It was like attending a very important job interview.

My hands were sweating and it was difficult to concentrate on anything much.

I arrived at least 10 minutes early, as you do. At first, the receptionist thought that I was trying to make an appointment but when she gave me some date in the future, I realised. I couldn’t even really understand her – my little Italian had deserted me somewhere in my mashed-up brain.

The seats in the waiting room were the usual plastic chairs, arranged around the walls, a single coffee table in the centre of the room with some reading stuff which I didn’t read. The receptionist informed me that she wasn’t here yet. Hmmm.

I tried to play a game on my phone but I just couldn’t concentrate. About on time, she arrived and I was told to go in.

Of course, on principle, I don’t ask “permesso”, since I had made the appointment and so she was expecting me and had been informed that I was there and had already asked the receptionist to show me through. So, why ask permission to enter? It never makes any sense to me. By all means, do it if you are not expected or have not been invited or have not already let someone in to your building (so you know they’re there.)

Anyway, she was really nice. Asking me questions that, most of the time, I didn’t know the answer to or had some idea but couldn’t be sure. But that was fine.

Then I asked my questions and, more or less everything was OK. I only asked about 3 questions, so not too harrowing for me.

However, as expected, there are more visits to come. Which is a pain.

And I was in a bit of pain but I didn’t let it show. I “did my back in a bit” when brushing Piero on Sunday. My own fault. Still, I didn’t want her to see I was in pain.

And, so, on to the next visit!

And I survived, which is good