Tinsel and lights

7^th December 2025

Our train home not leaving till just before ten on Monday meant we didn’t have to rush unduly, pacing ourselves to pack, enjoy breakfast in the Eden room and pay our bill (which, at €26, was just the city charge, Booking.com having been settled beforehand and the minibar being untouched by human hands during out stay) before heading to the station. We allowed plenty of time in case of unforeseen circumstances (none) and to get a sandwich for lunch on the train as we wouldn’t be back at LCDDB till 1.30 if all went to plan.

It more or less did, the only hiccup being that when the train arrived (on time again), the first of the two first class carriages, where our booked seats were, was closed. We did find two together in the other carriage, not knowing if someone further down the line would come and turf us out (genuinely this time, unlike the outward journey – see last week), but when the nice conductor came along he said there were two other seats we could use, the only thing was that someone was sitting in one of them. Stephen went along and used his charm and the very nice man readily agreed to swap and even offered to move our case for us, which had taken some effort to hoist up onto the rack, but we thought it could stay where it was until we were approaching Civitanova.

All was fine when we got home, and all was also fine when we collected Peggy and Harry later on in the afternoon, so it was then back to normal for the rest of the week. Other than Daniele in Conad trying to upsell the Stranger Things rechargeable lamp to Stephen, one of the higher value items on offer in their current promotion (see two weeks ago), waxing lyrical on its quality and the fact that it was made of metal but conveniently sidestepping that it had a large red Netflix N on the base, the interest in the rest of the week lay in the weather. This was trying to make its mind up what to do, with a dismal day on Tuesday followed by a sunny one on Wednesday then lulling us into a false sense of security on Thursday and Friday with fine mornings before wet afternoons.

There has been a smally flurry of activity over the weekend, firstly with a quick trip to Corridomnia yesterday afternoon, and secondly with a top up of pre-Christmas spirit this evening.

It wasn’t so much a shopping expedition yesterday as a focused foray, sweeping through Maisons du Monde in search of a particular present that will have to remain top secret until 25^th December, with a side sortie to Arcplanet to keep Peggy in the manner of hide chews to which she has become accustomed. (Note: a chew will last Harry a week or more; Peggy, four days if we’re lucky.)

This evening we waited till dusk settled before showing our faces at MSP’s Christmas market, such things having more atmosphere when daylight has faded. Stephen parked at the bottom by the church so we could walk up through the centre of the town and the main square to savour the lights, both the Comune’s and the houses and shops, on the way. This year the market was in the courtyard of the Casa di Riposo, a smaller and more enclosed space than the piazza and so giving it, I think, a more congenial feeling.

There was a good smattering of people milling around and we managed to make a couple of purchases (of course), with such necessities as a lip salve and a jar of MSP honey for me and doughnuts to take home for our merenda. We also have a pair of lucky dip parcels, wrapped in shiny paper and a bargain at €5 for two. What is inside them is a mystery as we’ve put them aside to open on Christmas morning.

One year, when I was but a callow youth, my Mum asked me, more than once, what I wanted for Christmas and I said I wanted it to be a surprise. For some reason she thought it highly amusing to keep muttering something about a tool kit. “A surprise,” I would say, “not a shock.” Given the shape and size of my parcel it definitely isn’t a tool kit and I have high hopes of it being something frivolous – but if it turns out to be disappointingly of a practical bent, I can always regift it next year to Stephen.