Making tracks

23rd July 2023

With the weather continuing to be rather on the hot side, there was not much incentive to do anything particularly energetic, especially where Harry and Bella were concerned. They have spent the day, after morning activities settle down around half past nine to when things cool down enough (comparatively speaking) for an evening walk sometime around six, mostly lying on the floor in whatever room they are allowed in. And if you want my tip of the week of how to cope with the hot weather, it is that when you buy a bunch of succulent black grapes, on offer at Coal, when you go shopping on a Friday morning, remember to put them in the fridge after rinsing when you get home, because if you leave them out on what you thought was a cool windowsill, you will find that they have started to turn to raisins by the time your husband comes home and you try to tempt him with a few.

There was a flurry of activity on Monday lunchtime, even before the harvester arrived to gather in the wheat in the field, including one particularly hair-raising manoeuvre requiring Mario to direct it round the electricity pole without colliding into the logs stacked at the top of our banking. Ours was of a more domestic nature when Stephen came home slightly early for an appointment with bff Manuel, who had brought Loris, but not the one of the digger and the underground pipes, to look at the house. This one’s speciality is buildings, and he was here to have a look at the state of LCDDB which, since the earthquakes a few years ago now, has been developing more and more cracks as it accommodates itself to the minor shifts in the terrain.

We did, if you remember, have an investigation of the ground near the time of the tremors, but never followed it up given the shocking amount of work, not to mention the price, that was quoted. But now we have decided that something really needs to be done, and of course our first port of call was Manuel. The good news is that Loris, on inspecting the place, said that it wasn’t as bad as he had thought it might be, and that the house can be pulled into shape and stabilised with six keys (the name for the metal rods that run through the house and are locked on the outside – not an uncommon sight in this area by any means), four running north to south and maybe two east to west.

This was more or less what we had expected, but he also raised the possibility of flooding underneath the house with resin. Apparently, this method is a recent development and has been used by quite a few houses that he knows about, and with success. The resin finds its own level, being a liquid, and has the effect, if I understand correctly, of floating the house which in turn realigns the structure. I’m sure it is a lot more complicated, but really that is about as technical as you are going to get from me. The cost would, of course, not be insubstantial, and the keying of the house would, as Stephen pointed out, be enough to see us through our anticipated time in LCDDB. To Loris’ amusement, he said in ten years’ time we would be living somewhere more suitable for old people, by which I hope he doesn’t mean a deckchair on the Lido.

Whilst we mulled these things over at the back of our minds, a more immediate challenge was the arrival of Wednesday of the hottest day of the year… allegedly. The forecast had predicted 38°, and who knows it might have reached that elsewhere, but we were spared, it being no hotter than the previous days, i.e. 36°. I did, though, have a surprise guest while I was working at the table in the front room, in the shape of a baby gecko, no more than a couple of inches long, that was scurrying across the floor. Before I could do anything, or Bella and Harry could find the energy to notice never mind react, it scurried under the chest of drawers. I was not worried, given its size it would surely find a crack (see above) to the outside world and freedom.

It being that time of year again, Thursday was our first visit to Fermo for the summer market in the Piazza del Popolo and surrounding streets. Parking was, as we expected, at a premium and there were a decent amount of people wandering the stalls, and whilst there was a good showing of these, they are still not back to pre-pandemic levels. Still, we managed to purchase a couple of things, one, unsurprisingly, a bottle of their coffee liqueur from Foschi, the bottega del caffè in the surrounding arcade, and one, maybe surprisingly, a handbag covered in gold crystals, one of those mini ones that, I am told, are all the rage at the moment. This, though, wasn’t for us but for Cecilia, who had been searching everywhere for a one to complete her outfit for a wedding this weekend. She was most happy when Stephen presented her with it on Friday, and so she should have been as the lady told us that it was the last one she had, the others had sold out quickly. Obviously they are di rigueur for the summer look.

Of course, a visit to Fermo market wouldn’t be complete without a visit also to Art Asylum, our preferred spot for aperitivo. We haven’t been there since last autumn, and there has been a bit of a change in our absence – thankfully not for the worse. The nice lady in charge was still the same, and welcomed us profusely, and the mixed Campari and Aperol spritz was just as good, but they had changed the food menu. There was no longer the plate of mixed stuzzichini, but choices of different plates of finger food. We opted for a plate of mini burgers (two meat, two veggie) and four of something whose name I forget (but which are like tomato filled empanadas made with enriched dough not pastry)ù each and some bruschette to share – and they were very good, but we somehow missed the old way.

