Bugger.

Like a madwoman I have accepted another commission. It's only a small one, I can deal with it.

And there are some wonderful things about freelancing abroad – like haring through the cobbled streets in a Fiat 126 with some woman I barely know from Adam, looking at random locations around Piacenza that might possibly be relevant to a story. Or like the fact that instead of sitting isolated in a London flat I can wander off for my coffee breaks and drink an espresso with my new pal V and her crap guide dog (great at detecting biscuits, not so great at detecting overhanging branches). Or that at the end of a long hard day I can go for a bike ride in the mountains or run down to the river and just plunge in. Those are the good things.

And there are some not so wonderful things, like the fact that my dongle has quit on me for absolutely no explicable reason. One minute fine, the next minute software completely kaput. Right in the middle of something really flipping important. Sigh.

Quitting (actually written on Saturday)

OK, God, Universe, Supreme being or whatever, I get the message. Freelancing long term from Italy is not an option.

I had a nice, leisurely morning seeing my sister off at the station, then I mooched over to the Palazzo Farnese to use their free broadband service. It being lunchtime on a Saturday they were about to close for half day – because who wants to go and see a tourist attraction on a Saturday afternoon? So I perched on the wall next to the drawbridge with my computer and tried not to fall into the dried out moat while I caught up with some friends via Skype and sent drivelly emails. So far, so good, the technology gods were smiling on me today. I went home for lunch. I got ready in order to catch the 3.30 bus into Rivergaro to do my interview from my cousin’s office at half past four. I lumped my rucksack up to the bus stop and waited.

And waited, and waited, until my skin sizzled in the sun.

The bus stop is situated opposite the local bar an old-school cobwebby place owned by a couple and their son. They’re not bad people, I just don’t think they’re especially fond of foreigners. Or people from outside the province. Or the village. I asked the owner whether he’d seen the bus, and got a ‘no’ shrug. I asked whether he thought the bus might be late and got a ‘how should I know’ shrug. I said I’d been waiting a while and he shrugged again, and said: “Meh, it’s the weekend. Sometimes the buses don’t come.”

I took a couple of seconds to digest this catastrophe. The next bus was at five, half an hour after my interview was due. That’s of course if it turned up at all. I asked the barman if they still had a payphone and he shrugged in the direction of the interior.

After giving the greasy, tobaccoey-smelling phone a once over with a damp tissue I tried my BT chargecard. Nothing. I tried again, nothing again. I started to cry. Pathetic, but true. It just seemed like every time I tried to get things under control, something else ridiculous happened to spoil it. Like the entire universe doesn't want me to freelance from Italy, and I was sick of fighting it.

I did a quick sum and worked out that if I talked to my interviewee on the mobile my bill would end up swallowing half my fee, so called quickly, rearranged the interview for an hour’s time. Still crying a bit I walked about half a mile up the road to the next bar along and tried their payphone. It didn’t work either and now I was rancid, shiny with sweat and my eyes looked all swollen and wrinkly like a chameleon’s. The lady who runs this bar tried to help me, but nothing worked. “I need to get to Rivergaro,” I gasped. “But there’s no buses…”

Just at that moment an unfortunate maths teacher called Nicole wanders into the bar to buy a packet of cigarettes. Within a couple of moments, she’s been roped into giving me a lift. “I don’t mind,” she says. “You don’t have a dangerous face.” By then I had a gremlin’s face more than anything. But luckily neither of us was a murderer and I made it to Rivergaro without being dismembered.

Of course, by then, according to the Universal Law of Case Studies, my interviewee was out.

My technology trials

Ever get the feeling that someone up there is telling you not to do something? This is how I have spent the last week, instead of putting smug posts on here about how sunny it is. I'm sorry if this is boring, but writing it has been very therapeutic. Living it, however, wasn't.

Thursday - arrive!

House has no electricity

The dongle doesn’t seem to be compatible with my mac

Friday:

Go to Vodafone shop and they upload some mac-type software - yay!

Wait three hours for pay-as-you-go deal to kick in feeling very positive

When I get home, it doesn’t work.

But the electricity is back on!

Saturday:

Told the dongle would never work at my house due to crap reception

Discover it works in Town

Discover wi-fi hotspot in town

Discover cannot recharge computer at wi-fi hotspot so have to move every two hours

Find out I can sneakily plug my computer into the wall of a restaurant (under the archy bit in the picture)

And it has a wi-fi network I can secretly tap into

Although Skype doesn’t work in that spot, only in the wi-fi hotspot

Skype doesn’t always work in the wi-fi hotspot, by the way just sometimes when the wind is blowing the right way and mercury is in retrograde

And have to stay indoors with increasingly hot laptop and no A/C 

Sunday:

Whole of town closed. Can’t work

Monday:

Manage to do a Skype interview in Rivergaro (nearby small town)

Out of power so have to charge up at uncle’s house and eat enormous five course meal and try to understand his dialect.

Get to Piacenza to discover Skype not working

Go to buy a mobile phone and find that the shop is closed for the rest of August

Discover that the Wi-Fi hotspot will have limited opening hours all next week due to national holiday.

The signal is still there 24/7

But would have to sit in a courtyard with my laptop on my knees.

Back to restaurant, with no Skype.

Discover last bus home is around 7pm, therefore no possibility of working late.

Discover this after I have missed it.

Tuesday:

Find rather nice café near the hotspot where wi-fi works

Skype still doesn’t work

Then when I attach the dongle and stay in the same spot, it does. I think I have found a civilised new home.

But then café owner puts on very loud Christina Aguilera medley while I am doing an interview

And two ice teas cost me eight euros

And she won’t let me plug my computer in to charge.

I leave my new home, too embarrassed to charge computer up in restaurant for a second time that day and go home

Go back to Rivergaro, computer out of power, in tears of desperation. Phone cousin to ask for help but she’s going to the opera.

Back home I walk to Travo (only small town within walking distance) sit on church steps and check reception. Niente.

Decide to hire car to have the working late in Piacenza option

Wednesday:

Manage to do successful interview in wi-fi hotspot

Out of battery power – back to restaurant

Pick car up at 3pm and drive out to Rivergaro

Work in Rivergaro café. Skype sometimes working sometimes not. Very loud Stock Aitken and Waterman music. No aircon. Battery runs down at 6pm.

Cousin offers use of her office until Monday as it’s closed for the holidays

Manage to get Skype working at 10pm in a random car park long enough to interview someone in NYC 

Thursday:

Arrive in office. Air conditioning! Internet connection on creaky PC! Water cooler! Toilet that isn’t a hole in the floor! Electricity!

Skype doesn’t work and need to do lots of interviews today

Remember have BT Chargecard number from old address. Start using that instead via cousin’s landline.

Emails start inexplicably failing to send

Can’t get hold of interviewee – v frustrating as can’t just leave her a message to call me. Have abandoned Skype number as total waste of time and money

Slowly interviews and copy pieced together and start to see light at end of tunnel

Friday:

Office! Luxury! Joy!

Then BT chargecard stops working

Ring four different helplines and nobody seems to know what’s happening

Get through to lovely David Monk on BT chargecard helpline, man with sense of humour and also just sense. Find out I’ve run out of credit because I have spent more than £60 on the chargecard in 24 hours at 50p a minute.

Get more money put on chargecard – no choice really unless I want to sit in a sun-beaten car park for two hours at a time

Skype starts working! I make the most of it by talking manically on the phone to everyone I can get hold of.

Finally it’s the weekend – and I think I have just enough info available to start writing on the balcony without having to go online or phone people.

I’m thinking of taking a bit of time off when this is done…