The prospective buyer.

A prospective buyer came to see the house yesterday so a mad rush tidying up and hiding things away in cupboards and drawers. Lots of flowers suddenly appeared courtesy of the 'font'. The boyz were told to be on their best behaviour and for once sat in the garden looking angelic - I couldn't believe how well behaved they were but it was probably helped by giving each of them a hide chew. As a result the showing seemed to pass of well. A call came from the agent last night with a very cheeky bid - which we refused. I know markets are weak but they're not that weak. We've told him to carry on showing the house and arranging viewings.

A huge thunderstorm at midnight with lots and lots of driving rain - exactly what's needed after the long dry summer. The trees are already looking fresh and invigorated this morning .Nothing can replicate the benefits and efficiency of a good rainstorm.
Off to the comune for a day of talking to the local bureaucrats and trying to make sure we're progressing with getting all the documents and permits in order. We still seem to be stuck in a parallel universe when discussing the original builders receipts for a two thousand year old piece of real estate. I'm allowing for a month from getting an offer to moving - the Italians all think this is a ridiculously truncated timeframe and suggest allowing three to four months. No way.

Doing the impossible - finding dog friendly hotels.

It took a full day working the phone and googling like crazy but finally I found hotels across Europe that would take the two boyz . Even more amazingly late last night, just as I'd started to despair, we spoke to someone who was willing to rent their house to us while the legal work is finalized - they love animals and the property has a fenced 2 acre field for the boyz to run wild in. Eureka! Even more amazingly it's only 20 minutes away from where we want to be. The number of people who wouldn't accept dogs in case they scratched the furniture or peed on the carpet,or worse,was quite dispiriting. I did my best to explain that the boyz were house trained and that we'd gladly pay for an damage but 90% of hotels and rental homes would have none of it.

There is a huge business opportunity for someone to write a guide to dog friendly hotels- the most popular European website for travellers with dogs simply lists every city centre Holiday Inn. No offence to the wonderful folks at Holiday Inn but the last thing I want to do with the two boyz is drive for six hours, navigate through lunatic driving to the centre of some unknown continental metropolis, park four blocs away,face a set of revolving doors leading onto a crowded lobby and then navigate to a 42nd floor room in a crowded elevator with Wilf and Digby in tow.After that scratched furniture or peeing on the lobby carpet would be the least of my worries.

The boyz, oblivious to all this activity on their behalf, are sprawled contentedly outside. For once Digby has managed to get the ball and is holding onto it determinedly between his front paws. Every five minutes or so Wilf lets out a half bark, half whine to let Digby know that it's time to let it go.

Apologies again for those of you who don't see their comments on the blog. For some reason I pressed the publish button and promptly everyhting disappeared into the ether.

Mary Queen of Scots and the mystery writing.

The execution of Mary Queen of Scots at Fotheringhay Castle on the morning of February 8th 1587 was a bungled affair. The first strike of the executioners axe missed the neck and bit deep into the back of her head,smashing the skull, but leaving her conscious. She was heard to whisper 'Sweet Jesus' in agony. The second blow was more succesful and a third finally sent her into the next world. Eyewitnesses say that when her severed head was picked up and shown to the crowd the lips continued to move for a further fifteen minutes . This was not the end of the gruesome spectacle as her auburn tresses came away in the executioners hands and the head , lips still moving, fell to the floor. The auburn hair was in fact a wig, and Mary's real hair was seen to be grey and close shaved. This sequence of events had quite an unnerving effect on the spectators who fell silent. Worse was to come for as they started to carry the body away from the execution block a small Skye terrier, Marys favourite, crawled out from under her petticoat where the Queen had been holding onto it throughout the ordeal - her last remaining comfort. The wee animal crouched beside the severed head of its mistress and howled piteously.

Why you may ask all this sudden talk of history? We brought with us from Scotland to Italy a portrait of Mary. This was painted from memory shortly after her execution. After centuries of hanging in rooms with open wood fires it was lustreless, covered in grime and in need of some careful restoration. In Todi there is the most marvellous picture restorer whose grandfather used to work for King Edward VII in London in the early part of the last century.Over the last three months he has been working slowly away on the old canvas revealing under the black patina the crucifix she carried on her way to the execution, the red petticoat she wore under her black dress,and the black veil that she wore on the block. Last night there was a telephone call - " Could we come immediately?".When we got there we found him in a state of high excitement. Beneath the funeral inscription at the top of the picture he had found an older inscription which had subsequently been painted over. Did we want him to reveal it or should he leave the more recent overpainting? The 'font' has asked him to see if he can get it x-rayed to see what it says before making a final decision - it could be the earlier inscription was a botched job and the more recent inscription nothing more than overpainting some spelling errors.

The two boyz are happily dozing in the morning sunshine in the courtyard sound asleep after a hearty walk in the country. Their hair is beginning to grow again and they are slowly but surely regaining their PON shagginess with each passing day,

An ever growing list

The logistical nightmare of selling a house in Italy and buying in another country,with another legal system,and another language had me wide awake at two in the morning - terror gripping at my heart. In the darkness of the small hours I mentally ran through a list of things that need to be done urgently. Thankfully sleep returned around about item three thousand four hundred and eleven. Why is moving so stressful and so time consuming?

This morning the 'font' is off for the weekly session of back torture in Orvieto leaving the two boyz and myself to fend for ourselves. On the to do list for this morning are:

1) Plan the quickest route by road to the new house

2) Choose and book comfortable 'dog friendly' hotels to stay at on the way

3) Rent a house for two weeks while the legal work on the purchase is completed

4) Find an English speaking lawyer

5) Push the agents in London to start showing the Italian house to potential buyers asap.

The boyz are blisfully unaware that their environment is about to change - a situation that will, with care, be maintained until the day of the move. This morning they were off up the hill sniffing the scent of wild boar and generally progressing with a purposeful air about them. Every so often Wilf would interrupt his ferreting to turn around to make sure I hadn't got lost or check to see I wasn't doing anything dangerous.

The rain that I've been expecting still hasn't arrived and the view from the pomegranate orchard towards Todi and the hills beyond was simply joyful. Although I'm brimming over with excitement (and trepidation) at the thought of finding new regions to explore,one thing is certain, we shall never find another house with views to match these here in Italy.

Trying it on.

Wilf has recovered from the trauma of his wasp sting. This morning he was charging around the garden playing with his little brother and showing no sign of distress. When he came indoors for breakfast it was a different story. He held out his paw and put on his best orphan dog look. Wilf clearly remembered that he got a mass of attention and two of his favourite wheat free treats when he'd done this routine the night before. PON's are inherently clever when it comes to soliciting for food and Wilf is undoubtedly one of the canine worlds great actors.

Both boyz are still in their summer skinhead haircuts and Digby is finding the mornings chilly. It gets up to the low 30's in the early afternoon but at daybreak the mercury is down in the low teens. After his morning exercise he retreats to his bed and plonks himself down, refusing to move until the sun comes round and warms up his limbs.

The removal firm came to quote for the packing and shipping yesterday. Although our adventure is still some time in the future I begin to feel that first sense of panic that comes when you realise how much still has to be done, how little time there is and how unprepared you are. This week I'm off travelling with the 'font' to see the new house for the first time. As we've already put down the deposit I would have been quite happy see it on the day we move in but the 'font' has made it quite clear that this is a joint choice and my input is mandatory - no discussion. The boyz will be going into the kennel for a night.