Polish Men, Big Knobs & Dave’s Huge Chopper

Today is Wednesday 22nd September 2010, and I ache in places that I’ve never ached in before. Why? Have I been engaging in nefarious activities with the underbelly of society, or have I undertaken a new high octane sporting activity? No, I have come to spend a few quiet days at my rural retreat in Italy. So why the aching bones, and whilst we’re at it, why no diary writing for a few days?

At midday on Saturday the 18th September, I loaded my trusty car, (Bertie Berlingo) with a off the shelf kitchen and other items of household accoutrements and at 18.15 I set off for Italy.Ipod as usual switched on and Sham 69 shout, ‘Borstal Breakout’.  The drive to Dover was uninspiring and we arrived with plenty of time to spare. Now having never before been on a ferry from Dover, I wondered what the procedure was, so we drove into the terminal only to be told we were too early, we’re given a card to hang from the rear view mirror and told to come back at 02.30. So no departure lounge then! Now Dover at midnight isn’t particularly busy, lorries and motor-homes trundle into the port but that’s about it. We encamp at a BP petrol station which has a small supermarket attached, we soon notice the other cars have the same owl shaped card hanging from their mirrors.

We strike up a conversation with the car next to ours, it’s two Polish men, one is about 28 the other about 48. The young one is telling me about his job at Canary Wharf, he explains that it’s very expensive to live in Poland, and the wages are so low, people there are living below the poverty line, hence the large influx of migrant workers in the UK. My Polish friend is telling me that after Christmas he’ll stay at home with his wife and two daughters. As he talks his companion; (in the driving seat) eats a huge turkey leg and swigs neat vodka straight from the bottle.

I wont go into the ferry journey, suffice to say it was dull and the food served was bordering on inedible. We arrive in France at 07.25. Taking the time difference into consideration, I have now been awake for 23 hours and 25 minutes. The drive through France is drab, flat plains roll out either side of the motorway, and apart from a brief stop at a Carrefour to buy some bottled water, it’s mind numbingly boring. We enter Belgium; now here is a country with a reputation for being boring, and it certainly isn’t. The scenery is beautiful, lush pockets of green, sandwiched between hectares of pine trees delight our scenic starved eyes. I’m desperate for a pee, so pull into a rest stop and use the bushes, almost as soon as I’ve done this, car doors open and men pile out and do the same, as if waiting for a sign.

Luxembourg next, we stop to get some lunch, bad idea everything costs enough to support a Polish family of 4 for a day. (Slight exaggeration, methinks). Next it’s back into France, for what seems to be an eternity of nothingness before we reach Basel. I’ve been driving all the way and it’s now 20.10. I’ve now been awake for 36 hours and 10 minutes. We decide that it’s time to find a hotel and rest. (At the hotel we discover we took a wrong turn somewhere at Metz and have driven many miles more than we should have…….Satnav!!!!!)

Our hotel is a 1920’s sprawling mass of rooms, with wide staircases and lifts that wouldn’t look out of place in an Agatha Christie film. We have a couple of glasses of Polish vodka. (The only shop open on Sunday evening being a Polish store), and sleep creeps up with the swiftness of  thief.

Suitably refreshed, I wake to the smell of burnt toast, possibly croissants. Breakfast taken we set off once more, heading for the Gotthard tunnel and the Swiss Italian border. Switzerland initially is disappointing, it’s all concrete and boring flatness, this changes after we pass through a few tunnels into a healthy landscape, however as I’m driving I don’t get to take much of it in. We reach the Gotthard tunnel, and another disappointment, I expected some sort of border or filter system, no we just enter this grey tube which stretches on for 17km without any ceremony. The  petrol gauge is hovering above the red, and I’m hoping we don’t run out of fuel inside the tunnel. Girls Aloud spring onto the iPod with an extended remix of ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’, and a blue Citroen chugs along the confines of concrete with a gay bloke singing along.

Once out of Switzerland and over the Italian border, the driving proper begins. We skirt around Milan, teeth clench and knuckles suitably whiten. Here cars veer off at tangents, lanes change at a moments notice and horns honk. It’s frenetic to say the least. Once out the Milan catchment area, things quieten down; well as much as a motorway in Italy can go quiet. The drive takes us down through Le Marche, and in this region driving becomes a chore. Because of the weight in the car we’ve barely got over 60 mph, and now we’re sandwiched between lorries, and barely achieve more than 40 mph, add to this the dwindling daylight and the trip ceases to be fun.

We arrive in Casoli at 10.20 and our friends have a chilled Gin and Tonic waiting for us. This night I fall into bed and sleep like the dead. (What does Macbeth say- “Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, /The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,/ Chief nourisher in life's feast."   Until on time at 07.00 I wake to a cool Italian morning.

We open our house up, doors let the light rush in banishing the blackness of the shuttered rooms. There’s evidence of rodent activity, and we begin by sweeping the droppings up, rat poison was laid previously, but there’s no dead bodies. The iPod shuffles its first tune in our new house, the classic by Carol Douglas, ‘Doctor’s Orders’, which is in fact the 334th track to play since we first left the UK.

I begin sorting out the overgrown patio outside the front door, when I get called into the house, we have a live rat in the upstairs toilet, the door is closed on it and it makes its escape back down the lavatory. (The septic tank hasn’t been used for 10 years, so has dried out and the rats have been using the pipes to get into the house) We secure the toilet lid down with several large stones and continue cleaning. I decide I want my view over the valley now, and set about chopping down trees, the first time I’ve ever done this and I’m like a maniac. Whack, one falls, hack, and another creaks and slithers down the slope. Three hours later amid the carnage I have a clear view down over the valley. Satisfied we get cleaned up and have lunch with our Casoli friends and two other’s who’ve travelled down from Teramo. The day ebbs away and I again have the satisfaction of a good nights sleep.

