Bumper to bumper

17th September 2023

Monday morning dawned clear and bright, and Stephen having been given dispensation to arrive late to work duly responded to Manuel’s call (yes, he was taking some time out too to make sure all went smoothly, or as smoothly as possible given the state of the road) and met him and the wood man at the top at 8.30 prompt, as agreed.

What can I say? The wood man drove down, got out of his cab, complained; emptied the wood in front of the garage, complained; Stephen paid, the wood man complained; Manuel called Mario, the wood man complained; Mario arrived, hooked up to the truck and guided it up the hill, the wood man complained; they arrived at the top, the woodman said that if he had known the true state of the road he wouldn’t have come and he’s not coming next year and it’s all very well but the pulling by the tactor damages the truck, then left with his pockets bulging with €50 notes. He didn’t complain about that.

As Scarlet might have said, next year is another day. As for this week, Stephen went to work after the dust had settled but was back at lunchtime and given further dispensation to “work from home” in the afternoon. This he did, and in between checking his phone for messages or emails he, with more than a little help from me, managed to shift about three-quarters of the wood into the garage to be stored with last year’s overflow. He managed to move the remainder the next morning before our appointment at the vets (see below) and while I was doing my morning chores, then Wednesday morning before work he swept and tidied the area, meaning we are, at least for this year, all set for any future cold snap.

There was another change to our routine on Tuesday morning as a ten o’clock appointment with the vet (see above) meant we breakfasted at home and got our various jobs out of the way so we could be at Triangolo near Girasole in good time. What’s this, I hear you cry, an actual appointment, not just turning up on spec. Yes, and for the simple reason that we were trying another new place, one that was a bit handier than the outbuilding in Corridonia, and a clinic at that. On the plus side, it was very swish with actual an reception desk and a seating area, very tastefully done, and the vet spoke English. On the negative side, we had chosen a morning when the internet was down, meaning he had to dash back and forth between the consulting room where we were and the office area, – oh, and the cost.

We were there because Bella and Harry were due their annual injections as well as an update on the one for kennel cough before they go on their weekend break. The good news was that the vet explained that a couple of the vaccinations which they have been receiving every year are not actually necessary every year. The other good news is that after he had examined them and listened to their hearts he said they were both doing fine, but, unsurprisingly, he would like to take a blood sample from Bella (who, usually so obliging, was far from amenable to the idea, requiring his assistant and Stephen to hold her while he got the needle in – I took Harry outside as he was trying to help by leaping about barking) to send away for analysis.

Once everything was completed, and the vet had written down our details to upload onto the system when contact was renewed with his server, Stephen took Bella and Harry outside and we ran into another bit of a hiccup thanks to the server malfunction. I had taken a bit of extra cash with me, based on what we had paid previously in the less salubrious, but perfectly competent and professional, places, but it was still somewhat short of the total the assistant quoted after totting it up on a piece of paper. I repeated what I thought I had heard, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice, which she reiterated, and as the card machine was not operating (see above) we had to make a quick dash to the commercial centre to draw out enough cash to cover the bill.

We chewed it all over on the way home. I suppose we have been cushioned since we arrived in Italy. With the previous vet, as Chiara worked for them, we got what you could call the friends’ rate, and really I don’t think what we paid at the clinic was any more than it would be in the UK, and it did include the blood test, which don’t come cheap even for humans, but it was still a bit of an increase to become acclimatized to - and he was very thorough. The jury is still out.

As for the blood test, the vet spoke to Stephen on Thursday morning and said the results were back (quick work, I guess you get what you pay for) and that there was something in the kidneys. This wasn’t a surprise; we had something similar, if not the same, with Tommy when he got to an age. Stephen asked if it was urgent as he was going to Milan for a week, and the vet said it would be ok to leave it till he got back, so we can feel some relief that it can’t be that serious. Medication or a change in diet was mentioned, but we will, as they say, have to wait and see.

