Short-change

12th February 2023

After a couple of weeks of moderately interesting gallivanting, if it wasn’t for the weather turning wintry this past week would have had little to single it out.

The first sign that February was, once again, going to be the coldest month of the year, was when we woke on Monday to a fine layer of ice on Bella and Harry’s outside water bowl. It signified the start of temperatures struggling to get higher than 6º or 7º during the day (even on the days the sun shone the air felt bitter) and hovering around freezing overnight.

Wednesday started dull, with that iron look to the sky that suggested snow might be in the offing, and indeed it was. Snow was falling when we went out for our morning walk and by the time we got back, although it was patchy on the fields there was a light covering on the road. Stephen, however, was able to get home for lunch without any problems and it had all but disappeared by the time of our afternoon walk.

It wasn’t gone for good, as Thursday morning saw Stephen having to lace up his heavy boots as snow had again fallen, a little thicker than the previous day, though really it could tried a bit harder. Still, it was enough for him to err on the side of caution and spend the morning at home, not wishing to risk sliding about in an attempt to get up the road. Again, though, as the sun struggled to make an impression through the overcast skies, once it had stopped snowing what had made it to earth began to ebb. He went to work after lunch and by the time of the afternoon walk, it was more or less gone. Thursday was once again cold and clear, so it looks like that is winter over for this year, as far as snow is concerned, at least.

There is, however, no shortage of the white stuff up in the mountains, which is where Bertrando went for a long weekend with the family meaning that, as he was still away on Monday, Stephen was able to be home betimes for both lunch and dinner, even making it a double the following day when, with a paucity of things to do, his newly refreshed boss let him take advantage of the brief lull to be home by 5.30. Not that it was all good news on Tuesday, especially when I discovered I have been diddling Pina out of a hard-earned profit, but in my defence, it was done through ignorance and not malice aforethought.

It is our habit on a Tuesday, when breakfasting there, to buy a Dipiù TV, a magazine that has featured before on these pages and which makes What’s on TV seem like a contender for the Booker. I buy it not so much for the insights into the lives of the moderately rich and famous, not to mention the aesthetically challenged (how many Italian rappers with tattoos on their foreheads can there be) but because it has a level of Italian that I can understand without recourse to Google translate. Being a helpful sort, I always try to hand Amalia the correct change, but this week she almost embarrassingly pointed out that I was 20 centesimi short, the magazine having after all this time gone up from its usual 1€.

When I got home and checked the current edition, that too was €1.20, which got me to wondering when exactly the increase had happened, and how long I had been defrauding those lovely people at Pina out of what was rightfully theirs. It very much looks like I will have to raid my piggy bank and next time we are there hold out a handful of 20 centesimi coins, in a sort of reverse Oliver Twist riff.

That was not, though, the most devastating news we received last week, and for which we feel partly responsible. That honour was reserved for when Stephen went to the pizzeria for our Friday night treat – and saw a sign saying that Sunday was its last day. Surely our change in habits from a weekly to a less regular treat (see a previous entry) can’t have had such dire consequences. And no, it wasn’t a business that relied on the minor custom of two Englishmen, as the owner explained to Stephen. He had decided, due to a general drop in footfall, to move lock, stock and pizza oven to new premises in Campiglione (very handy for Click Café and Girasole) where he will open during the day as well as the evening to catch morning and lunchtime business, and with a more general menu. As for us, we will have to rely on Stephen’s magic with a tin of tuna and a few olives to turn frozen pizza margherita into a culinary delight.

Unlike the past couple of weekends, this one has been a quiet one spent at home, with Stephen, making use of the crisper weather after the midweek snow to start on some work in the garden, beginning with some tree pruning. He asked me yesterday morning if I was available to hold the ladders for half an hour or so, which seemed a particularly good idea when I saw the angle at which they were leaning against the fig tree at the back. He did manage to make it up without any mishap, but it proved a little inconvenient when his mini chainsaw, handy for lopping smaller branches, failed to start (something to do with the battery, I believe). He had to try to use his long-handled cutters, but limited space hampered his ability to get a purchase on things.

Abandoning that idea, he contented himself with a bit of judicious snipping and clipping at ground level and what lay within an arm’s length. I suggested that it might be an idea to get a man in to see to the rest. This seems to me wiser than risking a Humpty Dumpty scenario, as MSP is distinctly lacking not only in king’s horses but most definitely in king’s men – present company excepted, of course.