Today I wake and my body is screaming, letting me know that yesterdays tree cutting and ground clearing has not gone un-noticed.

Before

 

 

 

 

After

 

 

 

 

We have a meeting with our lawyers, we have to sign contracts for the electricity supplier and also have our council tax: (ICI, pronounced Itchy) calculated, we almost laugh out loud when we’re told it’s €46, that’s better than the £1,500 we pay in the UK. We have a trip to a DIY merchants to look for a new toilet, but no luck, all they have are sets, no single items,but to feed my fervour for land clearance, I buy a large scythe. We then nip into Globo and I buy my first and only ever pair of trainers, okay they’re not really trainers per se, but they do have panels of bling along the sides to make them stand out……..Definitely Barry footwear.

Back at the house more trees are felled, and we check out the boundaries of our land, I name another of our olive trees, this one is Ariel, as it has a slit trunk, that resembles the tree that Sycorax imprisoned the spirit. We open up the downstairs and are discussing the bathroom layout when we hear squeaking, it’s coming from a bag of baling twine, upon inspection we find a mother rat with babies. We take the bag outside and the mother runs away, leaving her babies squealing. We don’t harm them, and leave them in the hope that when we’ve gone she’ll return for them.  (Okay, so we’re soft hearted pseudo-Italian peasants)

Thursday 23rd September, is cool, the oppressive August heat has now dissipated, I trek up to the house and see for the second day that we have no evidence of rat visitations in the upstairs, looks like the stones on the loo lid are working. I have breakfast outside and type this as Blondie play ‘Angels On The Balcony’ from their not so clever ‘Autoamerican’ album.

We spend the day with our friends Dave and Carol, and visit the old town of Citta Sant Angelo, it’s very pretty and the sun has come out to escort us through the streets. We lunch at the modern shopping centre, the food is very good, I have a salad with gnocchi and a gorgonzola sauce, oh and a small carafe of vino rosso.

We’re very lucky,we have some very lovely friends that support  our move abroad, Terry and Brenda gave us a post box for outside our house, and Dave and Carol have got us a big machete for a house warming gift. Surprisingly I was looking at the big choppers when I got the scythe for the grass.

Friday is spent sanding down the front door, It’s a lovely original one that we want to keep. After a trip to the local builders merchants, we come back with wood filler and primer. At the end of the day we no longer have a green door, now it’s primer grey and looks much better, when we replace the door handles and give it a new coat of green paint, it should look wonderful.

I am enjoying a glass of wine outside when I’m called over by Adda our neighbour. She gives me a bunch of grapes, cut directly from her vines. This is very important in a small community like this one, it indicates that we have been accepted.

Saturday 25th arrives and it’s raining, I check with the news and it says the storms around Milano are making driving treacherous, we decide to delay the drive back by a day. We travel into Pescara, and here the sunshine is blinding and it’s short sleeve weather. In Obi we get a couple of bargains, a water heater saving €60 and a chainsaw saving €49. I buy two nice big knobs for the front door and after a brief sojourn around Centro and Mercatone Uno, we drive back home and I fit one onto the newly restored door.

The evening closes in, the grey clouds regroup over Piane d’ Archi in the distance, Christina Aquliera sings ‘Infatuation’, a Spanish lilt, drifting out over the Italian valley. I have an aperitivo and as the minutes tick away to 18.00, I think it’s time to consider dinner.

Our drive back is going really well before we know it we’re over the Italian/Swiss border, once again we’re lucky no one stops us and asks us to purchase Swiss motorway tax, a saving of around €40. We reach the Gotthard tunnel and traffic stops, we have a three hour wait before we can pass through, why? We have no idea, we all just sit and wait. Eventually we get moving and I video the drive through the 10.5 mile tunnel. Once out again we continue on our merry way until we see the road at Luzern is closed due to snow, we have no choice but to find a hotel and bed down for the night. Our choice is the 4 star Cascada, it’s nice and  clean but not really 4 star, more a 3 I’d say. Breakfast is not very impressive, but it sets us up for the drive.

We arrive at the ferry at Calais and within minutes we’re on board and sat next to UK band, We Are Scientists, we set sail for Dover. Suffice to say the drive home is boring, blackness and road-works stretch out before us as we drive up the UK’s spine. Eventually we pull up outside the house at 03.00 and the 763rd song to have played since we left on the 18th mocks us. It’s in Italian, ‘Non Ti Scordar Mai Di Me’ by Italian X factor runner up  Giusy Ferreri.

Pickled Eggs, Strictly and that Bloody Next Advert

I recently walked through a local supermarket, the obscure Wings song ‘C Moon’ playing as I strolled between the aisles. I’m not really a Paul McCartney fan, and I can’t abide the Beatles, but there are a few songs of his time with Wings that I can listen to, without reaching for the skip button. Okay, so I’m in the supermarket when I become transfixed by a jar of pickled eggs. There is sitting in the clear vinegar five white and shiny boiled eggs. I think to myself I’ve never tried a pickled egg, this in turn makes me think of other things I’ve never done. 1. I’ve never seen a James Bond film. 2. I’ve never wanted to learn to play a guitar. 3. I’ve never read the instruction manual to anything I’ve ever purchased. 4. I’ve never wanted kids. 5. I’ve never lived with regret.

