Lost in Translation

We returned to Italy this year to the same place as last year. It is an idyllic spot in Umbria called Le Case di Lisetta. Last summer JP and Tiddler spent the week catching crickets in the morning and systematically jumping in the pool, climbing out, jumping in, climbing out, jumping in, climbing out in the afternoon with two little Italian Anatras holidaying at the same estate. This meant Mr Duck and I got to lie by the pool, drink beer, read and talk football with Mr and Mrs Anatra, rather than entertaining and refereeing the offspring.



All summer they have been asking if Nicolo and Stefano would be at the Case again. We tried to keep their expectations low.

5 minutes after we pulled up at our stone cottage, a familiar blue Peugeot appeared with two grinning Little Anatras waving madly. Apparently they had also spent weeks asking if JP and Tiddler would be coming to Italy.

I read 5 books, listened to my new iPod, ate fresh figs off this tree outside our house, drank cold Peroni in lieu of Guinness (sorry Bli, sorry Dave) and gained a tan.




The night before we returned home, JP and Tiddler put the TV on instead of a DVD.

'Are you watching Italian Telly?' enquired Mr. Duck.

'Tagliatelle?' Tiddler retorted. 'Don't be silly, Daddy. You can't watch pasta.'