Woodman, woodman

9th May 2021

With the weather continuing fine we were able to take advantage of being in a yellow zone and to spread our wings a little – some of us more than others, and yes, I am looking at you Stephen George Firth, whose week got off to a very good start.

The paperwork that he, with a little help from Marina, managed eventually to complete and send back to the Italian customs last Wednesday was obviously all in order as Monday morning, while he was at the factory, the parcel arrived. The good news was that there was no extra charge to pay, and the even better news was that nothing inside the box was broken despite the delivery man walking through the factory door, announcing, “Parcel for you,” then dropping it onto the floor. Fortunately, the very fine bottle of rhubarb and rose gin and the two faceted highball glasses were intact.

As if that wasn’t enough excitement, on Tuesday, while I dined alone, Stephen was invited out to lunch by Nazareno and Mirco at La Fascina, a pizzeria/trattoria in Monte Urano whose main attraction from what Stephen said afterwards may not so much have been the food as its proximity and its outside eating capacity. Ostensibly the reason for the invitation was to meet a client and discuss business, but after weeks of restaurants being closed and inclement weather the real motivation might have had more to do with the words boys’, day and out than anything else and the fact that once again you can.

After another day – or at least part of a day – of strimming as well as a long overdue trip to Giordano, the ferramenta, for a supply of various essential gardening items, Stephen had his second jaunt of the week on Thursday. This time I was privileged enough to join him. Our first stop was a return engagement with Girasole, which was well and truly open, for a visit to L'Erbolario where I needed to stock up on some essentials (shaving foam, liquid hand soap and a gentle mousse with which to wash my face – I am, as you know, a delicate flower). This time the shop was manned by, well, a man, who was very keen to be helpful and informative and to ply us with a variety of samples, the purposes of which he explained one by one as he put them in the bag – though we couldn’t help but wonder what his point was when most of them seemed to be anti-wrinkle.

And this is where I take great pleasure in using a word much missed from these pages and long overdue a resurgence: aperitivo. Yes, gentle reader, as a special treat and in defiance of doctor’s orders, cholesterol, and high blood pressure we once again found ourselves sitting on the terrazzo at Totò. Maybe the beginning of May was pushing it a little to be outside, and we might have been better to have forearmed ourselves with a pashmina or two against the healthy breeze, but neither of these was enough to detract from the pleasure of once again enjoying a spritz and a selection of their best (and incredibly wholesome) stuzzichini and pizze.

With the weather gearing itself up on Friday for a very pleasant weekend indeed, Stephen had a productive day in the garden while I had my usual busy day. His horticultural efforts were interrupted, however, by a series of messages between him and Shoe Marco, whom we have not seen for some time for one thing and another – much like everyone else. He wanted to take Stephen to lunch the next day as a belated birthday celebration, and once the idea had been sanctioned by me (because, as I’m sure you will not have failed to notice, I wield all the power in our dynamic) Stephen asked, quite naturally, when and where. Not sure, was the reply, as the place Marco had in mind (a current trendy in spot in Civitanova Marche) might not have a table.

As ever with Italian hospitality, it was a case of think first, ask second and bother about the boring practicalities a dim and distant third, and so when Stephen set off around midday yesterday he still wasn’t sure where he was going to eat or at what time. He did, though, look to advantage so even if he ended up with pizza da asporto he would at least cut a dash. In the event, he ended up at Ciacco Bistrò, whose Facebook page declares it to be ‘Un bistrò di grande eleganza’ where, once he had discounted everything on the menu that he couldn’t eat because of the aforementioned doctor’s orders, he polished off a fish burger before sneaking in a sugary carbohydrate packed desert when no one was watching. Nor was I forgotten, for when he came home he presented me with a gift box of honey from Queen Bee in Civitanova, presumably to make up for having lunch with another man our wedding anniversary.

If that wasn’t enough excitement for one weekend, this morning we were tidying up after breakfast when I noticed that there was a message on my phone from Mirco – why me and not Stephen, who knows. When Stephen called him he said that as it was such a fine day the man was coming to lop off the tops of the trees and would be with us soon. And indeed he was, passing me in his truck on his way down the road just after nine whilst I was on my way up with Harry and Bella, followed shortly after by Mirco, on foot.

Stefano, the tree man, set about the ones at the side of the driveway first then over the next eight hours worked his way round the property, taking down part of the fence so he could drive his vehicle to the back of the house. He didn’t stop during all this time, and neither did Stephen who felt it his duty to supply moral support during the whole procedure. In this he was joined mid-morning by Luigi who came to offer his advice (Stefano was, unsurprisingly, doing it wrong) and to give instructions as to how they wanted their walnut tree doing. In the afternoon, Mirco returned, having lasted only half an hour in the morning, with Nazareno, who took control of the situation for the couple of hours they were around.

When Stefano set off home around 5pm it was from a severely denuded Casa dei Due Baffi, though what the trees lacked in branches the ground made up for with piles of shorn limbs, the sorting of which will be a job to keep someone occupied for many days to come, won’t it Stephen. Speaking of whom, I’m thinking of hiring him out as a warning beacon, for having spent all day in the sunshine without the protection of either sun cream or hat, the glow from his head should be enough to light up a small village in times of peril.