So Strictly Come Dancing has had a launch show. What a dismal waste of television airtime. The first dance routine, by the professionals was sloppy and the lifts were poorly executed.  We’re then subjected to a vignette of the celebrities arriving on a red carpet. Scott Maslen, has his cat suit open to the navel exposing his man rug and buffed pecs, Paul Daniels is thankfully zipped up to the chin. At least this year the ladies will have enough eye candy to make the show bearable, the fella’s wont be doing too bad either, Tina, Patsy and Felicity Kendall; Wow how can she look so good, Ms Kendall looks at least twenty years younger.

Next comes the cringing allocation of dance partner for the celebrities, You can see behind the fake smiles of the dancers, who whoop when they get given their partner. Are we supposed to believe they really don’t know who they’re going to be dancing with. As if this part of the show, which is reminiscent of a slave auction isn’t bad enough, there’s the naffness of the dialogue. How Tess lives with herself after saying things like, “Let’s see who’ll be right up your street’, to ex Coronation Street actress Tina O’Brien, I’ll never know. And the dreadful ‘Let’s see who is your destiny’ said to Destiny’s Child singer, Michelle Williams.

We are then subjected to Gavin ‘spoon face’ Henson, this is a man with the personality of sludge. They tell us he’s shy, but that’s not the issue, he is just dull. He stands defensive with his arms folded across his chest, and when his dance partner is announced he looks as happy as a cormorant in an oil slick. Bruce says something about previous rugby players doing well and Mr Henson,just simpers and nods.

There are a few new dancers, and the new males have at last brought some machismo to the show, nice to have some butch males for a change. I see there’s a couple of new girls too, but there’s still the annoying, fat assed Kristina Rihanoff, who in my opinion is a dreadful dancer.

The highlight in this piece of TV tosh was  when Michelle Williams, shouted “Bring him to mama.” as they were about to tell her who her dance partner would be.

One final TV related whinge…. The new Next advert, is set in Paris, we see lots of handsome guys and gals strutting in the shadow of the Eiffel tower. But what car do they show? A bloody classic Fiat 500, a quintessential Italian car, surely they should have featured a Citroen CV in an advert for Paris. Poor attention to detail there.

And I’ve just thought of something else I’ve never done… Change a tyre on a car.

Sex in Tesco and the Moaning Students

Wednesday 01 September 2010 – Today we have a meeting with our lawyers in Lanciano. We arrive in plenty of time and after a coffee and a bite to eat at, Laperlanera, on Corso Trento e Trieste, we walk around. It’s passed lunchtime and with the exception of a handful of bars, the shops are closed. We’re walking along when we’re met by Massimo, our bank manager. He says he’ll see us later when we pop in to get the cheques signed for the house purchase.  Purchase? Surely it can’t be completed so soon?

We walk through the cool side streets, still not sure what will happen later at the notary’s office. Sometimes I think you have to leave the main areas of towns and cities to get a real feel for the place. Here in Lanciano, at the moment it’s quiet and peaceful, but don’t be fooled, there’s evidence everywhere of a lively, vibrant town. There’s a fair set up near the Duomo, as the town has a week long festival starting. Il Mastrogiurato. www.mastrogiurato.it

We meet up with Piero, our lawyer and he says everything is now complete, and we can do the public act, or rogito. This basically means sign the deeds and the house purchase is complete. Massimo sorts out the cheques for the sellers and we walk across town to meet Paolo the notary. We sit in his cool air-conditioned office and the sellers arrive. The house is owned by a mother and daughter, Domenica and Maria. After a marathon session of signature signing, we hand over the cheques and receive the keys. It’s over, we now own our very own little piece of Italy.

Thursday 02 September 2010 – We have an early flight from Pescara, so leave in the dead of night. En route to the airport we stop at endless petrol stations, to fill up. However all the card links with the UK are down. We try many cash machines and they too are down, so sadly have to return the car with only half a tank and a letter of apology. We file through the departures area, it’s not really a lounge, more a corridor leading into a blank room. This must be one of the few airports that don’t have a public toilet in departures.

The flight is full, and everyone is shoe-horned into the plane, I  pass the time listening to music, the first song to shuffle forward is the aptly titled ‘Go Home’ by Eliza Doolittle. 2 hours and 10 minutes later, we’re instructed to switch off electrical devices ready for landing; the captain telling us we’re 20 minutes early.

Tuesday 07 September 2010 – Since we got back into the UK all we’ve done is yearn to be back over in Italy. We’ve spent everyday visiting kitchen and bathroom stores, checking prices and getting ideas.  We had an idea about what tiles we wanted in the kitchen, but when we went to buy them, we changed our minds, as the tile store had an offer on Italian white marble ones: bargains at just 50p each. I had a call from Italy today letting me know that the electricity people have been in to switch on, so that’s a start. We have decided that we’re going over again, this time driving, so we can take some things over that are just sitting in boxes over here waiting to be shipped out. Looks like we’ll be going over around 18-19 of this month.

As Daughtry play ‘Tennessee Line’ I take a photo of the keys to our place in Italy,  there’s one huge key to a bedroom, a small one for the second bedroom and a normal one for the front door. A bit much to be carrying around in your trouser pockets.

I grab a few things from our local Tesco, and pop into the cafe for a drink and a bite to eat. Opposite me is a young couple, she keeps showing him what I imagine are photographs taken on her iPhone. He smiles in mock surprise, and they giggle away, she then shows him, a video she has filmed on her phone. I can see the screen from where I’m sat and am treated to a home made porn film, of the two of them. She stops the film and switches to still photographs of the man, naked posing for her. I wonder if they want people to see them. Is this hi-tech  exhibitionism?

I drive home with ‘Germs’ by The Exploited playing, aggressive and raw and a hark back to my misspent youth.

