The world’s first two-week long birthday: a post-bash analysis

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Juliet writes:

As you may recall, it was a certain someone’s important birthday back in June when we had no loo or sanity and his official party in September marked our first big gathering at Lecci. I think that such a special marker deserves its own little (who am I kidding?) report.

Ten dear friends, for their sins, were coming all the way from Blighty to help celebrate P’s sexagenarianism. But first there was much to do before we could comfortably house this group of reprobates. Thank goodness that dear Peter and Dee Highton came a few days early and didn’t seem to mind enrolling in courses such as ‘Wardrobes of Mass Destruction’, ‘How to build an Italian electric fan with no instructions’ and ‘Just how many balloons can you blow up in one hour?’ After flapping mildly for several days, the main event was everything we had hoped for when we first talked about our Italian dream many years ago. A night under stars, candles and lanterns lighting up the table for 12 and listening to the sound of crickets, opera and each other for hours. The menu – gracefully executed by many obliging hands - was brushette with various fresh toppings, wild mushroom and saffron risotto, seabass with Mediterranean veg and rosemary potatoes and limoncello semifreddo with blueberries. Not forgetting the lashings of prosecco to wash it all down with plus a good slug of our 2008 vintage (after the nicer stuff had sufficiently furred up the tastebuds). I think the alcohol lent a light-hearted sense of danger and fun to the absence of proper lighting and only half an outdoor staircase, but others may disagree.

The present-opening ceremony was squeezed in between tripping up in the dark and the blind wine tasting (sorry Horstead!). The birthday boy was ever so lucky to receive lashings of fine champagne, some fabulous bongos from Charlie and Jen, many beautiful old books for our library collection, along with the poshest book mark we’ve ever seen and, also from the Billingtons, a gorgeous antique spirit level. It has pride of place on our not particularly level hall table. You are all very thoughtful, clever and generous… on behalf of hubby, grazie mille!

Over the weekend, we managed to relax and yet pack in quite a bit of stuff. To shake off the birthday dinner from the night before, some of us took part in a tennis tournament, organised by Rob and ably judged by anyone who got to the umpire’s chair first. Athletic ability ranged from Gina ‘The thrasher’ Billington down to Hopalong Staveley Minor (me), but we all seemed to enjoy ourselves and felt an ounce of smugness that we had burned enough calories to enjoy the evening meal. That was taken at our favourite mountain restaurant 20 mins away. The owner is rare among Italians in that he is quite the most miserable and grumpy dwarf you could meet, but the food is delicious, local, cheap and of the same proportions as a Tudor banquet. More importantly, the company was superb and I will always remember Rob’s spookily accurate Tommy Cooper impersonation, Highton’s surgical procedures with a knife and bread roll, El Reado’s memories of golfing holidays, Dee’s ventriloquist dummy act and a damp tablecloth from all the tears of laughter.

On Sunday, the Dirty Dozen pootled off to the seaside. Our dear friend Alessandro owns the most stunning restaurant at Vernazza in the Cinque Terre - literally carved into the cliff side with the glistening Med, curious seagulls and a smattering of sailing boats as a view, it seemed like the perfect spot for yet another birthday feast. When I booked I mentioned in passing that it was Peter’s birthday… not only did we get the front balcony all to ourselves but he also presented P with a cake decorated with 60, which he prompted turned upside-down to reveal my dear hubby’s true mental age!

Sadly, half the gang left on the Monday morning, but we were lucky to have the Billingtons and the Endacott/Watts stay on with us. Particular credit must go to Jen, who did a sterling job of continuing the celebrations despite a stinking cold and hacking cough. The latter pair and ourselves even squeezed in a quick trip to Florence, (been there, done that, seen the duomo, smelled the drains, let’s go).

After more goodbyes on the Thursday, we spent a day or two nursing livers and stomachs before shooting off to dine with another party pairing who had gone off to galavant in Lucca and the Cinque Terre for a few days. Room 5 (we met Penny and Peter in Sri Lanka but they will be forever known by their hotel room number) showed us round their fabulous little self catering apartment before escorting us off to a gorgeous lunch by the sea and a short but very, very steep walk. It’s super having other people play the tour guides for a change!

All in all, it ended up being nearly a fortnight of laughter and alcohol poisoning. Heaven.

We await my 40th with much anticipation :o)

16 months: Settling in

Juliet writes:

Cari amici,

Hang, draw and quarter me and stick my head on a big pointy stick – I’m the world’s worst reporter of news from Tuscany!

