...of course there were some frustrations to counter the achievements, but I think that overall, the achievements outweighed the frustrations of the day.
It was a warm night last night after the sun had been beating down all day. Fortunately, I was tired enough after a day's strimming for it not to affect me too much, but Helen struggled to sleep.
I didn't wake up until Helen was coming back in from her morning exercise at around 8-8:30 (I couldn't tell you exactly as I still don't have an alarm clock). I could have slept for longer, but duty called as we'd planned to go into town this morning not only to do the weekly food shop, but also to try to make an appointment at the comune office to sort out our residency, to buy some special €2 tax stamps from the post office that we've been told need to be stuck onto each of Helen's invoices so we can start the influx of money again (all this time she's been working without any pay!) and to pay a couple of bills.
We parked in the square and noticed that half the shops were closed. It made the place look strangely different, and in fact exactly like it has done when we've visited on holiday. Yes, August has well and truly arrived and the August shut down is in full effect. We've noticed a few signs around outside restaurants that are offering 'pranzo Ferragosta', which turns out to be a mid-August bank holiday lunch. Ferragosta is quite a big thing and many Italian businesses shut up shop in August for two weeks or more (for some, it's the whole month), with more or less everyone heading for the beaches. Of course, this means that everything slows down (I know, you thought it couldn't get any slower!).
On the way to the tabaccheria to pay our bills, we looked in through the doors of the comune office and saw that the counter was empty - no queue. Brilliant! We both had the same thought and decided to visit the comune first and put off paying bills until afterwards - it meant that we could attempt our rubbish Italian with the grumpy Italian man without having a huge line of people listening in. So we dived straight in. Our arrival was noted, but we still had to wait a couple of minutes to be seen. I'd memorised my sentence and was pleased to see the other (hopefully non-grumpy) man approaching. I hit him with it, 'vorremmo fissare un appuntamento per la nostra residenza' it hit him straight between his squinting eyes, and without a word he grabbed the diary and thumbed through towards the end of August. It seems they only do two appointments on the days that they actually do them (which seemed to be once a week). He finally stopped at the 25th of August and offered us a slot. 9:30am on the 25th it is! Well, that was easy! (It was only the easy part of that particular process, of course, but as far as our day was going, it was a good sign.) It was certainly a less frustrating and humiliating experience than the last time we'd visited the office!
When we arrived at the tabaccheria to pay our bills, there was an enormous queue. I confess that I'm exaggerating slightly, but there were four or five people waiting to be served, so it was going to be quite a wait and we quickly decided we would pay the bills at the post office instead.
We drove round to the post office and walked in, discussing our plan of attack. We needed both to pay some bills and acquire these special stamps. As we've explained before, the main post office in Pescia operates a deli-counter-style system where you have to take a ticket and wait your turn - except that it's a bit more sophisticated than that, as you have to select the particular service you require and take a ticket dedicated to that service (so at any one time there are 3 or 4 different ticket numbering systems operating). By now, we know which button to press for a ticket when we want to send post and which one to press when we need to pay bills, but we realised that it was highly unlikely that the same person who dealt with paying bills would also sell us the special invoice stamps. We decided to get a ticket each, Helen would take the bills and I'd get the stamps. Sorted. That was until we walked in. It was like an airport terminal with delayed flights - there were people everywhere, sitting on the chairs, standing in line. We've never seen it as busy as this and simply turned on our heels without a word and went food shopping.
Once again, we operated a two-supermarket food shop in order to maximise savings (some products are cheaper in Lidl, while others are cheaper in Esselunga), with Lidl as our first stop and a rather busy Esselunga as our second.
With the shopping loaded into the car, we decided that rather than drive round to the main post office in Pescia again, we would try the little post office in the village on the way home. We we're certain that we would at least be able to pay the bills there, and if they couldn't give us the special stamps then we'd know for future reference that we would need to get them from the larger branch in Pescia.
When we walked into the post office, which was very dark, a voice from somewhere in the darkness (we could see no person attached to the voice) said 'siamo chiuso!' (we are closed). It turned out that the post office had been forced to close today because their lights were not working! Or so the lady's voice said. So that was the end of that, we would have to head home and try again tomorrow.
By the time we got home it was nearly noon, so while Helen did a bit of work I threw together some lunch, which, of course, we ate outside under the shade of the umbrella to hide from the scorching sun. It has been especially hot and humid these last few days. I didn't notice it much yesterday, as I was strimming in the shade for most of the day (or so I thought, I still managed to come home with pink arms).