 

Thursday 09 September 2010 – Today I take a trip up town and nothing much out of the ordinary happens, I bump into my friend Silvana and then pop into the O2 shop to enquire about my mobile phone repair. A pretty ordinary day, until I see a sign advertising cod and chips with bread and butter and a mug of tea for just £4. I think, I’ll have some of that. I arrive at the eatery and take a seat and opposite me is four students. The four girls are all very different, one is tall and willowy with a haunted look about her, another is short with a red blunt bob and lipstick the colour of calves liver. Opposite her is a blonde with a puggish face and spilling over a chair next to her is a huge Irish girl. They are all moaning, one about the place she’s renting, another about the price of pots and pans. The Irish girl is stuffing a burger into her face and nodding in agreement, her gestures the only input she has in the conversation. My dinner arrives, and I almost choke on a hot chip when I hear the following from the moaning students. Pug: “I love your tattoo.” Irish: “It’s an exact copy of Cheryl’s.” (Cole/Tweedy) Bob: “Oh, I can’t stand her.” Irish: “I love her, could just eat her.”  Good job I’m choking, it helps me fight the desire to shout out, “Look’s like you already have love.”

I’ve not been over to my allotment for a few weeks, what with going to Italy etc. All I have left to harvest are potatoes, and my four fat pumpkins, which are turning orange. I went today and rescued my chilli plant, it’s a bit bedraggled, but is still producing some of its’ tiny fiery orangecoloured chillies.

I spent the afternoon, packing boxes ready to take some stuff over to Italy, when we go over on the 19th. I’ve still got so much stuff lying around in boxes, both from our house move and the office closure. As music plays I start sorting some out, I come across things I’d forgotten we had, and lots of pointless things, the pointless things are dumped in the bin. I find a DVD with nothing written on it, so pop it into my laptop and it’s a recording of a Maori Phowri, or Haka, which we were greeted with at a school we visited on our 2007 tour of New Zealand. So I copy it and publish it on You Tube and on my Facebook page. Donna Summer, shuffles to the fore with ‘Dinner With Gershwin’ as I find some old photo albums, and settle down to see which snaps will be consigned to the bin.

Friday 10 September 2010 – Well a miserable day it is, Mary J. Blige sings ‘PMS’, which just about sums the morning up.

I decided today to check my blog statistics, to see if anyone actually reads this. I discover I have quite a few regular readers, one from China checks in every week, some from Italy, USA and a handful of Canadians to name a few, and a Lithuanian that comes to read this every Monday. So thanks guys for checking me out.

The morning passes by with me doing very little, apart from check out the Abruzzo forum and my Facebook page. Lunchtime arrives as Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds start to play ‘O’Malley’s Bar’, from the splendid Murder Ballads album.

We went out in the afternoon, looking at and pricing up kitchens. We saw one we liked in Wickes, and at a good price. It’s self assembly, which we think we can easily do, but we’ll have to get someone to come cut and fit the work surfaces for us.

Stickers! I can’t stand stickers. Today I got five, nice slender outdoor lights, the solar powered kind, not expensive, actually just £1.45 each. The problem is each one has 3 stickers on it, and they are buggers to peel off. So as Joan Armatrading sings ‘Your Letter’, I’m peeling off the offending little blighters.

Abruzzo and the UFO

Wednesday 25.08.10 – I sit here at 07.15, a cup of English tea beside me and the Italian landscape all around. The morning is bright, a slither of mist rides the top of the hills in the distance, and the early sunshine bounces of white stucco, it’s welcoming warmth heating the terracotta tiles. The view is peaceful, all that can be heard is a distant barking dog, the chirrup of a bird and the odd coo of a wood pigeon. We are staying at an apartment literally three doors down from the house we’re buying, and as an example of what the summer mornings will be like, it can’t get any better.  The link to the apartment, which is great for a holiday is: http://www.holidaylettings.co.uk/rentals/casoli,-abruzzo/135685 Amid this stillness is industry, ants march up and down the stems of a nearby climber, their work day having begun. A hoverfly zooms in to pick aphids off a geranium, and quietly on the fig tree to my left, its fruits are ripening like silent explosions. Is all this the reason why I love It here so much? No, but it’s a big part of it, this week my blog will once again be coming from Italy, to be more precise, from Abruzzo, the region I have chosen to come to live in. I leave my laptop, and the fly that fails to annoy me on this glorious morning and place the iPod in the dock and, at a suitable volume, ‘Aftermath’ by Adam Lambert spills out of the apartment door.

I take a short walk over to the house we’re purchasing, the overgrown garden we last saw, has in the absence of care become a desperate tangle of foliage, grasses fight for space with candytuft topped weeds. I see my first snake, a small black harmless one, it senses my presence and slithers away into the mess of greenery. I shower and get ready to go out when I have my first encounter with a scorpion, it’s quite a fat one and is clinging to the wall in the kitchen. I leave the scorpion to do its own thing and head off to the beach.

The beach at Fossacesia is a mere 14 miles away, and I spend the afternoon chilling out with friends old and new. Everyone of us has chosen this region of Italy to move to. We’re a rag-tag brigade, a mix of people from innumerable backgrounds. But we all have one thing in common, we’re all members of a very good website and forum, where we chat and gain advice and give support to each other. http://abruzzolutely.com

I’ve been very British and have arrived for the picnic with a chair to sit on and sandwiches. The people who already live here have arrived with swimming costumes and towels, I paddle in the warm waters of the Adriatic whilst my companions swim and play ball games….. A lesson has been learned today.

