So, today I 'sat' my evaluation test for entrance to my new Italian school in Melbourne. I say that like it's a formal thing, but it wasn't. In fact, I got to print it out and take it home. I suppose they expect grown adults, who are also teachers, not to cheat.
Cheat? I ask, as though the concept is totally foreign to me, and I've never accidentally used just a little too much of wikipedia in my essays. I'm a good girl I am - as if I'm going to cheat!
Actually, the sad reality is that I have a compulsion not to look stupid. If cheating makes me look less stupid, I will do it.
So I did.
Note to universe: I NEVER cheated when I was at school and only very rarely in university, and I always tell my students not to cheat else they feel my wrath. For the most part, I was pedantically well behaved at school, and couldn't even grasp how to cheat in the subjects I wasn't so brilliant in.
True story: whilst I would NEVER write the answers for trigonometry up and down my arms in high school as others did, I had no scruples not to for Fare and Essere on my very first DAY in Italy! And I got caught. AND looked completely stupid!!! So I guess it's a vicious circle that really can come back to bite you on the arse! But I tried, because I have only discovered my inferiority complex in the guise of la lingua di Italiano.
(Second note to universe: Ok, that's not quite true - but this blog is not about my inferiority complexes, so we'll just leave it at that and you can give me a hug or a cupcake later!)
The long and the short of it is that I literally spent hours on it. After the first page, which was pretty basic verbs, and then half a page of passato prossimo - which I'm pretty adept at now, thank you very much, and I can even remember the feminine essere and those irregular verbs that have TOTALLY different past tenses - it quickly entered a downward spiral of six pages of increasing torture! Moving hesitantly through definite articles, and then fare, before I knew it, I'd wizzed past imperfetto with a moderate degree of success and was gun toting with my old nemesis. You got it - four bloody pages of li, la, lo, gli blah bloody blah Pronomi. Even sitting on my couch, thousands of miles from feeling like a fool in Firenze, I had flashbacks to being a moron. Granted, this was a test - and I was always going to fail a lot of it, and that's what they want to test me on. But I have this sneaking suspicion that I simply failed the easy bits.
Or I would have! That's the beauty of cheating: between the dictionary on my phone, the dictionary on my computer (no, not google translator, cos it's cavoli), my actual dictionary and, well, google translator, three full notepads of notes from 6 weeks of studious behaviour in Firenze,and the help of my fluent Italian-speaking colleagues, I soon completed the eight pages perfectly.
I am the smartest girl alive!!!!
Epic fail, actually. It was only as I went to post it that I recognised the invevitable holes in my ingenious plan: based on this test, I'm now going to be put into Italian-Genius-level 101, and be stoned to death by Italian anyway.
Oops! Hey - I've never said I'm the smartest girl alive ALL the time!!
Now I can't resit the test because I have a very good memory for multiple choice, and I think I can remember all the answers. So I'm going to have to wait until I forget them. As I appear to have a talent for forgetting the very basics in Italian, I'm hoping that won't be too long - cos if this thing isn't in the mail within the next two days, I can't enrol anyway!!
Dear Santa/tooth-fairy/Jesus: please help me to forget Italian just long enough to be honest about how much I actually know. And then give it back, plus some, and make me fluent!
And while you're at it, kill particelle pronominali. Amen.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Posso andare in Italia per Natale? Per favore!!!
As life returns back to normal - which is my polite way of saying I am SO freaking busy right now! - my search engine is often directed towards bestflights.com and the dream of a cheap escape back to Europe. Without ever really anticipating that one exists cos, you know, I had to sell half a lung and a kidney on the black market to cough up enough for an airfare last time. And coughing is really hard work with half a lung.
I get why people just hire a rusty dinghy for ten thousand bucks to come to Australia!
My bad!! I don't know why I'm joking about asylum seekers lately. It's no laughing matter and I don't want you to take my glibness seriously! They just fit so well into my metaphors! I guess what I am saying is that I want to be a refugee. But one that eats pasta and torta della nonna. And gets shit on by bats by the Santa Maria Novella.
I never told you about the bats, did I? Gesu Cristi! Ew Ew EW! Not a fan, Firenze. Not. A. Fan.
I had too many beautiful things to be ruined by bat poo. And I'm still paying for them now!
Which brings me to today's Una problema, when the cheap flight became a reality. Cheap is actually too light a word, but I have forgotten how to use adjectives properly - making me a fraud in my year 10 English class. In any case, four and a half magical weeks in Italy beckon to me at Christmas, for a bargain basement price that I can barely believe. And I would still be here for actual Christmas, so my poor mother wouldn't disown me. (Hmm. An interesting opportunity for emotional blackmail just cropped up!!!) Even as I sit here eating fagole con tonna - cheap - so I can pay for coats I bought 6 weeks ago, I feel I would be a fool to pass this golden opportunity up. I'm rationalising it this way: it's less than a fortnight's pay; it's 260 days of coffee consumption, or thirty hours of tutoring. It's not stepping foot inside Myer for a few months.
