Taking the pith

I’ve got a problem with wind. No, not the bodily function sort (at least, not today). The sirocco sort, Italy’s answer to the mistral. For the last couple of days, a warm, dry, Saharan desert airmass has been partying with the cooler air of the Mediterranean and propelling the mix across Abruzzo. Last night wind, wind, rain and more wind battered my little nest, hurling plants and chairs through the air and wrenching my M&S knickers from the washing line and into the cactus.

My new (temporary) home is very comfortable but it’s an older apartment, so the windows don’t shut quite as well as the day they were fitted; and the glass rattles in the window frames. Between 1-4am this morning, when the sirocco was at its most fierce, the windows banged open several times; the glass shook until I was sure the panes would smash; and the whole house groaned in protest at being buffeted from all sides by wave after wave of this cyclone. The noise was the worst thing, so Orbit and I hid under the covers and watched The Duchess of Duke Street on You Tube until we fell asleep.

We woke to beautiful blue skies, and a friend tells me today that the sirocco heralds good weather. Which is great news, except that there’s already been lots of good weather, and Spring is most truly springing here. Daffodils have flowered, there are blossoms out everywhere and orange trees are heavy with fruit. Mr B gave me a big bag of them the other day, and while I normally have to be coaxed into eating oranges, the Casoli variety is like the ones from my childhood memory – juicy and sweet, and so easy to peel. No pith.

Now it’s dinner time and the skies are dark again. Mr D kindly came downstairs and battened down the hatches, so if the sirocco whirls up again tonight, we’re ready for it. But I’ve got The Duchess of Duke Street loaded up. Just in case.

Electric dreams

The delicate nature of the Italian electrical system is always a lively topic of conversation on expat forums. In the UK we’re used to running lots of appliances at once, but in Italy doing this draws too much power at once (or something like that) and the electricity supply spits its dummy out of the pram and shuts off. So the concept of fuse tripping wasn’t new to me but I’ve been using everything in the rental apartment without a problem for a week now, and of course I completely forgot about it. Until last night.

Feeling very at peace with the world, with Corelli drifting softly through the apartment, I put the oven on, salivating at the thought of pork sausages and spinach salad for dinner. Then suddenly everything stopped – lights, oven, music, heat. My landlords Mr and Mrs D were out, so I texted, then sat in the dark, adding candles to the shopping list and kicking myself in that usual hindsight way for not asking where the fuse box was beforehand.

Mr D soon got home and showed me how to operate the two fuse switches, one to my apartment and one for the whole house. OK, no problem, so I switched the oven back on. Boof, off the fuse went again, and the power to both apartments went off. Mr D came back down and showed me where I’d been going wrong – the oven, the hot water boiler and the heater can’t all be on at the same time, apparently. I pointed out that actually all three had been on together a number of times over the last four days, so what caused the fuse to trip tonight? He shrugged his shoulders in a “it’s just one of those things” way and headed upstairs.

So now my default position is now to leave the hot water boiler and the heater off until I need them, and put more clothes on and drink wine to keep warm. Could be worse, and I suppose it’s one way to keep the electricity bills down. Even better, as an Italian friend happily pointed out, I won’t need the heater soon.

Blue skies smiling at me

No big adventure is without its ups and downs, but after frantic last minute packing, a tense van loading and having to leave some furniture behind (which broke my heart), a three day road trip, overzealous Swiss Border Customs inspectors and unloading chaos, it’s now time to relax at the rental flat and get used to a completely different pace of life. No more jumping out of bed when the alarm screams at me. No more fretting about work stuff. No more London traffic and noise. It’s so peaceful here at night, and without street lights strobing into my bedroom, I’m getting a ridiculous 10 hours’ sleep, sometimes followed by an afternoon snooze.

It’s now Day 4 and the dismay when I saw my little house brought on serious buyer’s remorse – but as friends keep reassuring me, the key phrase here is ‘baby steps’. The house will be fixed up beautifully in time, and meanwhile each day will bring something new. I’ve adjusted more easily than I thought to driving on the right for the first time – even with carabinieri on my tail when I got lost in Lanciano’s historic centre! I pulled over to let them past and smiled beguilingly at them, but they didn’t seem too charmed and glared back before driving madly down the cobbled street, scattering a school party in their wake.

Also had unwanted excitement last night when Orbit Cat managed to escape. It took an hour to find her, in the dark, huddled behind an old sink out the back. I shook like a leaf for ages afterwards, horrified at the thought that my wee girl might not come back, but she was none the worse for her big night out. Extra vigilance is now in place to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Feel very much in limbo land as I’m not on holiday, but I’m not home either. Of course it’s very early days yet but people are generally so friendly and helpful, and my landlady and friends are full of great advice and help. It’s almost hard to accept, as I’ve managed on my own for such a long time, but having their support has been like a much needed security blanket. Roll on the next baby steps!

D Day

Departure Day is finally here, and my first action this morning? Tears. Lots of pent up stress, combined with the madness of the last few days, so tears are completely natural. Still kept apologising to Mr P though, who just looked mildly amused by it all. I hate long goodbyes, really hate them, so quickly put a protesting all the way Orbit into her cat carrier and they headed off. Cue more tears – but I know she’s in the safest possible hands until I arrive in a couple of days.

This is the start of such an exciting new chapter in my life, one I’ve been dreaming of for so long. For years friends have patiently viewed the gazillion links to houses I kept sending them, and listened without yawning too obviously to all my plans and ideas for the future. Yet I feel strangely disconnected and a bit flat, as I’ve got a few hours to wait for the removalist – aka Superman – to arrive and there’s nothing left to pack except the laptop, thanks to the wonderful Ms L, who helped out bigtime yesterday. Once we’re loaded up I’m sure all the worries will fall away and then I can start to relax and get that holiday feel happening.

