Numero 1, 2009

Sunday, 24 May 2009, 09:36
Good morning chaps,
I hope you are jolly well, your old mucker Chris signing in here. Right, first thing’s first, I’m not writing up the rest of my mini-European-January-Break, one it’s too long, secondly it’s too personal, and three I’m too lazy. Ok, second-thing-second, where, oh where, are my messages of “Oh my God Chris, you are amazing, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’d been there and helped Lazarus, you wonderful, wonderful man!”. Ok, perhaps even a little sycophantic (and blasphemous) for me, but don’t forget to stay in touch guys - my once a week internet time is greatly enhanced when I see I have messages waiting for me. And I do reply, honest.
Third thing third, and which this somewhat short entry is going to be dedicated to - I’ve done something incredibly stupid. I think I’ve gone and bloody fallen in love again (well ok, love is too strong a word, but...) - and this time, I hardly know the girl and she hardly knows me. And it’s like a bloody Hollywood film, and had it not happened to me I’d be throwing up everywhere trying to get the saccharine flavour out of the air and replace it with some good old fashioned cynicism and a small dose of herpes. Ok, maybe not the latter...
So, I’ve finally started working lots, which is fantastic, although I’m still poorer than a dung beetle living amongst constipated cattle, but only for one more week. I’m doing really well at work, and is expected, it suits me fantastically - as Ma said, it’s showing off and history in one, a job made for me. The tips are ok, which is what is buying food and the occasional night out, but it is a job that I love doing (at the moment, at least, ask me in August) and that is actually fun. And because of the sun I actually have a real tan (it was 33 degrees in Sirmione on Wed, woohoo).
Ok, back to this damn girl. After work on Wed I accidentally got distracted in the Black Cat pub by some friends, and then this girl who is far too beautiful for me (I mean, stunning, probably fell off the front cover of a beauty magazine) walked in alone, and I presumed she was waiting for her boyfriend/husband/harem of men, and being a shy bugger (honestly) I wasn’t going to say or do anything, but we kept accidentally making eyes at each other, and as I’d had such a fabulous day at work I was in high spirits. This in mind, when she started eating I presumed she wasn’t waiting, so I sent her a drink over, but was far too much of a wimp to go and talk. Anyhow, the owner of the bar came up 20 minutes later and said ‘Chris, if you don’t go over now she’s leaving and you’re stupid. Well you’re stupid anyway, but that’s an English thing...’. So, with the encouragement of my English friends and Max, and feeling more self-conscious than an adolescent on a beach, I went over and asked in Italian if I could sit - and she said of course. In England we don’t do things like this, we’re civilised, sophistamacated and alike. We’re also boring, I think. We ended up getting on far too well, she plays guitar (ding!), she works in a bookshop (ding ding!), she doesn’t like Italian men (ding ding ding!) and she thinks I’m funny and, get this, mature (ding x infinity!). We then went to Gasoline for a drink, played some Pool, where I’m embarrassed to say I was a complete cad and thrashed her, although she did say ‘don’t let me win’. Cough. After that we went to John Martins, where I found her as only the second person in the world I’ve met who has the same philosophy as me, or at least I didn’t have to tell her, as well as one of very few people who can read me on first meeting, which is impressive. We then talked for a few more hours, where she made me giggle when I explained how hard it had been to ask her out for a drink and she said ‘how do you meet people then?’ followed by ‘if you want something, take it’. Then I walked her back to her hotel (she’s from Padova, lives in Vicenza), which annoyingly is only 1 minute walk from John Martin’s. There we exchanged numbers (another ballsy thing for me to do, honestly in England I’d have been crying in a corner by now), a kiss on the cheek good night and then one friend kiss on the lips, i.e. only contact. I then walked away cursing myself for being such an utter poltroon, and having come this far being so utterly pathetic and reserved, cold and English. I then noticed she was having some difficulty with the keys and offered assistance - which was a bit stupid really, as I didn’t have any key cutting machinery, nor lock-picking experience, but then I saw her eyes, and this is where I did some disgusting Hollywood-ness - ‘I want something and I’m going to take it’, so we kissed, and oh my God I’d forgotten how bloody amazing Italian women are. You’d think kissing is a simple enough thing, but no. Oh my word. Anyhow, so now I’m seeing her tomorrow night, which has got me terrified and quaking in my boots because no doubt I’ll either balls it up, she’ll realise as all my friends who met her, and I have, that she is far too beautiful for me, or finally that we’ll both suddenly see that perhaps we’re not that great (pff, as if).
So, that, my friends, was a hopefully non too salacious account of my latest Italian adventure, and one which will no doubt give some amusing gossip for the following few days, if not weeks.
I’m still stuck on access to the internet once a week, but soon I will have it more frequently. Hope you’re all good and of course thinking of me lots, heheh,
Monty (or as I have been christened here - Christobaldo) x

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