The change at the back of my couch! HA!
It's nothing. Right?
Oh my God, can I go, Santa?
New Oh my God: I'm going to tutor again?! Seriously??!
BIGTIME OH MY GOD! I'm considering giving up coffee to go back to Italy?!!! So I can drink fabulous coffee again. What sort of insane paradox is that?!
Am I still jetlagged? Sleep-deprived?? Overworked??? Or am I just nuts? If I'm even considering giving up caffeine, I'm going with starkp-raving crazy. And if I'm going to tutor again, I'm positively certifiable. Get me a straight jacket, I'm going back to Italy.
Maybe. Let's justify some more!
I've already given up shopping! (Hi - my name's Katmol, and it's been 14 days since my last shopping experience. Sort of. Cos underwear shouldn't count). I haven't even been to a shopping centre, unless you count going to the movies. And just that one little time I went to check out this season's new boots :-) But I was good; I didn't buy anything! And I'll continue to be good - NON FARE DA SHOPPING!!! Per sempre!
I need a hug.
But I also need to go back to Italy!! I miss nutella gelati SO MUCH! And I realised, after I attended my first Italian class in Australia last night, that though I have come along way since Monday the 17th of January, when as a lost and frightened Aussie Italian wannabe I rocked up to Firenze and was nearly stoned to death by a foreign language, I could still go a few more weeks in real Italy. I mean, I'm still estranged from pronomi and my divorce from fare is imminent. But on the other hand, I can no longer spell imminent without using a spell check, so surely this qualifies me for special asylum: I can no longer speak one language (ok, point taken I never could!) and I can't spell in the other.
Class in Melbourne was fun and all - sort of. Talking about relazioni industriali di Giappone in any language is pretty tedious - but it wasn't the same. For a start, it wasn't proceeded by half as many espressos, and the pasta I cooked for dinner afterwards was just RUBBISH! And that's just the food aspects that were different - the teacher was too. She spoke in English, in a conversation class. Hello! I can already do that!!!
And I miss pannini. And speck. And speaking English in Italy to my friends!!! And my friend, the scary gypsy lady in the purple coat. And running away from the scary gypsy lady in the purple coat!!
And I miss Firenze, even if I wouldn't necessarily stay there next time. Cos Milan has more shoes and Bologna has better Sangiovese :-)
So, riddle me this Jesus: Is buying an airfare considered shopping? Surely not. After all, shopping for food is an essential - and therefore exempt from self imposed ban - form of shopping, and I promise in Italy I will eat lots of food. I can stake my life - and my last remaining heart valves - on it, actually!
Send me a sign, universe. Send me a sign! And a new credit card statement doesn't count!!!
Though it should. I suppose.
Cavoli.
Any last blessings, Scary gypsy lady? Please?!
I get why people just hire a rusty dinghy for ten thousand bucks to come to Australia!
My bad!! I don't know why I'm joking about asylum seekers lately. It's no laughing matter and I don't want you to take my glibness seriously! They just fit so well into my metaphors! I guess what I am saying is that I want to be a refugee. But one that eats pasta and torta della nonna. And gets shit on by bats by the Santa Maria Novella.
I never told you about the bats, did I? Gesu Cristi! Ew Ew EW! Not a fan, Firenze. Not. A. Fan.
I had too many beautiful things to be ruined by bat poo. And I'm still paying for them now!
Which brings me to today's Una problema, when the cheap flight became a reality. Cheap is actually too light a word, but I have forgotten how to use adjectives properly - making me a fraud in my year 10 English class. In any case, four and a half magical weeks in Italy beckon to me at Christmas, for a bargain basement price that I can barely believe. And I would still be here for actual Christmas, so my poor mother wouldn't disown me. (Hmm. An interesting opportunity for emotional blackmail just cropped up!!!) Even as I sit here eating fagole con tonna - cheap - so I can pay for coats I bought 6 weeks ago, I feel I would be a fool to pass this golden opportunity up. I'm rationalising it this way: it's less than a fortnight's pay; it's 260 days of coffee consumption, or thirty hours of tutoring. It's not stepping foot inside Myer for a few months.
The change at the back of my couch! HA!
It's nothing. Right?
Oh my God, can I go, Santa?
New Oh my God: I'm going to tutor again?! Seriously??!
BIGTIME OH MY GOD! I'm considering giving up coffee to go back to Italy?!!! So I can drink fabulous coffee again. What sort of insane paradox is that?!
Am I still jetlagged? Sleep-deprived?? Overworked??? Or am I just nuts? If I'm even considering giving up caffeine, I'm going with starkp-raving crazy. And if I'm going to tutor again, I'm positively certifiable. Get me a straight jacket, I'm going back to Italy.