After the beach, we do a little shopping, food and wine at Eurospin, once again we’re amazed that what we buy is at least a third cheaper than in the UK, and so what if the vegetables are fresh, complete with a little earth on them and not a uniformed shape, it still beats the supermarket chains back home. We buy a €1,49 bottle of wine, Fragolino, it’s sparkling we know, because there’s a small piece of string holding the cork in. For €1,49 we don’t expect it to be very palatable, but when we get it home and open it, we are surprised by the gorgeousness of the flavour, with a hint of sweetness  I expect we’ll partake of many more times before we leave for the UK. (Has anyone noticed I no longer say, home?) 

Thursday 26.08.10 – Another sunny morning meets my rousing,  and at eye level through the open window pours the Italian landscape. There’s a slight breeze at 07.00, not much, just a lazy kiss of air, but enough to refresh the senses. For the first time in my life I have fallen victim to the mozzie and have several red swellings where the pesky insect has taken a nip.

Breakfast is once again taken al fresco, and as I tuck into an omelette stuffed with salami and tomato, with my music as usual playing in the background, this time Ms. Dynamite with ‘Judgement Day’, I watch scarab beetles swoop down on the potted geraniums. Like futuristic spaceships these beautiful beetles with petrol stained wing cases look like impossible flying machines, but fly they do. I sit watching them when a small lizard runs past me followed in close pursuit by a larger yellow one. The small one wins the race and disappears into a mass of purple petunias, the larger one sits downcast on a log and soaks up the sun’s rays.

 Everything has a flaw, even perfection has an impurity somewhere, if you look hard enough, and this tranquil idyll has one. It is impossible to get a decent cup of tea. I know tea is a very British thing and here the Italian’s have great coffee. In Italy tradition is important, the breakfast beverage is a cappuccino, now although I like a nice strong Italian espresso, I cannot stomach a milky cappuccino. I have discovered that if I pop two tea bags into a mug, both different manufacturers I can get what passes for half decent. A pointless expense so I’ll make sure when I move over I bring a substantial supply of Yorkshire tea.

As Kraftwerk start to play ‘Spacelab’, a song that has popped up just recently on a daily basis during my iPod shuffle, we get ready for another adventure in Abruzzo.

We take the coast road into Pescara, not an economical way to get to the seaside resort, but a prettier one. As we slide past the azure sea, people are enjoying the shade beneath gaily coloured umbrellas, and the lazy waves are inhabited by children, jumping and splashing in the warm water.

We visit the DIY stores in Pescara, to do price comparisons on things like showers, toilets, tiles and ovens. We discover some things are pretty much the same price as in the UK, showers however are about a third cheaper. Here the things that we have found to be much more expensive is medicines, simple things like aspirin. I very rarely need to take them so a box from the UK would last me a couple of years.

Coming back we program the SatNav to avoid the motorway and toll roads, it’s not the ideal route, as it takes us out of our way, but what it does do, is show us parts of the area we wouldn’t have seen. The sad thing is, there are many beautiful vistas, but nowhere to stop the car to take photos, this said, it’s probably a good idea, as we’d be stopping every hundred yards to snap away. We end up passing Guardiagrele, as it’s early evening we stop to buy some of their delicious local cakes, le sise, commonly called Nun’s Breasts. If you ever find yourself passing through, do pop into Emo Lullo, pasticceria on via Roma. I take no responsibility for the extra pounds you may gain.

Friday 27.08.10 – Today I did something I very rarely do. I woke up as usual at 07.00, But today I rolled over, looked outside and saw everything was peaceful, the sun was warming the cacti at the side of the road. I closed my eyes again and dozed, finally rising at 07.56.

I took an early morning walk up the road, glanced longingly at our little house, then took some photo’s along the lane. A young lad on a new Vespa buzzed past, he shouted ‘Giorno,’  as he disappeared around a bend and quiet tumbled around me once again. I stood listening, there was that odd background rumble that silence has, in the distance a bell tolled, a dog, many miles away barked and a cricket rubbed it’s legs together, the vibration rising from the long grass. It was nice just standing listening to nature going about her business. The tall grasses moved with a hush in the faint breeze, whilst the dry bamboo rattled an accompaniment.

Breakfast is al fresco again, (I can see a pattern emerging), the iPod turned on and the first track to be released from the black docking station was ‘Dolcemente Come Niente’ by Dolcenera. It suddenly dawns on me that my worries about buying such a small house are pointless ones: you know the ones, like, ‘What will we do without having a room designated for the act of dining?’ We already have one, it’s called the Abruzzi open  air, (well for most of the year). Now I understand why Italian’s are passionate about even the tiniest scrap of land, and will fight to reclaim it if it’s utilised by someone else. For people living here in the countryside, the outdoors becomes very much part of the indoors, and therefore home.

I make some spicy pasta sauce ready for tonight’s dinner, using  the lovely fresh chillies we purchased a day or so ago. As the red sauce bubbles away on the stove,  Friendly Fires play ‘Lovesick’. I was due to go out with friends tonight in Pescara, but as my phone is broken, (long story), I have no internet access to  pick up emails or Facebook messages. looks like there’ll be some long distance, grovelling apologies when I get back home and have web access again.

I take a stroll up the road and meet up with a yellow snake, it’s around a metre in length and has a healthy girth, so must be well fed. The snake watches me as intently as I watch it. For a minute neither of us move, we just make eye contact, then with a flick of it's forked tongue it sidles off into the undergrowth.

Today has been great, all I’ve done is listen to music and chill out. Lunch was mixed antipasti with chilled prosecco, and we had good company, our friends dog Rocky. He’s come to share some  salami and take respite from the heat, so he lies on the cool tiles on the kitchen floor.