Bye bye Blighty, my wonderful home for the last 20 odd years. I’ve had a ball here and met some really brilliant people, had some great jobs and travelled the country – and I’ll probably always be a Kiwi Londoner in my heart. But now it’s time to learn a new way of living, slow down the pace of life a bit and have new experiences. Can’t wait!

Best laid plans

As part of the joy of growing older semi gracefully, I do try to always be a half glass full person, but every now and then That Bad Voice whispers “See? Told you it was all going too smoothly…”. You know the voice, the one you need to throw cold water over before you let it drag you down.

Last night I found out the removalist has a morning job and is now arriving too late for Mr P to get back to Abruzzo in time for an appointment he has to keep. After much frenzied discussion and detailed examination of all the options, Plan B is now locked in – at least, for today. Mr P is chauffeuring HRH Orbit Cat directly to get back in time for his important meeting, and I’m coming in the lorry. Well, not IN the lorry, but up front. Think my CB handle for the journey will be “Principessa Nutcase”. It will take a few days to get there but Orby will be beautifully babysat at the other end by my lovely landlady until I arrive, so happily all is tickety-boo there.

But of course the packing scenario had to come back and bite me. The friend I’d booked rang this morning to say she was ill – so I’ve held a finger up to Fate, rolled up my sleeves and got stuck in. I was actually dreading it but am powering through faster than I thought – and Orbit is loving all the boxes. All being well, I should finish it by tonight, when a friend is round to say bye over a few well deserved wines. Just a few.

Later that afternoon…who was I kidding? Am so not going to finish tonight, but have put the call out to a reliable buddy to come and help. Tomorrow is indeed another day, more precious hours to get it all done!

Doors to paradise

It’s Departure Day Minus 5 and I am officially ‘doored out’. Two more deliveries today brought 45 litres of emulsion, 5 litres of gloss, assorted other DIY essentials and of course more doors – this time, UPVC French doors to replace the broken 70s gold jobs currently in situ in Palazzo Mio. As the London flat can no longer offer a spare wall inside, they are half hidden at the side of the block, in the hope that the local BMX bike-riding Fagin’s gang will be put off by each door’s 35kg weight and leave them be.

At least the packing dilemma is resolved, in that I am after all getting someone else to do it. A friend, who is always a bit short of the readies, is coming round on D Day Minus 2 to get stuck in, so happily life is now feeling a little more relaxed. Also had a paperwork triumph yesterday – in one fell swoop I managed to sort out all the utilities, council tax and TV licence, plus add Mr P as a driver to the car insurance and get the Green Card details done.

All that is left now is the packing (check) and the farewell visits (check, check), load the lorry and then avanti avanti Mr P, Orbit Cat and I are offski to Abruzzo!

The Queen of Apathy

After chatting with friends, yesterday I decided a packing service was too indulgent and too expensive. I’ve moved over 50 times in the past, so I’m an old hand, I know how to pack. OK it wasn’t fun but it all got done, didn’t it?

However, an hour after coming home with 20 massive plastic storage bags, and with cardboard boxes on order, I’ve changed my mind. WHAT in God’s name was I thinking? Of course it doesn’t help that I had a tooth pulled on Monday and that it’s still painful, but the sum total of work this afternoon has been to listlessly move a box from one side of the room to the other, sandwiched by lengthy periods of staring out the window without a thought in my head.

As panic swirls around my stomach, I realise it’s packing fact facing time – it’s too late to book anyone now, plus I’d be too guilt stricken thinking of how many fab Abruzzo dinners I could spend the money on instead – so will have to just knuckle down and stop prevaricating.

In five minutes.

Once I’ve ordered some more doors.

One more wafer

A word to the wise. Before you buy doors and windows and tables and chairs for your new home, do make sure you have somewhere for them to go in your current home!

My lovely internal doors arrived yesterday. Two are currently propped up behind a chest of drawers, more or less out of danger, but the others are hugging various walls in my small and already spare wall challenged flat. It’s only a matter of time before toes get stubbed, doors get knocked and heads get bruised.

A farmhouse pine table (a recent eBay purchase) is on its side at one end of the sofa, like a sinking ocean liner, legs projecting out at head height, signalling another accident just waiting to happen. In the space I call a second bedroom – but which most friends kindly refer to as a large closet – there are two wardrobes, two chests of drawers, eight chairs and many, many boxes. It’s like the Monty Python wafer – just one more purchase and it’s gonna blow!

Which is of course why I’m up in the middle of the night, stressing, muttering to myself, and madly measuring the available space behind the sofa, because yet to arrive are two sets of French doors. Can’t leave them outside because anything not nailed down round here disappears in a flash. I feel my wafer moment is rapidly approaching!

Unhinged

Buy the doors in the UK, he said. It’ll be cheaper and simpler, he said.

Cheaper, maybe. Simpler? The jury’s definitely out. Who knew there were so many door sizes? And door casings – why aren’t the measurements for door casings the same as the doors I’ve just bought? Not to mention the mysterious world of hinges…do I choose piano hinges, barrel hinges, pivot hinges, flag hinges, HL hinges or concealed hinges?

The effort of calculating everything to millimetres has been almost too much for my very little grey cells (OK, OK, don’t call me on it, yes of course I used an online calculator) but we’re nearly there now and soon I’ll be the proud owner of five internal doors and numerous handles and latches. And let’s not forget the butt and egress hinges – now I know what they actually are!

So that’s just about everything sorted on the UK shopping list, which is an immensely good thing because even I, the Queen of Online Shopping, was starting to get palpitations at having to present my card details quite so many times. Tomorrow’s job – paperwork, paperwork and Prosecco!