Don't be rash

21st November 2021

This week started in a bit of confusion, at least for me, as Stephen returned to Webster-Firth HQ brandishing a letter from Istat (Istituto Nazionale di Statistica) about the census, which I had completed a few weeks ago within the given timeframe. Italian officialese is even more impenetrable than its English cousin, even for natives, and at first I thought it was telling me that I had missed out my codice fiscale, which seemed strange as I had been, I thought, very punctilious. On a second look, I realised that wasn’t the case; it was telling me that the deadline had passed and the census needed to be completed.

Somewhat puzzled, I went online using the codes they provided and the page that came up said that the form had been successfully forwarded, and on checking my documents I found the receipt that I had downloaded when I sent it. It may be that a standard letter has been sent out to everyone, or there is some blip on the system – which would be strange because we all know from personal experience how efficient national bureaucracies are. Anyway, I shall not worry, but if this blog goes strangely silent you will know that I’ll be somewhere helping the government with its enquiries.

Stephen was also brandishing something when he returned from the pre-breakfast comfort stroll on Tuesday (Bella and Harry’s that is), namely our recently installed solar light on the post at the bottom of the steps. We think it was a victim of the very heavy rain that started not long after we had gone to bed and seemed to continue for most of the night. Stephen’s take on the situation – and who am I to doubt him – is that the impact of the rain caused the light to vibrate and the one screw that had been supplied to attach it to the post had sheared in half. When I asked what we were going to do about it he said, and I have to say it did seem a little pointedly, “I’ll have to fix it.” I haven’t mentioned it again.

Thursday morning saw us turning up at the doctor’s in Francavilla, but this time it was me who needed her attention rather than Stephen. He accompanied me, of course, just to make sure that I got things right though it wasn’t actually the dottoressa we saw but a locum, drafted in because she was having to look after one or more of her several children due to Covid isolation following the closing of part of the school in Rapagnano.

That is all background colour to the reason why I was there, which was a rash – or, if you prefer, una eruzione cutanea, which sounds so much more dramatic - on my chest, which had become increasingly itchy and scratchy over the past week. Following an examination, the doctor said that it was an allergic reaction and prescribed some medicated shampoo and a liquid to be injected. This latter might sound rather serious to British ears, but remember we are in Italy, where a slight sniffle is counted as a fever and no home is complete without its own mini medical emergency kit, basic to which along with a state-of-the-art thermometer, blood pressure gauge and CT scanner, you also need a syringe and spare needles. This we didn’t have, nor did we have one after we stopped off at the chemist’s in MSP, another place like the Post Office that you don’t go if you are in a hurry, especially these days where besides each customer requiring in depth questioning followed by close scrutiny of the computer screen, there is also the queue of people there for a Covid swab test.

In my ignorance I assumed that the serum would come with a syringe. Wrong. The box contained five small phials and that was it; the hypodermic should have already been sitting in our medicine cabinet, next to the book Surgery for Dummies. Stephen had to call back in the evening for it while I was taking my lesson, but he had to go back anyway for the shampoo which had had to be ordered. Meanwhile, in the afternoon when he was at the factory, he had taken instruction from Mr Carelli on how to carry out the procedure, he being the designated family member responsible for medical interventions.

The good news is that Stephen executed his part with great aplomb, once he got the hang of filling the syringe. That was the hard part, he said, as sticking it in my backside was, apparently, easy. As for the rash, that is responding to treatment nicely.

Friday we had a pleasant surprise when a phone call from the postie had Stephen rushing up the hill, and putting his hand in his pocket, for a parcel. It was a surprise delivery from his sister, Jackie, who had been to a proper, old-fashioned sale of work where she had bought three wonderful knitted Christmas figures (Santa, angel and snowman), which she saw and immediately thought of us. They are delightful, and well worth the €3.69 he had to pay in tax, as even local charity events are not outside the scope of the British Government’s Brexit web.

Which brings us to today and another Sunday away from home when we were invited, along with Computer Luca and his brother, Alessio, to brunch and a viewing of Claudia’s new house which she has had built just the other side of Loro Piceno. This has been a long time in the planning, and much anticipated by Claudia who for the past several years has slept in a camper due to a fear of being inside a house when an earthquake strikes. Now, though, she can once again sleep inside as her new home is made from wood, which would move rather than crumble in the event of a seismic shock.

It is also a very handsome house, looking from the front like a bungalow but with a subterranean level built into the side of the hill. This means that from the main room, a very snug and unItalian living, dining and cooking area, you have a wonderful view down the valley to the mountains in the distance – or at least we would have had it not been for the fog. The inside is ultra chic, with Stephen envying many features, from the full-height, wall-length cupboards at the back of the garage housing Claudia’s shoe collection to the doors that slide into the walls to the flooring made from reclaimed wood from the supporting pillars sunk into the Venetian lagoon.

You might think from all this that the house would be more like a magazine feature than a home, but not so, for apart from it still being a work in progress, with areas still to be finished and furnished as funds allow, there is a quirkiness, a lack of pretension and a heapful of warmth – just like Claudia herself.