Door bell rings. Put head out of window (can't be bothered to go all the way to the citofono) and look down at a man and a woman surrounded by brown plastic bins. They have come to change my life and save the planet.
All the community wheeled rubbish bins in which we can pop stuff at any time but are emptied every morning before 7am are to be removed. Instead we are to place our rubbish, properly separated into sacks of organic, sacks of paper, and sacks of whatever else is left, on the doorstep every day.
"There's only one bin" I remark.
"Each kind of rubbish has a different day. You need only one bin. Just remember which rubbish goes out on which day. Organic has three days and the other two a day each. Before 8am."
I can hear the light tap of claws in festa as the rats and other vermin celebrate the leaving of dinner every night outside doors throughout the village. But they celebrate too soon. No bin is to be out before 6am. Gulp. It's all right in the summer and I suppose if I get it ready every night before bedtime it's just a matter of taking it down the stairs first thing, unbarring the doors, and putting it outside -but in the main street opposite the town hall? Or I could choose the turning into the piazza della Chiesa, or put it all out in the back lane and hope the men don't miss it.
"Who lives here?" they asked. "Why are there three of you? And in different streets?"
"Think of it as a block of flats with lots of HGs inside and hand over the bins!" (With three bins I can manage this separation stuff much better.)
"No. We're taking these two to the piazza Chiesa and the via del F..." they decide. "Where is the piazza della Chiesa?" Where are these people from? I'm not good at local accents and these two are from far away. "There," I point, "That piazza with the large church in it, at the corner." "And the via del F...?"
"Backdoor. Go down to the other end, turn left and first left and there you are. There's a Landrover parked outside. Can't miss it. I'll race you from inside the building. Uno, due, tre - via ."
They handed over the three bins where we stood at the main door. "Is your husband in?" the man asked hopefully. I could see it written all over their faces: English - they're very strange, the English.
No satnav for Lalaland
4 hours ago