Saturday 28.08.10 – No al fresco breakfast today, instead we took a trip into Lanciano, more specifically the open air street market. Whilst there we bumped into our new friend Tina, and it was nice to chat. It felt more like this is where we should be, at least we wont feel displaced, there’ll be people we know. We had a good nose-rind (Potteries dialect), and I got a cheap replacement phone before stopping off at a small Pizzeria, here we had a delicious slice of calzone, stuffed with peppers and green beans and a cup of espresso.

On the way back we stopped to admire the view, when something odd appeared in the sky, it was a perfect circle, and didn’t seem to move. I grabbed my camera and snapped away, after the shutter clicked I looked again and the sphere was gone. Take a look at the photo and see what you think. It’s not a speck of dirt as the subsequent pictures taken before and after don’t show it.

So far today the iPod hasn’t been on random shuffle, it’s been playing songs by Tiziano Ferro, shuffling between his four studio albums and the many duets he’s recorded. The afternoon heat is made easier by a slight breeze, and I have an Italian black beer, nicely chilled to take the edge off. It’s not the Irish black stuff but tastes just as nice at just 59 cents a bottle.

We come back and spend the afternoon just chilling out, before popping to the shops, to buy a lettuce, cucumber and a halogen worktop oven…. Random I know. As the iPod is back on random shuffle we cook dinner. Boney M sing the Bob Marley classic, ‘No Woman, No Cry’ as the oven chips cook. Not very Italian I know, but we just fancied chips and egg, we’re also having Olive all’Ascolana; battered olives stuffed with beef. I have another glass of the delicious Fragolino, this time chilled, as the song changes and Gina X starts singing ‘Exhibitionism’.

Dinner over, the Olive all’Ascolana were nice, the meat was the consistency of cat food, or how I’d imagine cat food to be, but despite this, tasted nice. We spend the evening watching ‘Avatar’, which we got on DVD today in Euronics……. So much for the peasant lifestyle.

Sunday 29.08.10 – Sunday morning starts off quite cloudy, there’s evidence of an early morning shower still lingering on the patio tiles. I look across and there’s a grey cloud straddling the mountain, that looks like a dragon, stalking to town of Altino.  After breakfast, I put on long trousers (jeans) and a long sleeved shirt and venture down into the overgrown garden at our house. At first I realise it’s not as steep as first thought, and there’s evidence that suggests the land was previously worked: For previously, read ten years ago. I find more olive trees, and estimate that there’s at least ten of the wizened old things hidden in the bowels of the mess that’s been allowed to propagate. I video pockets of the land, naming trees as I go. The two olive trees outside the bedroom door are already called Malcolm and Macduff, as they remind me of the scene in Macbeth, when Malcolm asks what the wood is before them, to be told it’s Birnam. These two trees are standing high above the gradient looking down onto the other trees below.

Today we take it easy once again, the weather has brightened and music fills the apartment, ‘Blood and Earth’ by Love Among Ruin plays as we leave to have lunch with our friends, Brenda and Terry. Brenda has made a delicious avocado salad, which I eat with gusto. We chat as the afternoon slips away, then a bottle of prosecco is opened and as the fizz runs riot in my glass, I inwardly smile, it’s very rare I can feel so relaxed, and sitting here with good food and good friends on a beautiful Abruzzi afternoon, makes me feel all is well with the world. Well, my world anyway.

I string up the remaining chillies I have and hang them to dry outside, on my way back I meet Adda, my next door neighbour to be, she’s ninety two but still has a twinkle in her eye and a smile as intoxicating as a twenty year old. We chat, sporadic words bouncing back and forth, she speaks in dialect, and has no knowledge of English. I then realise how much more work I need to do on my study of the Italian language. She is joined by her friend Giuseppina, and very soon we’re all chatting, laughing and breaking down international barriers.

Adda has three kittens, and I have fallen for a scrawny little ginger fellow, who I’ve nicknamed Fred. (Fred and Ginger, get it?) When the other’s are at a distance, I sneak Fred a slice of salami.

Monday 30.08.10 – Before breakfast I pass a slice of salami and a sausage through the fence to Fred, I have a yoghurt and a cup of tea. It’s 07.30 and the world around me is stirring, Kings Of Leon play ‘Closer’ at a discreet volume, and two finches flit around the branches of an olive tree.

We go into Lanciano for a meeting with our lawyers, it is the first time we’ve met face to face, and the meeting goes very well, if not a little surprising. Surprise 1 - We have been told the olive grove at the end of our mess of weeds and trees is also ours. Our lawyers will find out who has been farming it and write to him telling him he now needs our permission to work the land, and we need to draw up a contract. Surprise 2 - We go to the bank to sign all the documentation to set up the account that we’ve transferred money into already. we meet our handsome bank manager, who has a good command of English, but a sing-song silly surname. We ask him about charges to transfer money from  the UK, and he tells us to transfer Euro’s it’s a single set fee of just €1, UK banks led us to believe the Italian banks would charge us an exorbitant fee to accept the money. Turns out it’s the UK banks that are charging the high fees. Surprise 3 - Everything has gone through and our house purchase is complete, all we have to do is come back in 2 days to pick up the keys and pay the Notary. We can’t believe how simple the purchase has been, people have been hit with red tape and legal obstacles, since finding the house, all we’ve done is send a handful of e-mails, side-stepped the compromesso, and been taken on trust by our lawyers.

We have a coffee at a bar on the main street, then I buy a CD; Alessandra Amoroso’s first album ‘Stupida’, back at the apartment and I’m about to put into my laptop when my phone rings, it’s Goblin, one of the children I teach calling to say hello. Today really has been one to remember. The iPod shuffles and as Scritti Pollitti play, the 80’s classic, ‘Wood Beez’ and Green’s gentle vocals float out of the door into the afternoon air. I enjoy a gin and grapefruit juice in the sunshine, and Rocky is at the gate shouting at shadows.

