Archive for marriage
A Day in the Life
“woke up got out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Made my way downstairs”
Felt like a Beatles kind of morning. All our devices are on different time zones either because they are useless at knowing where they are (Kindle) or we are too lazy to update them (Samsung Tablet) My own personal body clock has always been extremely accurate although with advanced age it tends to be a little premature. I had set to for 5.30 but when I awoke I glanced at the Samsung and it said 3.05. Oh well back to sleep for a couple of hours as we had to catch a velopocello at 6.05 to catch the train to Mestre then the Flixbus to Pescara (our next destination, a 6 hour bus drive away in Abruzzi, Italy. I jerked awake an hour later and glanced at the clock 4.10. Alison slung her arm out nearly breaking my nose and yelled at me to go back to bloody sleep weareearlyfortgeferryanywayyouareabundlofnerves. But there was something not quite right. It was light outside and Italian dawn and dusk are roughly akin to whats happening in NZ at the moment. Then I consulted my huawei which is on trusted Italian time . 6.10. Shit the ferry left 5 minutes age. We have perfected packing and in 5 minutes we were downstairs, hair combed and ready for a day in the life.
Venus is particularly beautiful early morning and nighttime when you cant spot the decay, the tourists havent descended or have eloped. The soft light and splashes of the rising sun show you what a beautiful city it must have been. I am not sad to leave but wonder what will happen to her with a falling base, rising sea levels, a failed engineering project to stop the water rising and over tourism.
Managed to avoid the train inspector as we had failed to validate our tickets (subject to a €100 fine and then bloody Alison draws his attention by asking if this is the Mestre stop. I could have left her in an Italian prison)
I have been increasingly mistaken for an Italian with people asking for directions, German men wanting something and shop keepers speaking on rapid fire Italian which I cant follow whereas they slways talk English to Alison. This beautiful young Italian lady pulls up on a Harley and softly nudges my leg whilst parking. To my horror she apologies in fluent English and we then proceed to discuss the merits of American vs English iron. Go figure.
The bus ride to Pescara is long but uneventful apart from the driver who spends most of his time on his cell, gesticulating as Italians do and straying onto the next lane. Italian autobahns are great but the lanes are very narrow and the roads are dominated by trucks. Also all the trucks have little speed signs on the back 50, 80 , 100 kph and I wondered what they mean. The interweb has a host of explanations but basically the Italian government has made ot law a d it means nothing . The Flexibus company are great and my best discovery. For a reasonable price they transport you at literally the push of a finger. All bookings are online, a electronic ticket is emailed to you and you just show your smartphone, scan the barcode and you are off. They send a reminder the morning of your departure and any route info you m8ght need and then a follow up questionnaire afterwards. IT IS ILLEGAL TO USE CELLPHONES WHILE DRIVING AND INFRINGEMENTS ARE LIABLE FOR A SMALL FINE. What was even more disconcerting was the blatant disregards for red lights, roundabout rules, unless of course you are a lovely senorita where the brakes are suddenly applied , accompanied by inappropriate hand gestures and a huge smile. Ahhh ! Italy.
Pescara is seaside city famous for its beaches. It is common for an Italian family from Rome or nearby to decamp for the summer with pappa continuing to work and visit for the weekend. There is a delightful description of this culture in Tim Parks – An Italian Education (look it up on Google as he does a much better job of explaining it all than I could do justice to.) Imagine my horror when I wandered down to the beach, about 5 minutes from our apartment, to find miles and miles of beach umbrellas , 10 – 20 deep , which you rent out for up to €20-100 A day depending on the season. There are free beaches where fay pasty English and German tourists fry themselves in towels but the guides warn that the sand is dirty, beggars and thieves abound, and you are really not getting into the spirit of things. Its supposed to rain today so I might just sot in my briefs on the balcony and listen to the soccer blaring out from tv sets along the street. Cooked a pretty fair meal last night. Chicken pamiggia, a insalata miso, and proved that Italian potatoes can be nice. Washed down with some Multipeaciano.
I also found an old style barber up the street who uses a cutthroat razor so I am looking for an Italian haircut and shave on Monday. Expect a substantial new look.
D had just committed lactomangulation for the second time that day, manhandling the “open here” spout on a milk container so badly that he resorted to the illegal side. All-in-all it had been a frustrating day.
They had been hung over from the night before so resorted to confabulation.
“Dollars to doughnuts they’ll believe this one”
“D here” he mumbled in his best phlegmatic tone “I seem to have been influenzidized”
Midday they had gone to a movie and the inevitable game of elbonics had turned really nasty. M claimed she had the choice of the front part of the armrest. D remembered it differently. Then the popcorn had spilled onto the floor as the argument heated and he had tried to disconfect it. After expending good air M just knocked the container from his hand and roasted corn obscured the delights of Reese Witherspoon doing her Little Red Riding Hood act in Freeway.
Then as they were preparing to go out for the evening she really put the boot in
“If men can run the world, why can’t they stop wearing neckties? How smart is it to start the night with a noose around your neck?”
Always with the smart cracks and the male put down, though he secretly admired her very astute and funny eye.
So D decided that they would eat in –
‘Do you know what I would like’ he started off,”fish eggs on toast, followed by a game soup so gamey you can taste the rabbits foot. Then something fried in so much animal fat that you can feel your blood vessels clogging. For desert something with chocolate. So much chocolate that your head hurts and you feel like sneezing. They settled on Indian takeaways.
An hour later and the food still arrived. M started off on another little tirade. D teleprocrastinated for a while then eventually got through to Prasads Popodoms.
“Oh! Yes sir! Sorry sir! Our driver has been in a bad accident and delivery will be delayed. Its very near where you live kind sir and if you are so vishing you could retrieve your tasty morsels from the delivery car”
D shcmoosed into the cold night. Down the block he saw the flashing lights of a police car and an ambulance. A white van, doors open, bonnet popped, sat at a strange angle to the curb. A bus, seemingly accidentely unchallenged was surrounded by a gaggle of passengers, muttering and ooying aahying amongst themselves. As D got closer he could see the glass scattered over the road and the unmistakable red of a pool of blood near what was obviously a crash site. Two policemen, notebooks drawn were detectivising near the van. The Prasads Popodoms insignia was cruelly dissected by a large metallic gash. D spotted the white boxes in the rear with the familiar markings.
” Excuse me- I know this may seem inappropriate but that’s my food in the back. Would it be possible…” D’s voice trailed off.
The two policemen looked into each other eyes, the back of the van, surveyed the carnage, the blood, then looked back again.
“Forget the food son, it’s a goner”