We’ve been at Lecci for nearly 7 weeks, and all you’ve had is a few measly sentences about furniture delivery and traumatised cats.

From now on, I will try to be a better blobber.

Well, since the last scribbles, I’ve managed to unpack a few more boxes. There are now clear walkways in all rooms – that’s progress! Actually, some rooms almost look civilised – if you close one eye and squint through the other while imbibing a large quantity of martini. Some, however, are not quite so. From where I type in the future library (still lacking shelves and books so more of a ‘rary’ really), the view of the lounge is reminiscent of what you might get if you left Damien Hurst in charge of The Antiques Road Show. The bedrooms still lack flooring, but all our guests so far have been very gracious about the cracked cement. The toilets still emit a strange smell, which I tried to attribute to the cats using them as toilet trays but now realise they were innocent. The plumber has been called. Being Italian, it might be tomorrow or February next year before we can take pegs off noses.

The Damien Lounge has a little story. My first spoils on Ebay Italia – a beautiful antique bedroom suite at a bargain price – were greeted with smiles by hubby (AKA the hero of Cerignano), until he realised that he then had to hire a van and drive us north of Genova to a vast emporium full of, well, stuff. Gilded renaissance fireplaces the size of Rutland squeezed in alongside busts of Mussolini and half a lampost. You get the idea. Anyway, this might have been a fun day out if it hadn’t been for the facts that (a) it was120 degrees (b) we were taking my friend Annie and her tiny son back to Genova airport. (Hoorah for Annie – anyone else might have called child services but she impaled herself into the third van seat with smiling babe on lap and didn’t complain once.) (c) Peter and I had to unpack it all again by torchlight when we returned home and (d) we needed the International Mensa Society to work out the angles for removing the bed from the van without succumbing to the ‘oh what the hell I’ll just saw the legs off’ method.

Anyway, thanks to brute force and ignorance, we now have a beautiful wardrobe, a vast ‘letto matrimoniale’ (marital bed which actually consists of two twins pushed together - strangely common here for couples), a stunning chest of drawers and two typically Italian inlaid bedside tables… all in about 36 pieces propped up against our sofas awaiting Mr and Mrs DIY to carry them upstairs (another Mensa job) and assemble them.

Meanwhile, Mimmo, our delightful pavimentista (floor-layer) has finished off the hall and landing and put up our kitchen tiles. We have more lights up, but still another 18 to go (yes we do have a lot!). I am restoring a couple of chandeliers, which has proved great fun sourcing antique crystals, wires and wotnot. The Cararra marble worktops have been cut for the kitchen, which meant P and I putting our muscles to the test to glue them in place. The kitchen is the most completed room in the house – just needs a final coat of wall paint, the skirting to be treated and painted, the pan rack to be hung up, the tiles grouted, the chimney and wall shelves to be built, the larder sides to be painted, the sink area to be tiled and the unit lighting fitted. As I said, that’s the most completed room. Sigh.

Our builders are back today for the first time in weeks and are cracking on with the remaining work. In just one day they’ve knocked out and rebuilt the cantina stairs so they are now horizontal (how posh) and there is no kamikaze leap from the top step, finished off some plastering – inside and out – and are cracking on with the rebuild of some exterior stairs which were even wobblier than the cantina ones. We may ask them to finish off the cantina walls and ceilings, but like all things, this depends on our dwindling budget and we would really rather have a swimming pool, given the weather. I bought a thermometer last week and so far it’s been off the scale twice (120F / 49C is the max). Too hot to think about anything except going for a dip. Which is our excuse for not having done too much since we moved in, especially all outside jobs. Although P did manage to erect another marquee to replace the one that blew 100 feet away in a storm last autumn with only a little help from his assistant. This, along with some plastic chairs and a long table, are ready and waiting for the entourage of Peter’s birthday guests, who arrive in just over two weeks time to be greeted by the building site.

Other guests have been ever so polite about the mess. Peter’s first relatives came to stay within a few days of our own arrival – his middle son James and daughter-in-law Amy – a gorgeous couple, even though I may be biased! We picked them up at their friend’s palatial villa in Camaoire – a beautiful resort near Lucca – where they spent a few days with a whole gang from their Bristol Uni days. Peter was immediately challenged to a game of water volleyball. J and A – can we have Staveley Team photos please! Then I pitied them as they left such civility and had to stay at the dustpit. But they were lovely about it and we thoroughly enjoyed pottering about, catching up on news, testing the dip-pool and having funny conversations about log flumes and Star Wars.

