So we trotted into 2009, cautious but quietly hopeful that we would weather the storms that the change in economic climate had wrought around the world. Looking back, it’s hard to say whether the decision to put on hold further major investments was one of happy coincidence rather than sound judgement. Either way, as world events continued to unfold around us during the year and guests shared their news of what was happening in their part of the world, I felt more than a little relieved that my dream for an on-site spa had been put on ice for the time being. It was just as well really, as the site I had picked out for the spa slipped down the hill in the worst rains seen in this area in living memory – which, given the age people here live to, is a very, very long time.

In fact, the start of 2009 was the snowiest, rainiest start to a year here since records began. And it felt it! Roads which we travelled every day became indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape. Necessary journeys in the car required a combination of memory, free expression, courage and blind faith. Jeremy Clarkson would have had a ball! Then after the snow came the rains, to wash it away – along with roads, vineyards and, our newly created garden. It’s a strange feeling waking up to a familiar landscape which is no longer there. The garden plants – the China roses, asters, jasmines and lavenders were all still there but 5 metres lower down than the night before. And instead of giving the building trade a wide berth in 2009 as we planned, we found ourselves surrounded by a whole new raft of experts - geologists, architects and surveyors – all keen to tell us what to do, which, in the end, came down to absolutely nothing. At least for the next year until the earth had resettled and dried out.

Having seen the idea of a spa literally slip down the hill away from us, and determined not to let Mother Nature have it all her own way, we converted my to-be-new-office into a massage room. To be honest, it wasn’t easy giving up my idea of a big spacious desk to work at, overlooking the vineyards and gentle Monferatto hills, but nothing that a few essential oils and a soft pummelling of the shoulder muscles doesn’t quickly cure. The room is now a haven of peace and calm, the kids have become addicted to their mani-pedis (the in-term for a manicure and pedicure for us uninitiated to the world of beauty) and even Chris isn’t immune to an hour’s gentle zzzzzz’s on the massage table.

With the massage room quickly established and no other major building projects to divert our attentions, we started to focus on the littler details that make staying at La Villa in a rural part of Italy that bit easier and more enjoyable. Agne swapped her cappuccino-making skills for navigation as she went around the area writing out directions to all our favourite restaurants, whilst I spent time with a local aromatherapist creating a new range of organic toiletries for La Villa from all natural ingredients. Together, we headed out around the region to explore new cheese and wine makers. It’s one of the simple pleasures travelling in this part of the world that you find so many producers happy to sit down and share their time and secrets with you. There were a few surprises along the way – an organic tea farm, a local beer brewery in the heart of Barbaresco wine territory, and, at last, a cheese maker who could speak English.

Whilst Agne and I jollied our gastronomic way around the hills and dales of the region, Chris set about finding a new chef. Inundated with responses from all over the world to the advert he placed on the web, we were surprised to find ourselves in the final cook-off choosing a British chef. I loved how her food was presented and her infectious enthusiasm; Chris just simply loved her food. Hayley has a passion for Italy as well as for food. She has also, unlike me, been able to get to grips with the blogging technology, and so will be sharing her experiences of life. Sign up here for Hayley's Blog plus her favourite foodie stories

Having secured his stomach for the rest of the year, Chris turned his attention to more spiritual matters and began hanging around different churches with the parish priest. Over the past six years, the locals have become more accustomed to our eccentric ways and our gossip status on the community grape-vine has plummeted to whisper level. However, the thought that a foreigner may be about to join the small band of widowed church goers put us right back at the top of the chatter charts in the communal social club until they realised he was not about to become a regular fixture, but simply checking out the setting and capacity of different churches for the weddings planned during the year.