Tuesday 31.08.10 – It’s relatively late when I open the laptop to write today’s diary entry, It’s 17.30 and an agreeable breeze is blowing across the valley. Blancmange play ‘That’s Love, That Is’. It’s actually song 683 to have shuffled forth and played since we got here. We went shopping today for those essential things that you never get until you find you need it, and need it right now. Thing’s like 4 gang plug extensions, double plugs, mop, bucket, nice leather flip-flops…. oops how did they slip through the net? Well a bargain at just €12,90. People are always saying that things are more expensive here in Italy, but I disagree. For a start you can get good wine for as little as €2,00 a litre, if you pay more, then you’ve been seen flashing your cash like a tourist. Food is cheaper, I say it is, but what I really mean is the Italian produce I pay through the nose for in the UK is rock bottom here. Petrol is cheaper, household goods are too. Okay clothing and bed linen is more expensive, but to be honest even a blind person would shudder at some of the Italian bedding designs.

On the topic of cost, we had to buy some really strong weed and tree killer, to eradicate some young shoots of a nuisance tree that's started to creep into the cracks between our terrace and the house, which if left can cause structural damage. The liquid that does the job is about £12.00 in the UK to make up 2 litres, here it works out at €8,00 for 100 litres, that’s just 8 cents a litre. We spray the small suckered offshoots and hope it works, as soon as they have died, we’ll remove them and cement up the cracks where they’ve got in. As I type this Depeche Mode play, ‘Black Day’, it was for the young trees……. hahahaha, pantomime villain laugh.

The How Wrong Day and the Long Day

Monday 23.08.10 – The last of the packing is complete, I look at the pile of technology, required for travel, chargers, USB cables etc. They get slipped between layers of shirts and socks and before I know it, it’s time to leave for Stansted airport. We plan on arriving with an hour and half to spare before the flight at15.05. I hate having to rush. I halt Siouxsie mid flow, and switch off the iPod thinking, I’ll get the second half of ‘Right Now’, by The Creatures, when the Ryanair aeroplane is airborne.

 How wrong can I be. We set off and everything is going well, the traffic should be sparse, it’s after rush hour and the middle end of the school holidays. No one has told the congested lanes of the M6 this. Traffic lurches along, getting up to 50 MPH, then in the glare of red tail lights, slows to 30. All three lanes are moving at a turgid pace, pretty soon we come to the M6 snarl-up spot. Junction 11 to junction 8. I sigh, being used to this awful inevitable bottleneck, at least when we get passed the M5 turn off we’ll be motoring.

How wrong can I be 1. Usually after the M5 slip road at junction 8, the traffic eases and the travelling masses spread out, after miles of enforced confinement. Today it doesn’t, and to add insult to injury we start to slow down, there’s a men at work sign perched on the barrier of the central reservation. This is followed by a speed camera warning and a 50 MPH minimum. Then we come to a complete stop, gradually inching our way southwards, until we see sign number three telling us the inside lane is closed in 800 yards. Following instructions we all change lanes, allow others to filter in and secretly despise the people who continue yards becomes down the inside lane hoping to creep in nearer the lane closure. 800 yards becomes 600, 600 shrinks to 400, 400 to 200, and 200 dissolves into nothing, no lane closure, no speed camera, not even a cone in sight. You can see the anger on everyone’s faces as they realise the congestion and added journey time is down to an inept road worker not clearing away the signs.

That’s it I think, let’s just get there and have a coffee. How wrong can I be 2. We hit a section of road bordered each side by orange and white cones. Yellow spies in the sky enforce us to slow to 50 MPH. The lanes become narrower and we’re all forced to jostle for space. This goes on for miles, the person in the blue Kia, slows right down to 35 MPH, and I’m forced to do the same. This goes on for miles. I wouldn’t mind as the sign proclaims, the work is creating improvements to the motorway, which in turn will ease the flow of traffic. But who is doing the work? There’s not a single road worker to be seen.

We pass, the ghost-town road works and I hope that’s the last of it. I’ll get some speed up and catch up on lost time I decide. How wrong can I be 3. The sky rips open and deposits a heavy stream of grey water upon us. Traffic slows, lights are switched on, angry red eyes glaring out from the spray. The spray lessons visibility, and at times it’s difficult to see the tail lights of the car in front. Lorries sail past, adding to this dense foggy wetness, and the average speed once again drops below 50 MPH. We drive in and out of pockets of the deluge, emerging into sunshine, that blinds us as it bounces off the wet tarmac.

At least the congestion around Luton airport has been sorted out I say, remembering sailing past last I drove this way. How wrong can I be 4. We approach the site of previous congestion and my heart sinks, the barriers and speed restrictions are back. Once more we all reduce speed en masse, and my eyes keeps flicking across to the SatNav and the little numerical icon in the corner indicating possible arrival time. We can still make It I say. How wrong can I be 5. The slip road onto the M25 suddenly stops, the rain is back and the spray is so bad people can be seen leaning forward, peering out through their windscreens. Eventually we slither onto the M25, and it’s congested – no surprise there, but it usually moves a moderately swift pace this time of day. How wrong can I be 6. Everyone seems to be taking it easy, a white box van swaps lanes from inside to middle with such regularity no one has a hope of getting past. The outer lane is full of slow moving lorries, and joining the van in it’s lane switching activities is a red transit: I’m sure they’re a double act. We motor along barely reaching 60MPH, when suddenly white van makes a mistake, he moves into the middle lane, I see a chance and putting my foot down just as his left indicator flashes again I swerve into the space and watch as the speedometer increases. In the face of adversity there’s a glimmer of hope. We leave the M25, onto the M11, people subconsciously seem to know they mustn’t delay my progress. I travel at great speed, pull off the slip road. Jubilant, I say, “We’re here,”

