One more sleep

24th December 2023

While nothing could match the thrill of driving up and down our newly refurbished, and still holding firm, road, one might have thought the past week could have made a bit of an effort. Instead, there was little to note until the weekend: Stephen was molto occupato, not getting home till around 7 each evening, while I had almost a full complement of lessons.

Not that it wasn’t without some signs that Christmas was around the corner. On Thursday morning Stephen did a bit of a Santa run to a factory and bff Manuel, and then Friday, as we were about ready to leave for our usual Friday morning double whammy of haircut (him) and shopping (me), he got a message from the boss saying that the office Christmas dinner was that night.

Even by Italian standards this could be classed as short notice, but in Bertrando’s defence, it’s just that he’d forgotten to put it on the calendar or mention it to either Stephen or Cecilia. She was, he found out later, like him a little surprised, and also had other plans for the evening. OK, so Stephen’s were pizza and tv on the settee with me and the dogs, but after his busy week all he wanted was to relax and so it was agreed that it would be postponed to next week, maybe Thursday but who knows, there’s still plenty of time to decide.

We did make it out yesterday evening, first to Marco and Maddalena’s to drop off Christmas presents and enjoy a bit of a chat over some nibbles and a bottle of spumante, and then to the pub for a festive burger and chips. They somehow forgot to put a sprig of holly in our buns, which may account for the mistaken identity when Stephen snaffled someone else’s meal, not realising till he had munched his way through half of it and Red, the barman, came over to check what he had been served. Stephen’s excuse was that he’d changed his mind at the last minute but forgotten and thought he had the correct one.

And then it was Christmas Eve, and a very pleasant time was had by all – or by two, at least.

This morning we went into the village to get cannelloni from the pasta shop for lunch, only they weren’t doing any as it was Vigilia so we had to settle for ricotta and spinach ravioli instead, which Stephen served up with the classic butter and sage – a more than adequate substitute. We saw Mrs Oreste while we were in there, exchanged greetings and asked her to pass on our thanks to her husband for the work on the road. We were, though, able to thank him ourselves for as we left the shop he, along with Mrs and one daughter, were passing in their car. He stopped, we exchanged greetings and gave him our thanks in person, but then he had to move on as there was a car waiting behind him. The one-way road into the square isn’t quite two cars’ width, though that hasn’t registered with some given how they like to park up when popping into the pasta shop or into Pina for a newspaper.

Not that waiting was a problem for the car behind as that also stopped as the driver was Andrea, bff of Bertrando and an erstwhile student of mine until Covid put the kibosh on my lessons at Pasta Mancini. More greetings were exchanged and then he too had to move on for the next car, though as this didn’t contain anyone we knew we went into breakfast at Pina. Several more compliments of the season were exchanged before we returned home, reflecting on what a pleasant way it was to pass the time.

And that wasn’t even the half of it as we had a date, after lunch, with a presepe or two. Before that, though, we had to make a detour to the flower shop in Montegranaro where Stephen had ordered a small pine tree in a pot to take as a gift to Maddalena’s parents when we go tomorrow for lunch. He had also, as a surprise, ordered a larger one for me with the intention of planting it in the garden so that next year we have a Christmas tree ready to be festooned.

Having popped the trees into the Renegade, I thought the next stop would be Monte San Giusto for a little stroll and the presepi, but no. Whilst the plants from the florist in Montegranaro pass muster, their artistic touch might be considered a little lacking by some, and that is why on the way we stopped at Felicasa, a Chinese store hitherto unknown to me but much frequented by Stephen and Cecilia when out and about. We bought a few tartan bows to zhoosh up the trees, and a couple of other essentials that we couldn’t get through Christmas without, like gorilla tape. It was then on to MSG and the exhibition in the Museo di Palazzo Bonafede of their presepi artistici.

What made them particularly artistic compared to the ones in Fermo and Macerata I can’t really say. Maybe it was the lighting effects (i.e. it kept getting alternately dark and light, presumably to suggest nightfall and daybreak), or maybe it was that many of the extensive village scenes had articulated figures and touches of realism (water dripping from a line of washing, anyone?). Whatever, I can highly recommend the display and I very much suspect it will be added to our Christmas ritual.

And then it was home for the evening and a cosy family night with a buffet tea on our knees (the pastry items having been made the day before) and a suitably corny Christmas film on Netflix. We are convinced that they are all filmed in the same town, masquerading for unspecified places in New England (even though most seem to be produced by Canadian companies). Even if they don’t, they definitely recycle the same repertory of actors who specialise in unthreatening blandness. But that’s fine; if the big man himself only dons his red suit and gets to work once a year, why shouldn’t others, too?