Just before Annie and ‘my baby boyfriend’ Luka, we had a super few days with Chloe and Sal. We had not met Sal before but instantly became enamoured, not only for being such great company and making my dear friend so happy, but also because he is a plumber and he fixed our dancing toilet seat. We love him for that alone! Yet again, great fun was had in the dip pool – this time with water pistols – and despite my tummy being grotty and forcing me to miss the trip to the seaside, it was so lovely to catch up, flop, laugh and drink too much. Hmmm – I seem to say that rather a lot these days don’t I?

Between guests, P went back to spend some time with his dear Pa. They spent a super few days together, visiting and being visited by various family and friends, enjoying a day trip to see a cousin at Bircham Windmill in Norfolk, dining out in style at numerous Rutland hostelries and doing a spot of shopping. Thanks again for looking after him Poppa – he came back very happy and two belt sizes bigger!

While P was away I had a little adventure of my own. On my last night I was woken up at 1am by some coughing outside the back of the house. It sounded like an old man with a bad chest. A lost hunter maybe? I opened the bedroom window and said hello. No answer. I kept listening for about 15 minutes and it seemed to get louder. While I am really not one to panic, there was no moon, it was very dark outside, I knew that the cantina doors were only propped shut with bits of wood (awaiting proper brackets/locks) and there was no lock on our bedroom door. I rang poor ol P who was fast asleep in Blighty, hung the phone out of the window so he could hear it and asked for his advice. He told me to call the police immediately, turn all the lights on and get out of the house, making as much noise as possible. I picked up a torch and rolling pin from the kitchen en route, heart beating quite hard as I passed by the cantina stairs. After a conversation with the local Carabinieri (not knowing the Italian for cough, hear or intruder, it was tricky), I sat in the car, locked the doors, put the lights on and started chain smoking. Within 10 minutes a car pulled up with flashing blue lights and two men in full military uniform jumped out, brandishing guns. I think I was more nervous of that than the possibility of a tramp with bronchitis. After a look around the whole house and surrounding garden, I was beginning to apologise profusely as there was no sight or sound of anything awry and I am sure they took one look at me with my paint-splattered dressing gown, wellies and mad hair, thinking I might just need a different sort of help – the sort that involves padded cells. But luckily the noise started again and so they ran around the back and promptly fell in our drainage hole. I gave them the torch, along with more apologies, and they had a good look, but to no avail. They shrugged their shoulders in a way that only Italians can and told me it was an animal. What animal sounds like that, I asked? Wild boar maybe. I was not convinced. But they barricaded the doors with washing machines and wine barrels and left me feeling a little safer, although sleep was off the menu. In the morning light, things, as always, seemed better and sheepishly I discovered that one of the horses in our neighbouring field had a bad cough. Honestly, it sounded human. And I hadn’t been drinking.

Oh, talking of drinking, we have started to bottle up our wine with the expert help of Guiseppe, our stalwart neighbour who has so much weird and wonderful old wine equipment it would keep any vintner amused for a lifetime. Although, as you know by now with the Staveleys, nothing runs very smoothly. Guiseppe has recently had an operation on his eye so although he insisted on helping us with all our wine, we thought we’d start gently with just one small demijohn of red and one large one, which said ‘nero filtri’ (black – or red – filtered) on the top. After success with the little one, we had some left over so poured the remainder into the large one… only to discover the label was wrong and it was a white. So we are now the proud owners of the first ever Lecci Rosé. Hmmmm… think I’ll leave the birthday gang to try that out :o)

Mog update: The cats have settled into life here and seem much happier, although there is still the daily game of hide and pounce which I think Stinky enjoys a lot more than dear old Weed. The former has gone quite feral and disappears for hours at a time, no doubt terrorizing local lizards and eating flapping things, while Weed potters about near to us and is much more affectionate than ever before. All much appreciated unless you are trying to do something fiddly like restore a chandelier or balance on a chair with paintbrush in hand.

And I end on another wildlife note: last night one of our bat family ended up in our kitchen and had to be gently coaxed out with the help of hubby and a broom. It took several minutes and lots of laughter. Why would we need to buy a TV when that’s our evening entertainment?

Ciao per ora, carissimi amici XXXX