Day 3

The decision was made last night that a group of us would take Alice back into Palombara Sabina to see if she could receive some treatment for both her ankle and her gum (the last minute rush to get EHIC cards already proving to be a good move). So Ingrid drove Alice, Liam and myself along with Jacquie (for linguistic support and local know-how) to find the hospital. Alice's leg was x-rayed and she was prescribed some antibiotics for her mouth, reassuring us that it was simply a sprained ankle and an infection and nothing more serious. Not being a huge fan of hospitals, I read and dozed in the car for the hour or so it took for Alice to get treated. We drove further into the town to pick up the pills and Liam and I braved the local shops in search of bread. I know no Italian, having bought a little but very handy phrase book just a couple of days before, so was very pleased when I managed to buy bread without having to use English at all. I uttered a few nouns in Italian, did a bit of pointing and came away with the right provisions. There is a downside to speaking the language, however tentatively. It must have been clear that I was drowning rather than waving, yet the shopkeepers still insisted in talking to me in Italian. Having only prepared for asking for straightforward items, I was not ready to be asked what size or what type of bread.

But I survived, and our final task was to search out a restaurant for the evening, which we were only partially successful in achieving. On our return, I headed straight for the pool before another al fresco lunch and yet more wine. The afternoon will be spent lolling about before our evening meal. Tomorrow, it seems, we are planning for our first proper excursion. Where this will be is not yet clear, but it may be to identify the mountain the dominates the horizon to one side of the pool.

Tonight we ate at a fabulous restaurant in Palombara Sabina, named Il Vecchio Frack. Peter and Ingrid had gone into the town earlier in the day and the stories that came back were that the journey was somewhat fraught, as it was Peter's first experience of the car and the Italian traffic.

So the restaurant was sold to us without great flourish. However, we arrived at 8.30 and were seated in a small room idiosyncratically decorated with glass cases full of cuddly toys. As tables were rearranged to accommodate us (this was an eatery adjoining a bar), we were informed through Jacquie's translation that there were no menus, and so we had no idea what things cost and Jacquie was anticipating a difficult time translating the food options off pat. This was not helping to raise our low expectations.

But as the food made its lengthy procession, we realised we were in expert hands. The sheer gorgeousness of the pasta dishes (which were only the second course that followed extensive antipasti of equal quality) quickly served to erase our memories of the Corrigan’s understated sales pitch. We even stopped worrying about the bill. Only two of our party actually managed a main meat course, and only a few of us opted for dessert, as the pasta alone has filled us up. I opted for the "fancy" ice-cream which was revealed to be four different scoops of ice-cream or sorbet (including a sublime coconut scoop), on top of a rum-soaked waffle, all drizzled with raspberry coulis or something. To finish it was a challenge I met with aplomb, before asking for a grappa to round the evening off.

At this point I started to worry once more, as the waiter brought out a tray with ten hot shot glasses, a bottle of grappa, another bottle of what I think was eau de vie, and a numbered bottle of single malt scotch whisky (bottle 122 of 319!). I could see the bill reaching quadruple figures, and felt very guilty being the only one who ordered spirits. Fortunately Sally and Pete helped me out my sampling the whisky, which was apparently so good that they were compelled to compliment the waiter, whose response was to bring out another numbered bottle for them to sample.

This display, as well as the elaborate decanting of a bottle of red earlier in the evening led us to deduce that this man was clearly a drinks enthusiast, keen to share his finds with appreciative customers. We still wondered what this would eventually cost us.

Having had a fantastic evening, and it being nearly eleven at night, we asked for the bill with baited breath. Jacquie turned it over like a condemned woman being given the date of her execution, and seemed to disbelieve what she read. The whole evening had come to €271 (less than £20 a head); the spirits it seems being gratis. We immediately booked again for next week.