As is often the case, now that we've found ourselves with a moment of quiet after a busy period, we've promptly all fallen ill.

Last week we bid farewell to the lovely Liz, David's mum, after her week and a bit staying with us. And less than 48 hours later, it was time to welcome the inimitable duo of Fafa and Boppa (aka Mum and James). 

Speaking of fantastic local produce, there is a weekly farmers market held every Wednesday evening in our local piazza. It is small, but the quality of the food available is exceptional. One of the stalls sells locally made cheeses, and they are fabulous. But of course, there is a catch.

This year for Thanksgiving, apparently having learnt nothing, I embarked on a quest to make that most quintessential Australian dessert. A pavlova.

Don't start, New Zealanders.

This morning I walked back through town after school drop off, and found workers stringing up all the Christmas lights. Apparently they will be lit this coming Saturday evening.

Every day I wake up expecting to find that the classic northern Italian grey skies have finally descended over our beautiful town - but still they have not. Long may this continue! Certainly makes laundry in the land of no tumble dryers much less challenging. 

Our week has been dominated by the Lucca Comics and Games festival, which has been taking place here for the past four days - with one more day to go tomorrow.

The Italian interpretation of customer service is - I will give you my advice on the matter at hand, whether you want it or not, because I know more than you. As foreigners, the going-in assumption is that we know absolutely nothing and MUST BE TAUGHT.

Strike action in Italy is standard business, and is especially common on the rails - usually taking place on a Sunday. The sciopero is always advised well in advance, so it is usually only the most unfortunate of tourists who really get left high and dry.

After the four of us being in the most perfect of health for the 14 weeks of summer holidays, Leo has chosen one of his first weeks' back at full time school to come down with un raffreddore (a cold).

Lucca is famously wet in October, and this year it has started right on time. Gone are the shorts and t-shirts of a month ago, and on with the jackets, ponchos and umbrellas. 

We've just returned from a magical three days at my favourite seaside escape in Liguria. Tellaro is truly something special.

Technically, it is still summer until this Sunday 22 September. A concept that almost broke our Australian brains.

Summer is finally coming to an end here in Lucca, and with that is the slow return to normal life. The temperature is now consistently back below 30 degrees, and we've had a couple of spectacular storms overnight that have finally brought some rain. 

I don't want to call it too soon, but I believe that we might have almost made it to the end of another Italian August. And while I wouldn't say we are completely mentally and emotionally unscathed, we've done pretty well. 

The beginning of a new week has brought with it the signs of an economy creaking back to life. The work site at the end of our road, which has been as silent as the grave for a fortnight, is back in action. Albeit for very reduced hours.

Today is the famous il Ferragosto. They say that the Melbourne Cup is the race that stops a nation (increasingly less true in the last few years I think) - but it has nothing on the fifteenth of August in Italy. The day that somehow manages to stop a nation for two weeks.

This week it is the turn of the French to invade Lucca. They are, of course, as stylish as tourists come. They are never sweaty, and they are impossibly aloof. They never, ever point at anything.

I can see why whole economies in southern Europe grind to a halt in the summer months - it is simply impossible to operate with energy and efficiency in this heat. The only course of action is to find a spot in the shade and rest for as many hours of the day as possible. 

Can we talk about pizza? Obviously it is an Italian dish, so I recognise that criticising the way Italians eat pizza already has me on rocky ground. But Italians don't order pizze to share.