Tip 1: Always read the instructions, and do the one thing they tell you to do - practice in the dry before using them for real - you'll find it much easier than fitting them for the first time with snow filled wheel arches, and finger that will snap like icicles.
We sadly don't own any - but Angelika insisted on us using hers for a jaunt to the shops to get cash, wood to burn, and some other basic food. She of course fitted them with us, although she admitted midway through that the man in the stop made it look so easy, and the process took around 45 minutes to complete.
Thankfully, the drive up the gravel track was only possible with them, so it was well worth the effort. Croissant climbed like a mountain goat where Fiat Pandas had failed before her, and we were on our way. 10 minutes later, the road was clear, and we were required to remove them (to avoid road or tyre damage).
On the return trip, I decided not to refit them, instead risking the track the entire way in the vague hope we'd make it without the 45 minute session of pure frustration. In any case, it was all downhill where the snow started.
The shopping trip from start to finish had taken us 4 hours despite the shops only being 15 minutes away. Hell had clearly frozen over, and we were beginning to realise we were actually living in it. The vision of a life in Utopia was quickly slipping away.
The afternoon was spent cutting wood for the fire - not large logs which are delivered pre cut, but the twigs and branches used to start a fire. There were several bundles to work through, and we set about the task in the old candle shop in the warm (for warm, read not outside in the bitter wind. It was hardly warm, but at least it was dry).
Dry, initially that is.
Rhett decided to play with one of two watering cans. Twinkle was helping me, and in the blink of an eye, he had tipped the entire contents over the floor, completely flooding the room.
Tip 2: Do not leave your child unattended in a room containing watering cans full of water in someone else's house. If you do, you'll be spending an hour cleaning up a mess instead of spending an hour doing what you're meant to be doing.
The water wasn't easy to remove - there was simply so much of it.
In a scene of what resembled an episode of that Paris Hilton show 'The Simple Life' where they work jobs in the country clearly not designed for their delicate hands, we tried desperately to hide of mess from our boss whilst we giggled like naughty children.
But during a hard evening of upset because of the cold (Rhett was beginning to resemble a frozen lamb chop), the difficulty in cooking, the constant need to keep the fire stacked with quickly depleting logs and no time really to enjoy each other company, we slowly started to think it could never work here in Umbria.
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