace. That was hoovered up, though a spot of touching up with white paint will have to wait, and we went back to finish our interrupted coffees while Harry and Bella, now the excitement was over, flopped again on the settee.

Wednesday turned out a busy day for me, but only where my conversation network was concerned. Firstly, I had a message from a new contact, Luca, who lives in Ischia (and of course, no thoughts of cheap holidays went through my mind) and wanted to improve his English mainly for his job. We wasted very little time and we had a chat on Thursday, and very pleasant it was too; we are doing it again same time next week. Secondly, I had an urgent call, mid-afternoon, on Skype from Iacopo wanting to know if I were free and if so could I help him. Ever obliging, I said I was and of course, so I spent the next 90 minutes helping him to prepare for an interview, in English, that evening. He had only just received notice of it, but seeing as it was in his home town they must have thought he could whip round there quickly.

That was, of course, all in English, but I did practise my Italian later on (as well as the previous day with Patrizia – where do I find all this time) with my second conversation with Alberto in Fuerteventura. We discussed music and things in general, chewing the fat happily for almost an hour at the end of which time Stephen appeared in the doorway. Someone else, it seemed, had been doing some chewing in the case of the mystery of the disappearing tomatoes.

Stephen had collected a pleasing variety from the vines to have with our dinner, amongst which were two very find looking vintage beef tomato specimens. These he left, with the others, in a bowl by the side of the fireplace, something we have done many times in the past with no problem. The beef tomatoes, however, must have had a very enticing aroma as when he came back into the room a little while later all the was left of the beef tomatoes (the others were untouched) were a couple of stalks with some flesh attached. We have no evidence as to the culprit and heaven forbid that we hold the innocent up for public shaming, but the finger of suspicion is pointing at Bella.

As if all that was not enough, Thursday proved to be very hectic, and not all due to things planned. It started in the morning and our annual visit to the fierce (in the RuPaul sense of the word) lady at the insurance office in Montegranaro, though before this there was the small matter of where to have breakfast. Pina and Bar del Borgo would require a detour and last year breaking our fast in Montegranaro was less than successful so we decided to give the bar at Paolo’s garage a try. This was something of a brave move, as the bar used to be talked of in hushed tones amongst the general populace, and not a place an unaccompanied female would want to find herself.

This all changed about a year ago when following intervention by the police amidst the rumour of drugs it was closed down. It reopened a couple of months later under the new management of a lady from Torre San Patrizio, whom, we had on good authority, was a cousin of the MSP’s mayor (remembering that the term ‘cousin’ in Italian is as loose as the term ‘uncle’ or ‘aunt’ and does not necessarily signify a close blood relation). Imagine my disappointing that instead of entering a sort of Hernado’s Hideaway and brushing up against the underbelly of the town we walked into a light, airy and spotlessly clean bar and greeted a couple of locals we knew, breakfasting on their way to work rather then flopping bleary eyed over a caffè on their way home. At least the cappuccino was up to acceptable Italian standard and the cornetto alla crema di pistacchio was very good indeed so we can add it to our list of breakfast spots.

As for the insurance office, the lady was all prepared for us with the necessary documents, though being Italy and with a handful of policies to sort out it still took some time. The good news for us was two-fold: one, that they are moving to different premises right next to our bank, so maybe next time we can try the card (see last week) and then shoot to the cash machine if it is still getting the cold shoulder from the reader; and two – and more importantly – the fierce lady fixed us both up on some telephone system whereby you acknowledge receipt of a text in lieu of signing the usual twenty-seven times in person - a radical development in the land of paper bureaucracy.

And this is where we return to the perennial topic of the road, and our muted jubilation at the road man’s intervention receiving a bit of a blow, all thanks to an unwanted frozen food delivery man. It started when I thought I heard Stephen return home from the factory just over half way through my maiden conversation with Luca. I did wonder why he was apparently revving the Freeclimber backwards and forwards in the driveway until I caught sight of a delivery van (the size and shape that brings your online groceries from Tesco) stuck partway up the road. With half-an-eye on proceedings as I still had to give Luca the bulk of my concentration, I was aware that the van had backed slowly down the hill, just in time to give Stephen, as it was really him this time, a clear home, meaning I could relax knowing he would take charge of the situation.

I won’t bore you with the ins and outs, but the main key points of the story are that the driver had been looking for Mario and Luigi’s house to make, he told Stephen, a delivery when his sat nav sent him down our road, and this put him into a panic which (if we are being kind) made him totally unable to handle the situation of getting back to the main road (though others before him have). After a couple of abortive attempts, during which he ignored Stephen’s advice, he ended up half in the recently harvested field. Obviously, extra power in the shape of M&L’s tractor was needed and our local superheroes duly arrived.

After it was discovered that the man wasn’t making a delivery but cold calling to see if they were in the market for buying frozen foods (a concept totally alien to them; why would you buy convenience foods when you have a wife cooking it for you from fresh ingredients?) they brought out the said tractor. There was a slight delay when firstly the driver showed ignorance about the existence of a tow bar and therefore even less idea where it might be kept. Fortunately, wiser heads then his were able to locate it and screw it into the front of the van. The tractor was attached and Luigi started up the engine and set off… or not for while the driver was sitting at the wheel, ready to keep the van on the straight and narrow, he had omitted to take the brake off.

Eventually there was a happy-ish ending when the van made stately progress to the top of the road and went on his way (though one suspects he may not be passing by the Mogliano brothers again anytime soon), leaving Mario saying to Stephen completely straight-faced, why would anyone with any sense buy a house down that road like we had. Pointing out that it was he and his brother who had sold it to us seemed to make very little difference. As for the road, Stephen was up early the next day, before leaving for our Friday morning shopping and haircut excursion, shovel in hand, effecting some running repairs to where the beleaguered driver had churned it up.

As if that wasn’t enough for one day, we also had a dinner date with Marco and Maddalena at a surprisingly busy pub, which has obviously become the in place in Monte for the young and the restless, though a smattering of families and village grandees lend an air of restraint. Before that, we had called by on our way there on Paola and Sandro, second generation Stefonis.

Paola had phoned Stephen earlier in the day to say that she would like a word as she had a proposition for me. This turned out to be the possibility of some work starting in September as a private school for 4-11 year olds in Civitanova is in need of a native English speaker to work with some of the older pupils. Paola is involved as she is friends with the woman who runs the school, who is a member of the Matricardi family, the Eddie Stobarts of MSP. I gave her my card and Paola said she would be in touch.

You will appreciate why, after all this excitement, we had earned a quiet weekend. There is, however, one thing hanging over from last week’s blog that those who have been taking notes may want the answer to: namely Claudio from Rome. He had, if you recall, contacted me last Sunday with view to a spot of chitchat, and after a bit of back and forth we found a mutually agreeable time of 5pm on Friday. What a nice man he turned out to be, though I was perhaps confirmed in my fears that I might be punching above my weight for in addition to his stated interests in books, opera and psychology, he is also in charge of human resources in a government department and lives in a flat near the Vatican. It’s just as well that against his cerebral interests and his proximity to secular and sacred seats of power I have my ineffable charm and wit to wow him with.