We had thought, originally, that we would have a weekend at home, but that changed when I got notification from the optician that my next set of contact lenses were ready for collection. As we had to go to Corridonia to collect them, I suggested we might as well make an evening of it and we decided to call by at Oasi Belvedere, the agriturismo San Rustico way, from where you can look down across the valley to our house. But what should have been a straightforward round trip turned into something a little bit more challenging.

The first hiccup, though Stephen might use a stronger word, occurred on the back road over the top to Corridonia, just after he had wondered aloud why he had taken that way when he meant to go on the main roads. As if to answer this, as we were climbing the winding hill round the bend came a tractor with a flag sticking out of its window because, as we were soon to find out, it was a vanguard for the harvester that was following behind it. Given the narrowness of the road we wouldn’t have been able to pass the tractor, let alone its friend. Now when it comes to driving, it’s a toss-up which Stephen hates more, parallel parking or reversing, and despite a look of helplessness and cries of, “But I can’t reverse!” there was nothing for it but to grit his teeth and go backwards. I gave him lots of encouragement and advice on which way to steer (prompting him to accuse me of shouting at him, but I took it on the chin making allowances for his heightened state) and after about two hundred meters we were able to veer into a space by an entrance into a field.

The tractor passed by with a friendly wave, and maybe not a little smug grin, followed by the harvester, and we continued on our way to the optician’s. And if you are wondering why I didn’t take over, it’s because whenever there is a tricky situation and I say that we will swap and I’ll do it, Stephen refuses to give it up – because as you may well know yourself, when someone sees that cross beckoning, it is sometimes very hard to resist climbing up on it.

All was well at Giorgiottica, especially as, Saturday evening at 7pm not being prime time for people to have their eyes tested, the nice optician was able in less than ten minutes, using a hand machine at the back of his shop, to change the prescription lenses in my Rayban sunglasses for standard polaroid ones, thereby giving me a new pair at a more than reasonable price. However, when we came out it was to a flash of lightning and a sky splitting crack of thunder, that was so loud it must have been almost directly overhead. Fortunately, I didn’t notice that any of the youths gathered at the bus stop pointed and laughed at me as I jumped sideways and threw my arms over my head (well, almost). If you think that is a bit of a dramatic response, I have never been much good with jump scare moments. As a friend of mine once remarked, many years ago now, I am the only person he knows that has jumped and exclaimed at a U film. In my defence, it was Hocus Pocus…

The stage effects that greeted our exit from the opticians were a precursor to the cloudburst that started when we were about halfway to Belvedere. We thought we might just get away with it after a few heavy sploshes on the windscreen came to nothing, but then the heavens, as they say, opened and for five minutes it was like driving through a car wash. The good thing is that after it had finished, the air was fresher and there was even a bit of a gentle breeze while eating outside at the agriturismo. The bad thing was that the heavy deluge had brought down a small tree, which Stephen had to manhandle to the side of the road to allow us to continue with our journey. Again, if you are wondering why I didn’t do the job, it’s simple. When it comes to dividing up the work in the family, Stephen is the muscles, and I am the archivist.

With that it should have been all over bar the shouting, or maybe spitting and hissing might be more appropriate as part way through dinner a handsome but too inquisitive for its own good young dog, whose owners were allowing it wander round the dining area, almost came a cropper when it insisted on circling round a ragged and semi-feral farm cat that was arching its back and making sounds any self-respecting cobra would be proud of. When it pounced it was more of a warning as no damage was done, but the dog, who would obviously have to make its way in the world on its beauty and not its brains, would have gone back for more if I hadn’t grabbed it by its collar and held it till the owner secured it to the leash – which might have been an idea when the floor show first started.

At least the meal ended peacefully, and we went home to enjoy a spot of limoncello on the terrazzo, once we had removed the towels that we had left to dry over the railings but were now lying in puddled heaps. Before we set off, I had pointed out the darkening clouds down the valley but Stephen said to leave them. “What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked. No comment.

The important news as far as today is concerned, is that this morning we booked a weekend away at the end of September, with three nights in Pesaro at the grandly named (and looking) Villa Cattani Stuart XVII secolo. We had thought to go nearer to home, but by then most places round here will have closed for the season. Pesaro, being a large seaside town in the north of Le Marche, should hopefully still have something of a buzz happening, if only due to the music aficionados on pilgrimage to Rossini’s birthplace. It hasn’t yet, though, been given the Maddalena seal of approval, so it may be subject to change once we find out what all those classical music fans are really packing in their violin cases.