A Truly Madly Ordinary End Of Holidays

Our summer Italian holidays cannot be called so if we don’t go to the water park. The annual day trip to the water park, while in Italy, has become a family tradition. Over the years we also learned that the best day to go it i is on a Saturday or the 15th of August (Ferragosto) that in Italy is a bank holiday.
This year, due to the early school start, we had to leave before the 15th and so the park was scheduled on the last to Saturday of our stay.
Unfortunately, the Thursday before, daughter number one had the great idea to wake up burning with high temperature.
Considering how much she grew in height since she arrived in Italy, I thought it was a growing fever, but the following day she also developed some sore throat.
The temperature didnt last more than two days; even less it lasted her confinement in the house, only half a day. She soon became too bored and cracky to have her around and, also, with 35 degrees outside there was no pint to keep her in.
These things happen, I kept repeating to her, her sister and myself, but the truth is that it blew out all our plans. Even if on the Saturday we were supposed to go to the water park, she felt fine; she was undoubtedly still too weak to face an entire day up and down slides under the burning sun.
We tried to discuss the possibility of breaking the family tradition for this one year, but it didn’t go down well.
Daughter number two didnt even try to be condescending and immediately suggested that we could go and leave her sister behind; daughter number one, on the other side, refused to be the artifice of her bad luck and started to do push up on the balcony floor to show she was perfectly fit to go.
At that point was clear that the water park could not be cancelled but it had only to be rescheduled for the following Monday. Not the ideal day because on Tuesday morning we were leaving but you gotta do what you gotta do right?!

Saturday we relaxed for the last day on the beach: Sunday we celebrated grandad birthday, another tradition. My stepdad’s birthday is always around the time we leave Italy, and we started to celebrate it all together on the before we went every summer. Only this year we had to make him one year older nearly a week earlier, but I don’t think he minded at all.
On Monday morning, we were at the park earlier than usual with the intent to leave earlier than usual and had more time to pack. In the end, we stayed until closure time, as usual. From 10:00 a.m. to 6:40 p.m., over eight hours of sliding, queuing, climbing, swimming and whatever crazy activity you can do in such a place.
It goes without saying that once home the last thing I wanted to do it was packing and tidying up the apartment, but as I said above you gotta do what you gotta do. Let’s just say that I cleaned and tidied up much better than I packed.
Ever seen people packing in the movies? They threw the clothes in the bags still on the hunger and without folding them: that was me!

The morning of our departure, we all woke up battered and as red as a lobster, because no matter how much suncream you spread on you, you can’t win.
The flight home was fine, no delays and because I deep cleaned the house before I left, I knew that once home I only had to unpack and relax for the rest of the day waiting for Tesco man to deliver my shopping.
The beautiful image of me drinking a coffee on my yellow chair never became real. As soon we stepped in the house, we noticed the strange spots on the floor and a funny smell in the sitting room. A dead bird came down the chimney and died inside the house. Poor little thing you might think and that was what I thought too until I realised he had shitted all over the place. Then I could have strangled him with my own hands.


If that was not enough, when I went around the kitchen island to fill the bucket (and mop the bird’s poo), my shoes started to make a “patch patch” noise. The floor was covered in water that was running from underneath the fridge.
During the previous night storm, lightning hit our fridge and left it severely injured, and the following day the fridge man declared it officially dead.
Thankfully we had a small camp fridge and freezeer in the utility room where we can store first aid food supply until Tuesday when the new fridge will come.


What the feck? Is this the way to welcome Ortensia back? Or is it my punishment for having neglected the blog during the holidays?
I promise I am going back to my post a week as everybody knows that a post a week keeps away the freak.

P.S
Of course, my holiday’s adventure is not all here. But for more, you ‘ll have to wait next weekend.
In the meantime, have a wonderful week ahead.