Two days, two dogs.

Yesterday morning, Helen and I went into town to walk Reggie. It was a late start (as holiday mornings demand), and a leisurely and lengthy walk so it was lunchtime by the time we got home and, as the apartment was ready and awaiting its guests, we had little to do other than relax - so while Helen tinkered on the computer trying to translate a letter from Enel (the electricity company), I buried my head in a book for a couple of hours.

At around 4pm, I went out into the garden with Reggie to have a play on the lawn while keeping one eye on the road below.

While playing tug-of-war with him, I spotted what was definitely a modern car (it had very bright twinkly headlights) rounding the bend from the village below and heading our way - a new mini maybe? I walked towards the fence to get a better look and was greeted with a horn beeping back at me - it was Paul, Marie and Nero coming our way all the way from Lichfield!

Minutes later, they were pulling up outside, having completed the 1000+ mile journey and looking very ready to start their Christmas celebrations. It was great to see them again - the last time we saw them had been at our surprise party in Oxfordshire in early May.

We didn't waste any time in opening a bottle of prosecco and we all settled down in front the fire for a lovely evening of chatting and catching up. Reggie astounded us with his immediate acceptance of Paul and Marie as friends (more like second parents) - his wariness of new people seemed to have vanished - and he and Nero spent the evening following each other around the room, Reggie attempting to play a little more forcefully than Nero, but getting on pretty well overall. We finally wrapped up just before midnight - we had a trip to the vet at 10am in the morning.

Marie and Nero - Reggie's new bestest friends.

Reggie and Nero bonding.

We all rather raggedly assembled for breakfast at 9am - well, that is all except for Helen who was up at 7.20am yet again to feed and water the animals.

After a quick breakfast, it was time to head out in the no. 182 bus - two dogs and four Smiths. Our first stop was at Sue's to drop Helen off for their Christmas coffee/shopping morning, after which the other Smiths and I were heading to the vet.

Nero (the pug) needs to have been treated for tapeworm within 24 hours of his return to England in order to avoid quarantine - this would be fairly straight forward under normal circumstances, but Christmas was causing something of an issue with regards to opening hours.

Marie's Dad had found and called a vet not far from here and talked to him about Nero's requirements - the vet had told him we could go to see him at 10am on the 23rd and he would give Nero the necessary tablet and stamp his passport accordingly. So, at ten minutes to ten, we arrived and (unsurprisingly) the vet wasn't yet in - time for a quick cappuccino in the café opposite.

After a caffeine fix, we headed back over to the vet's surgery and, after the departure of an extremely barky dog, were invited in. I had a few new words scribbled on a piece of paper ready to do battle, but on hearing my English accented Italian, the vet seemed to know exactly why we were there and happily provided us with the tablet (to take away) and stamped Nero's passport for the 27th, all for the very reasonable cost of €15.

After a successful start, we headed back into town for a walk along the river with the dogs. It was a lovely mild winter's day and we slowly ambled up and down the river, both dogs off the lead and behaving well.

After a lengthy walk, we ended up sitting outside Franco's bar in the main piazza for a bit of lunch. So far, Helen and I have not eaten more than a biscuit with our coffee at Franco's, but its certainly our favourite establishment in town. Not being quite sure about the lunch arrangements here, I tentatively went into the half of the shop that does the savoury items and asked if we could eat lunch. The jolly old man behind the counter started describing his offering of meals (rather than furnish us with a menu, as is often the way here) but didn't get too far into the list of options before I cut him dead and asked for a mixed antipasti for three. He said he could do us a 'special Chrismas selection' - having now switched to very respectable English!

I told him it sounded perfect, and he asked me at what time we wanted it. This seemed an odd question, so I replied 'ora' (now). All sorted, we sat outside with the dogs and were shortly furnished with place mats, cutlery, and a plate of food each with the ubiquitous basket of bread and a bottle of red wine from Montecarlo (no, not that one, the wine producing town not far from here).

It was only half-way through lunch, when the clock tower chimed, that I realised why the man had asked me what time we wanted lunch. None of us had checked the time and it turned out that we were eating lunch before 11.30am the morning and drinking wine! Oh well, all in the name of Christmas...

Lunch... before 11.30am.

After a fantastic lunch of prosciutto, an unusual but very tasty egg salad pyramid, grilled vegetables and (the star of the show) a goats cheese covered in cranberries, we headed back to our hill to light the fire and put our feet up for a while - that was until Helen called for a lift home, having got back to Sue's after her own excursion.

So I drove down the road and after a cup of tea and a chat with the Phillipses, I took Helen back home to rescue Paul from Reggie-sitting. Once he had been relieved of his duties, Paul went for a change of shoes so that he and I could have a walk around some of the bits of land you can't see from the house. The pair of us spent the next hour so climbing around the area with the stone quarry near the river where it appears a family of boar have recently been digging around beneath the leaf litter.

After satisfying our boyhood hunger for clambering over rocks, we headed back to the house to play with the non-running cultivator, Paul being something of a dab hand when oil, petrol and spanners are concerned.

Men at work.

While the boys tinkered, Marie made coffee for us all and the dogs entertained themselves - well, to be more precise, Reggie tried his best to goad poor little Nero into play fighting and in doing so worked himself into a bit of a bitey frenzy, so much so that a time-out in his crate was needed, and that was where he stayed while the four grown ups went to face the supermarket for the dreaded Christmas food shopping.

Two trolley loads later, we emerged from the supermarket with enough food and drink to sink a battleship - probably enough to see us through until Boxing day at least.

After we had got home, unloaded the car and reunited the two dogs for a more gentle play, it was time for a round of Aperol spritz with nibbles while Helen prepared dinner and the fire roared into the evening.

Christmas has well and truly started here at numero 182!