I began my day in a yellow house with green shutters and a beautiful sea-view. Me and the girls played volleyball in the pool, and then they insisted on listening to Blurred Lines over and over again on my phone, dancing and singing along with their funny Italian accents - 'you know you want it...'.
Then we took the family dog, Ciandra, to the vet in Genova and the girls cried 'che bello!' everytime a new animal was brought in. I sat quietly as they befriended every owner and their pet; the bronzed lady with a blonde perm and her little poodle, the tattooed man and his leggy, fake-boobed girlfriend and their uncontrollable dalmation, and the quiet young couple who were at first confused by these curious children before warming to them, as everyone does, telling us all about the adventures of their rabbit, Cica, and her sister, Kika.
Whilst Ciandra had her operation we had lunch round the corner at what I would say was the Italian equivalent of on English greasy spoon or an American diner. Here they served small pieces of warm focaccia, when in England it would have been bread and butter, and the waitresses were an odd bunch consisting of a moody, skinny blonde playing games on her phone, a bubbly Chinese lady wearing a dress so short I worried Marta might ask her why she wasn't wearing trousers and a very Italian chef who bustled in and out for some reason I do not know. They laughed at my accent and asked the kids questions in English, and then we all laughed as Ciandra, dazed from the anaesthetic, stumbled along to the car like bambi.
From this colourful outskirt of Genova we drove not too far to the countryside, to a small village called Cappelletta di Masone where the family spend every summer. Cappelletta almost resembles an English country hamlet. The houses are all beautifully quaint, perfect for their imperfection; each one is a different colour with wooden window shutters, little picket fences and flowers growing wildly in the gardens. Everybody knows everybody here and greets each other so warmly; 'come sei cresciuta' they say to the girls and I am introduced as 'la ragazza alla pari' to mums with prams and to old Italians smoking and playing cards in the gardens. The children's nonna brings round homemade minestrone soup for dinner and then the kids go to play in the piazza. Now I am watching Pride and Prejudice and eating biscotti in my new bedroom, with its musty smell, wooden ceiling beams and door leading out into the overgrown garden.
I think I am going to be happy here.
