Caroline is on a girly night out, so I'm cooling my heels with a pizza and red wine. Time to write.
Work/Life has kept getting in the way over the past six weeks, so no time to blog. So, where are we now...? Well, first of all, let's roll out the welcome mat :-
I returned to the UK over Easter to arrange the transfer of all our stuff from the UK to Italy. A strange feeling in some ways. There really can be no going back now. This is it.
I was taken to task over a recent post for suggesting that some things in Italy do not work as well as they might. Well, I stand by my comments. They don't. But what has to be said, in Venice at least, is that they can move the contents of a house with surgical precision. The doorbell rang at 8.30 one Friday morning, and within two hours everything...*everything*... had been installed. But why should we have expected anything less? The Venetians, after all, have been doing this for a thousand years.
Painless then. At least until we found ourselves, having returned from IKEA in Padua, having to drag five back-breakingly heavy bookcases over the Calatrava bridge; a process that - without our brilliant Aussie friends Pete and Lou - would have been impossible. But all this is another story for another time...
It's a bad thing to define yourself by your possessions. Yet, after two years of living out of the contents of ten suitcases, there is an inescapable thrill of seeing our CDs, books and art in place again. It feels, properly and finally, like our home.
On the day we moved in, we propped our favourite painting on a chair, put an obscure Wendy James / Elvis Costello album on the stereo, and just sat, drank wine, and stared at it.
After more than two years, Lucy Gray has come home again...