We Are Here.

Water, water everywhere and not a drop in the tap.

We are back in Lefokastro. It is raining steadily. The garden is ridiculously overgrown with weeds and the grass so high that I cannot locate the whippet, let alone any rogue wild pigs. Also, the water pump isn’t working. But we are here! Who needs a shower! Actually, we do, but we are making do with M&S Anti-bacterial hand and body wipes and bottled water for now. Also it is cold and raining, but we expected that and at least WE ARE HERE! My youngest stepson and his girlfriend Whatsapp us and I see clear blue, cloudless sky in London. It feels like I packed the shit weather into the car with us, god knows I brought everything else.

Adrian had the obligatory and not unwarranted annual minor meltdown about the amount of luggage i.e. books I was bringing. Also, things I am yet to find here that for some reason I cannot live without…sherry vinegar, Cassis, Pedro Ximenez sherry and vinegar, Manzanilla, Noilly Prat and Marsala and non-alcoholic aperitifs to stop me drinking wine all the time like I am on a permanent holiday. Also a flower press and my new scope and tripod. I reason with him that if we are spending most of the year here then there is little point all my books being in England. I omit to mention the fact I have actually used up all the bookshelves in London. Anyway, a home is not a home to me if it does not have books in it, a room instantly takes on a personality once it has bookshelves and with plenty of blank walls, the rooms here need some help. The spirits are a harder sell and yet he gets it all in the car as he always does because he is an excellent packer. In a last minute fit of contrition, I left two pairs of jeans behind which in hindsight was a huge mistake as it is freezing. As my friend pointed out “Why the jeans? You could have just sat on those”. Adrian forgot my hoe though which he left at his office but in the circumstances I feel I can’t be churlish about it. I can’t get a hoe here, don’t ask my why.

I somehow managed to persuade Adrian to extend our journey to Greece by a day (a huge concession on his part - he’s all about the destination and not the journey) for mine and the dog’s sanity. One night in a hotel, one night in an AirBnb and one night on the ferry rather than the usual one night in a hotel and one night on the ferry as Adrian pelts through France and down to Bari in Italy for the overnight ferry to Igoumenitsa as if we are desperate fugitives being pursued by furious gendarmerie and the carabinieri respectively. The whippet, lightly sedated due to extreme travel anxiety, acting like he is in a hostage situation as he is escorted out of the vehicle for a quick lap of a petrol station and a pee break.

This year is different. We set off from London and drive until we arrive in Susa, a small town nestled in the Piedmont region of Italy, at about 8.30 pm. We arrive in -2° and sleety rain to stay in a converted convent which turns out to be satisfyingly dog-friendly due to cloistered courtyards and a convent garden with a fenced off area for dogs to be off leash. Instead of a punishing 4.30 am start in the morning, we lie in and take the whippet to the garden where we race up and down the enclosure until I am gasping for breath and the whippet is bored. I get a good run anyway. The restaurant also allows well-behaved and tidy dogs. We head there for breakfast and whilst struggling to work out how to get hot water for tea from what is actually a really straightforward coffee machine, I manage to put too much water in my cup and then inexplicably add milk until it is brimming dangerously over the top. I then attempt to move across the room with shaking hands in the manner of Julie Walters in the Victoria Wood Two Soups sketch and spill half the contents on the floor. The next few minutes are spent on my hands and knees mopping up the large spillage with napkins whilst my whippet looks on primly and one might say, with an air of superiority.

We travel down to Veroli, a historic and pretty village perched on a hill of the Ernici mountains in the province of Frosinone, Lazio, and arrive about 5 pm which gives us the opportunity to go for a long walk to explore the town, a pastime unheard of on our usual schedule. We are delighted to discover narrow red brick tiled passageways lined with stone houses leading up to a humble stone church, the foundation of which was begun 1000 years before Christ, perched atop the village with stunning panoramic views of the valley below and the misty mountain range of the Apennines stretching along the horizon. Adrian’s sister always says that churches give themselves the best views. Closer to God would be the church line. We take turns to go inside whilst the other stays outside and holds the whippet, who, a little high, weeps pitifully as the pack separates. He is also drinking tons of water and has the munchies.

