Licensed to thrill

3rd April 2022

After a quiet Monday, it was time for our date with destiny on Tuesday evening and the much anticipated medical examination (or eye test, as it is more commonly known) required for the renewal of our driving licences, and the climax to months of anxious nail-biting as to whether I would pass or not. If it is not too much of a spoiler, I’ll say at the outset that I did, though what we weren’t expecting was the last-minute plot twist that neither of us saw coming.

Tuesday evening, we drove into the horseshoe shaped drive of Scuola Europa just shy of 7.30, the time we had been told to come for our appointment. There were a couple of cars already there. We parked up and made our way to the reception area, passing the man from behind the counter on the way who was talking to a familiar face, one we hadn’t seen for a while. We greeted Remo (Stefoni – surely you remember?), causing him to look more than a little puzzled before he stomped off and the man told us to get back in our car. He then directed us to manoeuvre it behind another that was behind Remo’s car, which in turn was parked behind the building, and telling us to wait in the car off he went.

What we hadn’t anticipated, but, from past and varied experiences, accepted as being quite reasonable, was that we would be waiting there for a little over an hour, though a couple of visits from Remo, who had realised who we were and who was waiting for Romolo to arrive (he had, apparently, forgotten that they were due to renew their licences, both being due at the same time, what with them being twins), and various comings and goings of people with folders together with the appearance of someone in a red polo shirt displaying a first aid symbol, who up position outside the office door, presumably in case of medical emergency, broke the time up nicely.

A few minutes after the appointed time of 7.30 (or, as it is known in Italy, 8.30), our line of cars started to move. In an elegant variation on our previous medical examination, rather than have a horde of people crowded inside, reminiscent of the run on the bank in It’s a Wonderful Life, in our wonderful post-Covid world they had obviously stuck to a new system. This time, you edged your car round the back of the building and one by one, as the cars came towards the head of the queue, the drivers were invited to wait outside the office till the person inside returned to his or her car, whereupon you went inside for the couple of minutes it took to say a few letters on the eye chart, wait for the doctor to print the form and then sign it.

And yes, that is all it took for the pair of us, for despite my anxiety that I might be pointed at and derided, I saw the letters quite reasonably (even if there were two of each one) – so well in fact that when Stephen was doing his I noticed that he was making mistakes. No matter, we both left clutching the sheets that served as a temporary licence till the new ones come next week

What was slightly less simple was finding somewhere to have dinner. We had decided, figuring that we might be some time at the driving school, that we would treat ourselves to hamburger and chips at the pub on the way home, a plan that was scuppered when Stephen that morning had seen a notice from the Macintosh on social media that it was closed for two days. As an alternative, he suggested we go the five minutes down the road from Scuola Europa to the commercial area where Mirco’s cousin has a pizzeria. Seemed reasonable, except that when we pulled up outside it too was closed. What now? We remembered that there was a place a little way up the main road, called for some reason unknown to us, Koala, that did pizzas and which someone had recommended at some point in the dim past, so with nothing to lose except our hunger we decided to give it a try.

(Stop Press: I have been informed that Koala is now called On Stage – which is so much more apropos.)

To get there we had to go onto the main road via the nearby roundabout, next to which we spied a brightly lit and (for the area) urban chic establishment whose neon signs said that one side was a bar and the other a pizzeria, which, following the trend for relevant nomenclature in the area, is called Orient Express, Why not, we thought, so pulled into the parking area in front, but when we got out of the car we were not so sure, as not only was it looking a bit deserted but the interior of the pizzeria side looked suspiciously like a takeaway. Nothing ventured, we opened the door and asked if they were serving – yes, but they only had eight pieces left. That answered that then.

It was back in the car and we were heading towards Koala, when Stephen said that seeing as we had come this far we might as well go the further five or so minutes and eat at Il Priore, the pizza restaurant in Campiglione, where we have not been since pre-Covid days. What a wise decision that was, for during our extended absence the menu had undergone a transformation, becoming longer and including such things as hamburgers. Having gone to all this effort to offer a more comprehensive selection, it would have been churlish of us not to make the most of it, and we left feeling very satisfied with our hamburger with cheese and bacon, not to mention chips, green salad and tiramisù for afters.

All’s well that ends well, you could say, as well it might if not for Stephen scrutinising the temporary paper copies of our licences when we got home while I took Bella and Harry out. Those who have been taking notes may recall that we were puzzled why my renewal date, unlike everyone else’s, was not on my birthday. There was now added an additional conundrum for while my new licence did expire on my birthday, it was 22nd September 2022 – only six months away and not five years like Stephen’s (and everybody else’s).

There was nothing we could do about it then, but the next morning Stephen went back to Scuola Europa with the paperwork where he was served by the wonderful woman of the Jacques Vert type outfits that we so fondly remembered from our first examination. The reason, it turned out, for the six months, and also probably why the previous renewal was fixed at a five-year limit, was that whereas Stephen’s licence was just for driving a car, for somehow mine was for everything from a car to a lorry or charabanc. The only thing I couldn’t drive, as Stephen observed to the lady, was a tank or Apollo 13. How they laughed, but the upshot was that the wide-ranging list meant it was a legal requirement to be tested on your 65th birthday, hence the short time period.

Wanting to be helpful, the nice lady said that she would see what she could do about changing it to just a car, but also said that once I had entered the system (i.e. the previous evening) it was probably too late. She took my phone number and said she would be in touch with any news, but seeing as there has been no further word I am resigned to another visit come September, and forking out a further €97.

The reason I didn’t go with Stephen was because it was just one stop on a busy morning that saw him on a mini-tour – and maybe not that mini, as he wasn’t home for lunch till well past one o’clock, by which time the weather had turned decidedly dull. It brought with it some rain, which, even though it was a bit of a piddling amount, was still needed as the ground is very dry. Even the muddy section of the lane, which usually requires you to tread judiciously at this time of year, is reduced to being just a bit sticky and then in only in parts.

Stephen was out again yesterday morning, on his own but this time because I had my usual lesson preventing me from going with him to collect our candles and votive candle holders from the Comune. Because of you know what, MSP’s Passion Play is again cancelled, making it three years in a row. However, to mark what for many is the most holy night of the year, every household was asked to collect a votive candle holder and candle, available from the storeroom on the road leading up from the church each of the four Saturday mornings before Easter, to light and place in a window or some other prominent place on the evening of Good Friday.

When Stephen arrived to collect ours, it was almost like old times’ sake as they were being distributed by Loredana, erstwhile RemRom colleague of his and a woman who knows what’s what around the town – if Loredana doesn’t know about it, then it’s not worth knowing. That’s why she was able to say to him, even though she has never visited our house, that we needed a good supply to put on out terrazzo, meaning he returned with several candles, two holders (we will need to look out more) and several of the disc like ones (that look a bit like poor cousins to those terracotta citronella candles) they usually put on the ground to light the route of the procession.

“But,” protested Stephen at such largesse, “no one will see them.” “Yes, they will,’ replied Loredana, not being a woman to take no for an answer, and I suppose with all that illumination they will be visible to the cars passing on the top road to San Rustico. And besides, we are honour bound – and on instructions – to take lots of photos and post them to the Facebook page. We will, of course, do this – and not just because we don’t want to spend the next five years diving into doorways if we see Loredana hoving into view. We will also do it because Easter is a time of hope and renewal and faith, and doing so marks our belief in MSP as a community and our faith that next year we will once again be following the procession through its streets.