Busted

7th March 2021

A new month but an old colour as we return to orange, though that makes little discernable difference to our daily round other than Stephen again shopping da solo on Tuesday morning with breakfasts being once more off the agenda. What is still very much alive and thriving, though, is the MSP rumour mill, which will come as a surprise to no one.

Thanks to this inestimable local service, via an anonymous (at least on these pages) source at the factory, Stephen came home on Monday bursting with the news that the Comune was closed due to Covid and that the mayor and his family were all in quarantine. This came as a bit of surprise to his bff when Stephen told him in a telephone conversation the next day, not least because Manuel had seen the mayor that morning in the street and had spent a few minutes chatting to him. Obviously rumours of his isolation had been greatly exaggerated. Nor, as it also transpired, were the council offices closed, apart from a few days the previous week, so that was more redundant tittle-tattle.

Of greater credence was the news that came later in the week, verified by at least two reliable sources as I believe is required in publishing, that a certain bar in the locality had been closed after it had been raided by the Guardia Finanza on Monday morning and three people were found to be tucked away in the back cubby hole having illicit breakfasts, one of whom was caught with mouth open about to take a gulp of his illegal cappuccino. Even more alarming, if only on the stupidity scale, is that another watering hole had been discovered to have held a clandestine party for some thirty-odd people, with which they might have got away had not someone had the great idea to post pictures on social media - not that clandestine then - and if thirty of the people hadn’t tested positive for the virus. The good news, he wrote sarcastically, is that all this sort of behaviour is likely to speed our descent into the arms of a red zone.

On other, more pleasant topics, the warm weather continued for most of the week. I saw my first gecko of the year on Monday as it shimmied up the front of the house, while on Tuesday when on our walk Bella and Harry showed as much hunting instinct as last week with the grouse when a hare (the same as in the headlights?) leapt from the drainage gulley (on the opposite side of the path) while they were nosing amiably amongst the grass, and bounded across the field.

On Wednesday, in another sign that the seasons are changing, Mr Carelli along with Mirco as cheerleader, arrived in the afternoon with his rotavator to churn over the lotto, leaving it furrowed and ready for planting. He also arranged with Stephen that the men who see to his trees will come and take a look at ours, what with them being alarmingly tall now. I think it’s no exaggeration to say they are getting on for twice the height they were when we moved in. They can sway worryingly in a strong breeze, and as we know, a good wind is likely to bring down the odd branch. What we want to avoid is it coming down on the house or, indeed, on us.

Thursday, as arranged, the car returned to have the brake cables fitted and we were able to settle our bill - and how strange it felt when I parked it up and engaged the hand brake to find that it came up about half the extent it had done only the day before.

Friday I forwent my fortnightly haircut as I paid my return visit to Claudia for a little maintenance work on my teeth – or tooth, to be precise. The good news, other than having the opportunity for a chat and bit of a catch up, is that she presented me with a bottle of vino cotto to take home to try out, as a little present for us. I think, judging from the almost empty case on her office floor, that she is doing a bit of a PR job, as well as being her usual generous self, by handing out bottles to select clients. She said the fortified wine, which was in a very elegantly shaped bottle with an equally elegant label, was produced by a friend of hers and asked us to let her know what we thought of it when we tried it. Willingly, I thought: we are more than happy to be that sort of guinea pigs.

The run of fine weather broke yesterday morning, which was dull and drizzly, and whilst the rain stopped by lunchtime the greyness has persisted over the weekend. In the afternoon I had a cooking session, two savouries for meals and, for the first time in a while, a ciambellone. It was while I was in the middle of this that my mobile rang, the display showing an unnamed Italian number. Over the past week or so I’ve been bothered by such calls, all from TIM; I naturally assumed it was another so when the voice asked if they were speaking to Ian I became all imperious and answered that yes, it was Sig. Webster. Oh, the voice continued, saying that he was Leonardo and he’d been given my number to contact regarding English lessons. Cue some quick backtracking and a rapid change of tone on my part and an arrangement to speak over Skype this afternoon.

Happily, I was able to apologise once again and explain my abruptness, which was taken in good part – it being, I suppose, quite small beer in a country of volatile tempers. Leonardo was most pleasant, and we have arranged for a weekly lesson on a Saturday afternoon – when I will make a note to leave my haughty head in the cupboard and screw on my considerate teacher one instead.