I follow the signs for the long stay car park, my brain is calculating how long it will take to get to the gate, as we’ve checked in online, so already have our boarding passes. How wrong can I be 7. We can do it, I think. We’re told to drive to car park Z, the one furthest away, we pass other alphabetised parking modules most of them are closed and empty. We pull into the crowded car park and troll up and down lanes of immobilised vehicles, looking for a space to secure our inside. Space found, we rush out to catch the courtesy bus, as we step out of the car, it rains again. David gets soaked as he didn’t bring a coat, saying he wouldn’t need one - How wrong could he be. We climb aboard the bus and sit….and sit…and sit…and sit. We ask the driver how long we will be, his reply is, “You should have set out earlier.” – Is it a criminal offence to think, ‘If only I had a gun’.

We get to the terminal, but all is in vain, as we enter the building the gate for our flight closes. We don’t run blindly in an attempt to get them to re-open it. We don’t stamp and come out with expletives. We do walk over to the Ryanair desk and talk calmly of our plight, to the portly Irish lady. Relieved of a further £200 we are booked on for the next flight, a full 28 hours away. We umm and err about sleeping in the car, but decide on a hotel, another £135 later and we’re in a deluxe double room at the Hilton.  Sorry, but a free 189 ml bottle of red wine, a scatter cushion and an orange (how random) does not make a standard room deluxe.

We shower, and set off for dinner in the restaurant, it’s the Hilton so it must be good. How wrong can I be 8. Oh don’t get me wrong the food was great, the ambience wasn’t. What is it with restaurant’s and Sadé. I’m sure someone once wrote a review saying her music is ideal for a backdrop to eating. How wrong, It’s just a monotonous drone punctuated by the odd trumpet. I like the food but the music spoils it for me.

Tuesday 24.08.10 – After a fitful nights sleep, we shower and make our way from the hotel to the airport, arriving in departures at 09.00. Breakfast is scrambled eggs on toast and a cup of tea, at an exorbitant price, but they have you don’t they, no need to fear competition here, retailers are the boss in this situation. Breakfast over and a stroll around the meagre offering of shops at 11.15 I open my laptop to do some writing. Boredom is now beginning to nudge at me, I could read but I’m saving my book for the flight. Out of my hand luggage comes my iPod and the first song to shuffle is That’s Not My Name’ by The Ting Tings, which prompts me to wonder what has happened to them, isn’t it about time we were offered a second album?

8 seats away from me sleeps a man who I earlier saw check in for a flight to Turkey, his snores attracting attention; as it’s still relatively quiet they are amplified by the empty space. My iPod now begins to play the puerile, and absurdly named Shalimar song, ‘Inky Dinky Wang Dang Doo’. Time for a change of scenery methinks.

We find an internet service and print off our boarding passes and in the afternoon I’m sat in a public space on a blue seat that’s attached to another seven similar seats. I watch 2 lads in their late teens, both dressed as thug Papi’s, a pseudo menacing Latino air about them. They have purchased belt buckles with enough (fake) bling to blind a jeweller. One has a skull whilst the other is now sporting a crucifix that starts at his belly button and ends mid way down his genitals.

Wings play ‘Silly Love Songs’, a song that reminds me of playing truant from school, as I used to listen to the Wings at the Speed of Sound album in my teens on an old 8 track player. A group of men pass me, all are wearing those quarter length trousers. there’s something odd about this item of mans apparel, no matter how masculine the wearer is, they always seem to appear to mince when they wear these.

I look at the screen as Toyah, ‘The Vow’, (Acoustic Version) plays, there are now just 25 flights that need to have their gate number posted before ours. I sit and people watch, there’s a handsome young man serving at Est Bar, he has a tattoo on his next, I wonder if it’s something inspiring, maybe a simple word like ‘Sempre’. I wander over only to be disappointed, it’s just 4 random Chinese symbols. I do hope they mean something, and not something a tattoo artist has picked up off a take-away menu.

A walk along the departure lounge brings me face to face with a purple panther. It’s in the window of a designer shop. 

We finally board the plane, and within minutes we are airborne, the carriage is full with every available seat taken, the travelling cargo a mix of Italians and English. I am sandwiched on both sides, to left of me is a flatulent man, with a serious body odour issue, who falls asleep almost instantly. ‘Loss Of Contact’ by The Photo’s plays in my ears, as I watch two small Italian boys argue over an iPod.

Our cabin crew are, chief steward, Tomasz, a handsome, slim and stylish black man. A blonde girl who’s hair is scraped back so severely her nostrils are permanently flared and a chubby dark haired lad with a gap between each of his teeth big enough to pass a penny through.

One family are spread over many individual seats, the result of arriving at the last minute. They crowd the aisles as they move between each member to chat and pass on morsels of confectionary. I’m sure the constant stream of children running up the centre of the plane to exchange a kiss with Nonna  is the real reason for the turbulence we momentarily experience. Unable to get past the steward smiles; a fake gappy one.

As we fly over Venice, ‘High Tide’ by The River City People begins to play. Let’s hope the people below don’t experience one. As the song changes and we are informed the Captain shall begin descent in ten minutes, I get a flash of a hairy midriff from a man reaching over for a baby.

Within minutes we have collected the car, I feel home at last and in the dark we drive from Pescara towards Casoli.

Apologies for any typo’s etc didn’t review it before posting.