25th October 2010

For my second refereeing outing of the season, I headed to Market Bosworth only to discover an assessor lurking in the changing room, ready to critique my every whistle. Not just one assessor, mind you, but three, all there to size up the poor refs at the club that day. With all this assessing going on, it’s no wonder there’s a referee shortage; maybe if they spent less time grading us and more time refereeing, we’d have more on the pitches of Leicestershire?

I politely mentioned to the main assessor that this was probably my swan song season, what with age creeping up and old injuries making those long chasing runs a bit of a struggle. I asked if he could keep his report gentle, no future, fast Colts games for me, please! After the game, he cheekily agreed I was a tad slow on the long runs. Cheeky sod! Somehow, that acknowledgement poked at my pride, and I’m now tempted to sign up for another season after all.

Sunday saw me driving to Stansted Airport with Roger Woolnough, adding an extra 20 miles to the trip, thanks to my less-than-stellar Satnav attention; I missed the M11 exit! Thankfully, that was the first and last of the mishaps.

Arriving in Italy, Joan and Phil were waiting by the airport exit. The two-and-a-half-hour drive to their farmhouse in Santa Vittoria sped by, thanks largely to Phil’s enthusiastic right foot firmly planted on the accelerator, leaving no gaps between him and the car ahead, typical Italian style!

After the customary welcoming coffees, we wasted no time inspecting their grapevines. Alas, mildew (or some equally nasty blight) had ravaged the vineyard. Although the bunches were plentiful, most were shrivelled and failed to fill out, denying us what could have been a bumper crop. We spent our first vineyard session pruning the sorry bunches away. A few days later, we picked the few grapes that had swelled to juicy perfection.

That evening, we watched Joan begin the wine-making process, barefoot, naturally, as she shuffled about in a large tub of grapes, squashing them to produce eleven litres of juice, destined to become ten litres of wine.

Roger and I barely had a moment to rest; if we weren’t gardening, we were out exploring local sights. One day’s coastal trip yielded plenty of seabird photos, though no paddling (too chilly). Other days involved visits to hilltop towns full of cats, churches, priests, and eerily quiet streets. The views from these lofty settlements were breathtaking.

On an afternoon walk, we were accompanied by Wags, the neighbour’s dog, who stubbornly refused to leave us at the end of the trek and insisted on coming back to the farmhouse. He stayed the night and most of the next day before his owner, Luke, finally collected him.

One morning, we visited ex-pats Janet and Malcolm, who live just across town with a handful of chickens that seemed to enjoy house life more than the outdoors. Janet is a champion talker, barely letting you get a word in, so we learned to smile and nod a lot. Malcolm, on the other hand, takes frequent long walks to escape the verbal barrage.

My favourite day was the mountain walk, which we optimistically thought was the shorter route, until I checked Google Earth afterwards and discovered it was several miles longer. A shame I didn’t verify before we’d exhausted ourselves! On one section through a tunnel, I tripped, stumbled blindly through the dark, and thankfully found my feet again before disaster struck. Back at the car, Joan produced a picnic worthy of a royal banquet from one of those miraculous bags only women seem to carry. Bless ‘em.

The day before flying home, we joined Joan and Phil at a party hosted by an Edinburgh couple. Their stunning cliffside house featured an infinity pool but, curiously, no garden. Amusingly, I was told their garden back in the UK is listed in the Yellow Pages.

By the time we left for the UK, the weather had turned chilly with a drizzle in the air. Roger and I didn’t mind; we had our sun tans to flaunt and a few extra pounds, thanks to Joan’s superb vegetarian cooking. We’re already looking forward to meeting the Italian vine-weevils again next spring.

Back at Willow Bank, it was only four days before Sue, Sarah, and I flew off to the Azores. I squeezed in a bit of digging at the allotment and, of course, refereed a rugby match that was mostly notable for the athleticism of the referee himself.

While we are away, Charlotte, Suraj, Lucas, and Ellis will take charge of the house and Jamie.

Jamie is contemplating buying an apartment in town and is slowly getting to grips with the paperwork involved in buying a property. He finds it as confusing as I did when we bought our first house. Thankfully, Suraj and Charlotte have promised to help while we’re away.