The Good{Expat}Life

# 14 Festive Fun

'I'm sooo cold!'  Penny stamped her feet and blew on her hands She couldn't feel her fingertips. 'Where the hell are they? They said they'd be here an hour ago!' She fumbled in her pockets and her handbag. She could have sworn she'd put her gloves somewhere.

'I'm surprised you can find anything in that bucket you call a bag.'  George jumped up and down on the spot, his breath puffing out in front of him like an icy cloud. He had wrapped his scarf around the top of his head and resembled an old peasant woman. All he needed was a barrow of hay and the look would be complete. ‘Well, you know the Bright Young Things, always some drama or another.'

The 'Bright Young Things' otherwise known as Tammy and Ted, were a young couple who ran a very successful Agritrurismo in the hills of the Sibillini Mountains. Young meaning in their forties but they had the stamina of teenagers. They attracted guests all year round: half of the year for sun seekers and the other half for those yearning for a good snow fall. The BYTs were always busying away like little squirrels but spent hours on Facebook— or as George preferred to call it BaseDuck—telling everybody else about how busy they were. Penny and George had bumped into them in a supermarket one day and they kept in touch since. Penny hoped that they didn't view them as parent figures.

George huddled next to Penny, his nose shining like a beacon. 'Crikey, was it really this cold when Jesus was born? I prefer the indoor nativity plays. You know like when we were kids.  I always seemed to end up as the rear end of the donkey.' He shoved her shoulder gently. 'Wouldn't be all that bad if you were the front of course.'

Penny glanced around her at the crowds of Italians chattering away. 'Don't be blasphemous, George,' she whispered. 'And the rear end suits you down to the ground right now. I told you this was a live nativity play, a presepe. The villagers all dress up and it's supposed to be very cultu...' 

'There is nothing cultural about freezing to death!' George complained.

Penny bit her lip, wishing she'd never agreed to come. But Tammy had been so insistent and everyone else had let them down. Why was she such a sucker for a sob story? It was below zero and she didn't even believe in Christmas. But she wasn't going to give George the pleasure of being right. 

'Penny!' a voice shouted through the sea of people queueing at entrance of the gates to the presepe. Penny searched through them but couldn't see anyone she recognised. 'Cooo Eeee!' A red woollen bobbled hat jumped up and shouted again. 'Penny! It's me, Tammy!'  Bright Young Thing number one was as tiny as a mouse but had a voice like a foghorn. The Italians, dressed from head to toe in designer gear--many of them holding tiny toy-like dogs wearing matching coats or a mobile phone glued to their ear--turned to look at Penny. Their gaze ran over her taking in the old jeans tucked into a pair of fake Ugg boots that Hector had chewed at the toes and an oversized puffa jacket which had seen more gardening activity than one would have thought possible.

'Caro mio amico,' smiled Penny through gritted teeth. 

'It's cara mia amica,' George emphasised the "a". 'Tammy's a girl so it ends in "a" not "o". And poppet, try and drop the Northern accent.'

Penny forced the smile and growled. 'For heaven's sake, George, I don't need a gender lesson right now. Nor a quip at my natural way of speaking! Just let's get through this evening and back into the warmth. I'm dying for a drink.' She turned to the bobbing bobble hat as Ted and Tammy pushed their way through. They were dressed in identical outfits. Apart from the bobble hats - with reindeer antlers - they both wore bright orange ski-ing jackets, black leggings and gold fur lined boots. Even their hair was styled in the same way, a mass of inky black curls fighting their way out of the constraints of the tight bonnets. More like siblings than a couple.