Solitary confinement

30th October 2022

Unfortunately, it has been a week of continued interrupted service with Stephen spending it at home, in isolation, kicking his heels and trying to find things to occupy his time as answering the odd email and taking the odd phone call have not really filled his day. I have been a little luckier, as, continuing to test negative, I’ve managed the odd Skype lesson and have ventured out on three occasions, well-masked and keeping a wary distance just in case. I suppose the only consolation for Stephen is that Bertrando has also been positive, so whatever strain they picked up, it obviously meant business.

On the positive side (I hope that doesn’t seem insensitive) the weather has continued its glorious run, with clear skies and, by mid-morning when the sun has climbed high enough, lovely warm temperatures. The positive (there I go again) effect of this is that even though we are well stocked with plenty of wood and a full tank of gas, as yet there is little sign of a need for either.

As if to emphasise this unusual phenomenon, we have been treated to a second display of sunflowers – admittedly not quite as impressive as the summer fields but uplifting nonetheless when I am out on my walks with Bella and Harry. Over the past few weeks, a multitude of plants have been growing in the channel by the path that runs down to the pear quince tree. When they first appeared I just thought they were a weed of some sort, but as they continued to develop they looked increasingly familiar and when, last week, the first one opened up a vibrant yellow flower head, suspicions were confirmed. Somehow, the sunflowers had seeded themselves, and whilst they may not be as tall as earlier in the year, their late second blooming is a joy.

So, other than not much, what did we actually do this past week?

Tuesday was not quite our usual shopping trip as I flew solo and there was no breakfast involved. I did make two detours on the way home, though, the first was to the bakers to buy a rather fine jam crostata, the one with the crumble topping, as a treat for Stephen, and then, another less glamorous one, to the chemist to buy some more self-test kits. That took quite a while, for besides having wait in line with the elderly and the good of the village while they had their shipping orders fulfilled, the cash register decided to stop working.

I had to wait until it rebooted to get my receipt, during which time I heard the chemist gasp in horror while talking to the anziano next to me. “Not at night,” she said in response to something he said. “During the day yes, but not two litres of water at night.” I’m not sure if he was proud that he was (incorrectly) following sound health advice or wondering why he had to get up constantly to go to the bathroom, but I found myself agreeing with one of the waiting customers that he should try vino cotto instead.

Further tests after breakfast on Thursday had the same result, i.e. Stephen 1 – Ian 0. This was disappointing, and coinciding with a slight relapse on Stephen’s part, he spent most of the rest of the morning in bed. He had been feeling (or at least pretending to feel) better, and being a bit bored, had been finding things to do, including giving the grass another final cut of the year. This may have over-taxed his strength, but maybe not to such an extent that he learned his lesson as by Thursday afternoon he was up and ironing.

Friday saw my other two excursions of the week. The first, in the morning, was to do the shopping for the weekend, though without the customary stop at Bar del Borgo for cappuccino and brioche. The second, in the evening, was for pizza, a Friday night staple that has become a bit more of an irregular treat. Don’t feel too sad, though, at our self-inflicted deprivation, as we have found that a frozen Buitoni pizza margherita, dressed up by Stephen with tuna and olives, is really a very acceptable substitute and at a third of the price.

Feeling somewhat better and almost looking like his usual self, Stephen has kept himself more or less occupied over the weekend, and I had a cooking afternoon yesterday to replenish the freezer, but that was about as exciting as it got for us. Not so Harry, who was beside himself yesterday afternoon when they started fertilising the field at the other side of the lane. He always gets a little agitated when he hears a tractor, especially Mario and Luigi’s, as he thinks that Billy the Labrador is going to be accompanying it, but it is nothing compared to when fertiliser is being spread.

It's a mystery to us what the secret ingredient is that gets him so worked up, but no sooner had the aroma wafted across than he began to hare up and down the terrazzo, barking incessantly. We put up with it for a while, but eventually, for the sake of our sanity, Stephen took him in, which meant that he just stood at the door, alternately whining, growling and yelping. Plan C, when this had gone on for long enough, was for Stephen to pick him up and make him sit next to him in the armchair, restraining him firmly but gently, which had some effect as he was reduced to just whimpering.

In the end, after a couple of hours, he settled down – well, darkness had fallen, and the tractor had stopped for the night. That wasn’t the end, however, as this morning when he went out, the lingering scent in the air followed by the reappearance of the tractor to finish the job provoked the second half of his performance. Goodness knows where he gets all that energy from but if we manage to find out, to help him combat this prolonged bout of you know what, Stephen could always have what he’s having.