For you lot in the UK (or anywhere else outside Italy) you may have noticed in your news that Italy is going to the polls this weekend.
‘They suffered immigration…..now they live in reservations’
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Lemon Meringue Pie; Dino
Dino
I couldn’t wait until Monday. The last time I had made a Lemon Meringue Pie, a week or so ago, I took a piece in for S to try. She had been badgering me for the recipe ever since and, eventually, I obliged.
Who would you have as Prime Minister – Wallace or Buzz Lightyear?
Well, Wallace’s real name is Vetroni.
I was struck the other day, whilst waiting in some traffic and looking at the election posters (one of them above, nicked from Italy is Falling), which are everywhere, that the man looks so much like Wallace (as in Wallace and Gromit) with that inane grin, that every time I see the poster now, all I can think of is Wallace’s voice saying ‘Cheese, Gromit?’.
I mentioned it to some friends over the weekend and they thought it was very funny.
Meanwhile, Berlusconi is now promising that he, and he alone, can save Italy from the marauding hoards of ‘foreigners’ looking to strip Italy of it’s major assets – namely, the proposed take-over of Alitalia by KLM-Air France. Nothing too concrete though. After all, we wouldn’t want a real and definite proposal that anyone would have to stick to, would we?
So, I read this morning, the unions have walked out of joint talks saying that they would prefer to wait until after the elections. I guess they’ll be voting for B(uzz) then?
It looks like the Italians have a choice between Wallace and Buzz Lightyear. Not much of a choice, really.
Perfume. The Story of a Politician?
I came here to find passion. Well, that wasn’t the only reason, but it was one of the many. And, certainly, the Italians have passion off to a fine art. Sometimes it can be confused (by me and others) as anger or over-excitement.
A quick overview – Gay, immigrant, drunk, nail-biting, Tibetan Taxi Driver
I must apologise for my lack of posts this month. There have been many times that I’ve started to write something, been distracted or ran out of gas halfway through and they just never get finished.
I have wanted to say things about the events in Tibet; gay people; drink/driving; immigrants; and many other things but they just haven’t made it to the blog.
Gianna Nannini
Gianna Nannini or, as I thought for ages, Gian Annanini (although why some woman would have a blokes name, God only knows), was truly fantastic. Her name is pronounced Janananini as there is no gap when you say it.
This is helped, no doubt, by the fact that the last concert (and first here, in Italy) that I went to was…wait for it…Robbie Williams!
The Dorian Gray of dogs
(Picture is not Rufus but is a random image from Google Images when I type the title in and did a search).
We’re walking through the park. Just a normal Saturday. Rufus, as he does from time to time, finds a shrub (he has certain ones on our usual walk) that he rubs against as if he’s grooming himself (maybe he is – but it’s much better than rolling on the ground in shit, which has been known and is not, as I’m sure you can imagine, very pleasant).
The hidden side of me
I’m just an ordinary, simple kind of bloke. I like food, beer and wine, the sun, relaxing, reading, watching a good film, having good times and conversations with friends, etc.
I don’t like football, ignorant and bigoted people, bad food, driving, smelly people, etc.
I don’t have hidden depths. Scratch the surface and there’s just more surface, nothing else.
The Great Panecone and Full-English Breakfast
The café is almost like a bar in a pub. An old-fashioned bar. The fixed, wooden bench with the high back hugs the wall all the way around. The ‘bar’ is wooden too. Nice, old wood. The tables are large and rectangular and, would you believe it, wooden. The floor is wooden without carpet. It’s all well scrubbed – spotlessly clean.
The feeling is warm. The sun shines in through the windows and it is bright inside, in spite of all that wood. The espresso machine, behind the bar, gives a delicious smell to the whole place. The staff are, in the main, dressed in white.
I just don’t geddit
This was going to be a long, rambling post but I decided to cut it short.
Jack would be appalled.
Having had a dreadful time that evening already and being much later than normal, I pay for the supermarket items I have bought with a card. The total cost is €40.02. I hand over my debit card.
‘Have you got the 2 cents?’