After lunch, Helen decided to take a walk to the post box rather earlier than usual. A courier has been attempting to deliver a parcel to her (a birthday present that her friend Wendy has sent via Amazon) for several days now. The courier's first two attempts resulted in a note in the post box saying 'you weren't in when we tried to deliver, so we'll try again tomorrow, or you can book another delivery day'. Of course, we had been in each time, but couriers and posties don't like to venture down people's drives over here. The parcel had then ended up at a depot in Florence, and our attempts to ask if it could be left at a local post office fell on deaf ears (or blind eyes? as the requests were sent via email). Helen had received a message from poor Wendy last night to say that, according to Amazon, the courier would be coming again today. In the vain hopes that she might somehow coincide with the courier arriving at the gates, Helen set off down the drive. Much to her amazement, when she reached the end of the drive the courier's van was parked in the gateway! (Little did she know at the time that he was also calling the house phone to ask someone to come out and collect the parcel.) So, she signed for and took delivery of the parcel and just as she was doing that, the postie arrived as well, so as I came running up the drive to tell her that the courier was on the phone (in case they hadn't coincided), she was walking back to me with a parcel under one arm and a fistful of post in the other hand!
After the excitement of the post and parcel delivery, it was time to make another small dent in the area behind the house that I'm calling 'Goose Island', in honour of one of my favourite American ales (although Helen prefers to call it Gooselandia). Anyway, regardless of the name, it's the piece of land we have designated for the geese that we hope will be living there soon.
An hour and a half of trimming and moving cuttings later, I felt I'd achieved something meaningful, and it was at that point that a white van pulled up. I was thankful of the distraction as I have been struggling today, feeling like I had nothing in the tank, with a banging headache and an insatiable thirst! The guy in the van turned out to be Remigio, the falegnameria (carpenter) I'd found on the internet about two months ago and who I had asked for a quote for the apartment doors. He had brought his wife along with him, as I think she speaks a little more English than he does. We'd accepted his quote a couple of weeks ago and after a gentle prod last week, his wife had arranged with Helen yesterday for him to come to measure up today.
After brief introductions I took them to the apartment patio, where Lucca promptly introduced himself by shouting loudly at both of them. Remigio took his tape measure out and while measuring up was asking me questions, some of which I understood and could answer, such as did we still want the doors made in chestnut wood?, did we want French doors or a single door?, and what colour did we want the doors? After that, though, I was out of my depth, and his wife stepped in - but her English was almost non-existent, so I ran to grab my tablet PC. (I have never been more thankful for having a tablet PC with Google Translate and an internet connection!)
I handed her the tablet so that she could type, and we soon nailed down costs, plus the fact that the glass will be double glazed with exterior shatter-proof glass and security locks. They wanted a deposit of €500, to be paid by cheque. While they were here, I decided to ask Remigio for a quote for replacing the windows - I figured that since he was already here, it would save time should we decide to have them replaced. So I took Remigio around the house, Helen wrote out a cheque, and then we waved them goodbye with the promise of the doors fitted by mid-September. As I showed them out, they both told me how beautiful the view was.
I would say that we are getting good value here: two doors, each hand-made out of chestnut (which is better than oak), with double glazed shatter-proof glass and security locks, then hand stained, delivered and fitted for €730 each. Considering that in Abingdon we paid around £1300 for a pair of PVC patio doors, we're very happy indeed. Let's hope the windows are as affordable and maybe... JUST maybe, with proper glazing we might be able to scrap our plan for central heating and be comfortable enough with a properly used wood burner, meaning the windows would pay for themselves. We'll see.
After the visit, I went back to trimming but soon was wringing wet, not a dry inch on me. I must have drunk five pints of water this afternoon but still couldn't slake my thirst. The banging headache returned with a vengeance and I dropped the backpack to go indoors and slug back another pint. Helen found me in a bit of poor state and insisted I stay indoors, take some pain killers and rehydrate properly so that tomorrow wasn't a complete write-off too. I didn't take much convincing, as I couldn't bear the thought of even stepping out in that sun again, and left the tools out there for an hour before I even dared go out again.
After my failed attempt at continuing with my work, I decided that the only thing to do was to take my clippers to my head! My hair has been growing almost as quickly as the acacia in this weather, so I had decided that I would dust off the old clippers and return to cutting my own hair again. It has been quite a few years since I last cut my own hair, but now that we're peasant farmers, I figured I could save us €15 a month by doing it myself. After rigging up a third mirror in the bathroom, I managed to do a pretty respectable job of it - in fact, probably better than I ever have done before, and even got a compliment from Helen. Beginner's luck I'm sure, there's bound to be a disaster in the post on this front, but for now at least, it's another step towards self sufficiency. I wonder if Helen will let me cut hers...!?!
That done, I sat down to write the blog while Helen changed out of her office clothes and into her manual-work-clothes and went out to do an hour's manual labour on Goose Island. She has just come back in, so it's time for dinner - another Ligurian salad of potatoes, mozzarella, olives, green beans and the rest of the pesto Helen made last night.
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