What can I say about the rest of the week? Wednesday morning, to make up for missing out on Tuesday, Stephen enticed me to breakfast at Pina, saying it was ok if he was late to work again. Whether or not this was the case became somewhat moot when we bumped into Bertrando, and his wife, as we were walking up the square, but as he was still reeling from having just left his daughter for her first morning at nursery school, Stephen playing hooky was low on his list of priorities as he tried to figure out whether him crying and his daughter not was a good or a bad thing.

In the evening I had the first lesson with the young son of Rocco’s friend, but before that I was beginning to think that I would have to start giving him a finder’s fee as I had a message from someone saying he wanted to improve his English and had been given my name by Rocco. I was sort of in two minds when I learned that he lived in Massa Fermano, twenty minutes away with a good wind behind you, but a solution was found. Whatever his line of work is, is currently a mystery, but it involves travelling to see some clients and he happens to have a regular appointment in MSP on a Thursday morning. We fixed on 10.45 as convenient for us both (giving me time for dog walking and ablutions, both very important) and I will be rendezvousing with him next week outside Nero Giardini as, unless he is a freelance tank commander, I don’t want him to risk his car on our road.

As it was Stephen’s turn for a haircut, it fell to him to thank Rocco for both the new contacts, which elicited a puzzled response, saying he doesn’t know anyone in Massa Fermana, nor anyone anywhere with the name on the text message, and anyway, he would never give my number without asking first (because that’s the sort of person he is). A few quizzical moments of humming and pondering came to an end when Stephen realised we had the wrong Rocco. It was not Rocco the barber and my star pupil, but Rocco my former pupil and son of Mario. I suppose that’s what happens in a country where the majority of the male population share the same handful of first names – we’re thankful that it wasn’t Luca or Marco because then we would have been really stuck for choice.

It was that time of the year again this weekend when Stephen makes his pilgrimage to Milan to worship at the shrine of all things shoes, and as usual I took him to the station yesterday morning to catch the 8.09 to Milan. All things should have gone well except he discovered once he settled into his seat that he had forgotten his iPad, left on charge in the kitchen. No need to panic as he did have his phone, and it wasn’t long before he contacted me again with a solution, using the services of, well go on, guess.

Yes, bff Manuel. He is due to arrive in the commercial hub of Italy tomorrow morning, which is why I was ringing on his mum’s door after lunch yesterday, disturbing her and Manuel’s son and one of his daughters who were relaxing in front of the TV. I should have known better as it was only just after 2, and really it is heading more towards 4 before life kick starts again. Mea culpa, or, as they say in Italian, colpa mia, but at least the responsibility was out of my hands.

And as if that wasn’t enough to cope with, I also had to make a slight detour on the way home from Civitanova to call in at Giordano’s to collect the newly fixed lawnmower. He had phoned Stephen on Friday, but being a bit busy, he (Stephen) hadn’t had time to squeeze in that little job. It all went fairly smoothly. I arrived, I paid (€45, considerably cheaper than when something usually goes wrong and we have to buy a new one), and Giordano helped me load it into the back of the Renegade, though the opposite way to which I was going to do it.

Apparently, it was wrong for it to go with the folded handle first. It went the other way round so Giordano could bend a cardboard tube to wedge across the back to keep it in position as well as a box to stop it rolling backwards. This would all have been well and good had not the way home been all downhill, so that when I opened the back to take the mower out, it had actually rolled forward with the front wheels hooked over the top of the folded down rear seats. I’m not saying my way would have been better, but…

One of the reasons Stephen was keen for me to collect the mower is so he can give the grass a cut next Sunday, as it is badly in need of one and the weekend after we will be away (see previous). So why don’t I do the decent thing and go out there myself? Partly because anything to do with the garden is Stephen’s department, and I don’t want to be seen to be making a power grab in his absence; partly because of the list of my own weekend chores, but mainly because if you think I am going to put my hands on, let alone operate, a machine history has proved to be fraught with such possibilities of calamity, then you must think I am a tussock short of a meadow.