It is Mother’s Day and I find myself saying a prayer to my mum (Mary) in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary and the boy Jesus. I think the Virgin Mary actually has real or at least synthetic doll hair under her blue veil here but despite the hair distraction, it is a quiet moment of contemplation nonetheless. I miss her. We head downhill along another passageway and happen upon another church - The Basilica of Saint Erasmus. A magnificent barrel vaulted ceiling with knaves running along the sides filled with paintings and frescoes. There is a white cap belonging to Pope John Paul II with a jauntily handwritten sign in black and red felt tip. I enjoy the notion that amongst all the stunning frescoes and worshipful paintings, somebody whipped out their furry pencil case and grabbed a sheet of A4 off the printer to write it.

The next morning we visit yet another church, The Cathedral of Saint Maria Salome, on the recommendation of our AirBnb host. I haven’t been in so many churches in years due to being forced to go to church every Sunday until I was eighteen years old (I didn’t - I grabbed a mass sheet and headed over the park with equally beleaguered friends to smoke fags on the swings) and yet this one is so achingly beautiful, I can’t help but be moved by the passion and commitment it must have taken to create something so very lovely. A stunning apse with a portrait of Maria Salome painted by Cavalier D’Arpino (Caravggio’s master), golden mosaics depicting the crucifixion, an ethereal, slightly spooky modern sculpture of Maria Salome is suspended from a domed frescoed ceiling. 13th century frescoes and an extraordinary triptych dated 1561 flank the altar. Underneath the altar there is a ‘confession’ - a vault containing the relics of Maria Salome. Maria Salome was underneath the cross at the crucifixion, assisted with Jesus’ burial and was present at the resurrection. Her remains were brought from Palestine and buried where the Cathedral now stands.

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The ferry from Bari is uneventful but a little wavy and my sleep is disturbed approximately every fifteen minutes by a crashing sound as the tables and chairs outside our window list up and down the rolling deck. The severity of sea crossings are always judged on a sliding scale against my childhood ferry crossings from Fishguard to Rosslare in Ireland which were an exercise in vomit damage control for my parents. Honestly, travelling with my seven siblings, I don’t know how my mum and dad didn’t just hurl themselves or indeed us, overboard. This one wasn’t too bad at all in the circumstances and Adrian was stuck contorting himself around the whippet in his bunk so I got off fairly lightly.

We arrive home to discover the water pump isn’t working and so head down to Stefanos for dinner. Walking along the seafront to the taverna we jump in surprise as two barking dogs appear and make a run for the whippet. Woody, on the lead, predictably starts barking in return and as the situation escalates, the dogs try to rush at him, Adrian tries to shoo the dogs away by shouting and waving which doesn’t work and so he picks up some stones and throws them in their general direction, aiming to miss, as he would never hurt a dog but there is every reason to believe they are going to attack the whippet and possibly, me. Adrian carries on shouting and jumping in their way until they eventually give up and run off and we drag an hysterical dog into the safety of the taverna. Stefano tells us that the dogs belong to a friend of his and he has rung him up to tell him to tie the dogs up as they are bad for business. We sigh and order food - fava, giant beans, a Greek salad and grilled sea bream, contemplating running the gauntlet of those two terrors every time we walk down the hill.

So here we are. Adrian has his head down the well, cursing gently. The whippet is sleeping off three days worth of Gabapentin. I am happily arranging books on shelves and contemplating where on earth to start with the garden. Clearing the pots I think and then working outwards. Another friend suggests setting a timer for thirty minute bursts and this sounds like a good plan because the whole idea of it is so overwhelming I might be tempted to start one of my many displacement activities such us using the flower press I made Adrian pack. On the up side, we have lemons, lots of bright and beautiful lemons adding a welcome splash of colour to a dishrag grey sky. The daisy-like flowers of camomile are starting to appear and are already carpeting the pathways releasing their scent underfoot. Everything is lush and green and the land is promising a beautiful spring ahead if not quite giving it to us yet. And we are here, I could kiss the earth in gratitude - wet and muddy or not.

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I have probably posted this before but I don’t think you can watch the Two Soups sketch too many times.

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