Destination moon

11th September 2022

As I know you will all be agog to know what happened in the latest instalment of the ongoing affair of Ian and the Driving Licence, I will dispense with any attempt at an interesting preamble, especially as nothing of significance happened on Monday if you discount an enquiry for English lessons, and cut to the chase.

We turned up at Scuola Europa on Tuesday night at 7pm as advised to see several men and one woman waiting outside the office. We parked our car in the queue that was snaking round the back of the building, as before, then got out to join with the others – with the more relaxed regime post-Covid we were not required to wait in our cars. There was the usual hanging around and various people chatting in small groups, and we prepared, based on past experience, for a bit of a wait. Imagine our surprise, when, at around 7.10 they started with the first on the list. This can’t be right, we thought, so trying not to raise suspicion I wandered casually over to where I could look through the door into the office and sure enough, there was the man reading the eye chart (otherwise known, in this situation, as the medical examination).

They moved apace from this point, as we already know it is not the most intensive of check-ups, but it slowed a bit when it came to my turn. Not that the eye test took that long, but as we were changing and not simply renewing (“Are you sure you want to get rid of all the other categories?” asked the doctor. “Yes!” we both emphatically replied. “Even the towing vehicle?” “Definitely.” After all we don’t want to encroach on Luigi’s territory) there were, surprise, surprise, more forms for them to see to. Of course, it didn’t help when the nice man asked for my old licence, only for him to point out a couple of minutes later that it was my old old licence and not my old new one – which fortunately I found in another place in my wallet. Still, even with all that, we were driving away just after 7.30, with fingers crossed that when I collect the licence next week it will be to see the expiry date as 22.09.2027. (Imagine.)

We were a little concerned at being so early as we had decided to celebrate by stopping at the pub on the way home for a burger and chips (it being almost a week since our carbohydrate festa at Il Priore) and it might not be up and running. We were ok, though, as it was open for business, even if the only people in it were us and the young woman who owns it, the other two staff arriving while we were eating. What can we say, other than we had another evening of hedonistic pleasure – burgers, chips (only one portion this time) and onion rings, and a pudding each. Seeing as we were at the McIntosh, we went the whole hog and drank beer – a very pleasing guest beer, whose name translates as Death Head belied its very pleasing complex maltiness. Stephen, not known for knocking back the pints, suggested we have a second one each – though his decision might have been more swayed by the skull-shaped glasses in which it was served.

Wednesday afternoon saw the start of the harvesting of the sunflowers, which were, by then, looking very sorry for themselves. They finished the job on Thursday morning, but not before Stephen was out early, just after breakfast, with a shopping bag looking for the odd flower head that had been thrown onto the track. He managed to find a smattering, though not as many as usual as the harvester had sailed closer to the edge of the field than normal, which will be hung up to provide feed for the birds over the winter.

He also dealt with matters horticultural on Friday morning when this time after breakfast he set about the first stage of dismantling the frame over the tomatoes, which had more or less stopped producing fruit a couple of weeks ago. While the uprights remain as the plants are still there, he removed the netting (which I helped fold up, proving I am not a totally passive observer in these matters) and the cross poles that supported it, and all before we went shopping. On the way back, we stopped off for the Freeclimber, which now had its new accelerator whatever (which is as technical as I am able to get).

After gritting my teeth and paying, Stephen climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine – or rather, he didn’t. He tried once, he tried twice, he tried a few times and despite growling and coughing, the engine refused to catch. Ivano and his son, both phlegmatic at the best of times, showed no reaction other than smiling slightly and muttering that it was new. Eventually, pretending a confidence that he probably wasn’t feeling, Stephen got the engine started, and doing his best kangaroo imitation, reversed the car from its parking spot then headed home. He made it back ok, and was brave enough to drive it to work, reporting later that finding it a little temperamental was only to be expected, as was stalling four times.

As for the weekend, whilst it would be wrong to say it has been all about the beach, the sand and the sea have also played a prominent part. Yesterday evening we drove up the coast to Numana for a return visit, one year on, to Il Torre, the fabulous rooftop fish restaurant we ate at around this time last year with Marco and Maddalena. As before, they were spending the weekend at her parents’ holiday flat in the town, and as before the food from the limited menu (only three choices per course - but that is no problem with cooking this accomplished) was just as good. It was a glorious night, warm, and light thanks to the full moon rippling across the sea. Stephen did have one concern: with Rocco the barber still away on his holiday, he finished off his outfit with a baseball cap, not so much as a style statement as to hide his unkempt hair which was all of an embarrassing half a centimetre in length.

With the month of September drifting into double figures, this morning saw what will probably be our last beach walk of the year, at least barefooted and in swim shorts, and I don’t think we were alone in thinking that the summer season was over. There were noticeably fewer people and certainly not as many families and children, and a lot of the chalets had packed away their sunbeds and umbrellas from the shore. But that was not necessarily a bad thing, for apart from there being a greater sense of space, there were also fewer people to see how dishevelled Stephen was looking with his ridiculously long hair, having left his cap at home.