Maybe. Let's justify some more!
I've already given up shopping! (Hi - my name's Katmol, and it's been 14 days since my last shopping experience. Sort of. Cos underwear shouldn't count). I haven't even been to a shopping centre, unless you count going to the movies. And just that one little time I went to check out this season's new boots :-) But I was good; I didn't buy anything! And I'll continue to be good - NON FARE DA SHOPPING!!! Per sempre!
I need a hug.
But I also need to go back to Italy!! I miss nutella gelati SO MUCH! And I realised, after I attended my first Italian class in Australia last night, that though I have come along way since Monday the 17th of January, when as a lost and frightened Aussie Italian wannabe I rocked up to Firenze and was nearly stoned to death by a foreign language, I could still go a few more weeks in real Italy. I mean, I'm still estranged from pronomi and my divorce from fare is imminent. But on the other hand, I can no longer spell imminent without using a spell check, so surely this qualifies me for special asylum: I can no longer speak one language (ok, point taken I never could!) and I can't spell in the other.
Class in Melbourne was fun and all - sort of. Talking about relazioni industriali di Giappone in any language is pretty tedious - but it wasn't the same. For a start, it wasn't proceeded by half as many espressos, and the pasta I cooked for dinner afterwards was just RUBBISH! And that's just the food aspects that were different - the teacher was too. She spoke in English, in a conversation class. Hello! I can already do that!!!
And I miss pannini. And speck. And speaking English in Italy to my friends!!! And my friend, the scary gypsy lady in the purple coat. And running away from the scary gypsy lady in the purple coat!!
And I miss Firenze, even if I wouldn't necessarily stay there next time. Cos Milan has more shoes and Bologna has better Sangiovese :-)
So, riddle me this Jesus: Is buying an airfare considered shopping? Surely not. After all, shopping for food is an essential - and therefore exempt from self imposed ban - form of shopping, and I promise in Italy I will eat lots of food. I can stake my life - and my last remaining heart valves - on it, actually!
Send me a sign, universe. Send me a sign! And a new credit card statement doesn't count!!!
Though it should. I suppose.
Cavoli.
Any last blessings, Scary gypsy lady? Please?!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig!
But no fat pig!!!
Pretty much the first comments made by each of my parents, separately, on my return, were grand salutations on how fat I was NOT! And more followed. It would seem that when you write a blog that centres around food - and how crap you are at love and languages, which I suppose leads to connotations of comfort eating - people expect you to come back the size of house!
I kind of expected it too!
To be fair, I've put on a couple. But I'm wearing my old jeans today, so 6 weeks of gelati and cheese has clearly (VERY clearly) decided to stake its claim on my face. And my chest. I'd like my chin to return to normal, thanks heaps, and hope to God there's no delayed flight to my arse. PLEASE!
I'm going back to the gym tomorrow to make sure that last bacon butty stays away!! Between running for the first time in three months, and that very bacon butty ... and all the other bacon butties ... I expect to have my first heart attack tomorrow as well, and must remember to renew my ambulance membership, which has lapsed. :-)
Good times, food. Good times! Tu sei la mia amica! Per Sempre!
But I am home, and how glorious it is to be home! Now that the sleep-deprived psychosis you were all privvy to has subsided after two nights of comatose-ness (I love you pillow!), I am enthralled in enjoying the following:
1. My friends. Have had a big weekend of catch ups, scrambled eggs (I might as well sign up for a heart transplant now, really!), vino (I did miss you, New Zealand's finest sav blanc - no matter what hurtful things I said during my affair with Sangiovese!!), surprise conversations in Italian with random Italians met at parties (didn't do too badly I must say!!) And coffee. Sort of. But not really.
I do miss good Italian coffee. I know it exists here, but I've had some rather rubbish macchiatos to date - it's the baristas, perhaps, and not the coffee beans. I have also decided that soy lattes are incredibly shit, and am renouncing them. What was I thinking??? You can't put soy milk in coffee!!!! To boot, my mum just this minute offered me one of those 'little packet things' - powdered milk cappuccinos.
Need I say more?
I nearly wet my pants, actually! For the past 6 weeks, I have been bastardising la lingua di Italia, but I will not disgrace my memory of their coffee!! Powdered milk has no place in coffee - it's just one thousand disgusting granules of wrong-ness, and I laughed in her face!!
Yes. It is true. I am now a pretentious twat! I'll get over it :-) And for the record, I have always hated powdered milk cappuccinos! How can ANYONE like them???
2. The Australian summer. Or autumn. It's not scorching, it's not freddo, it's just perfect! I've had two magnificent days working on my tan whilst drinking said sav blanc and rubbish coffee, and I plan to be able to say I stopped off in Tahiti on my way home, my tan will be so fantastic! (I didn't - but my plane went everywhere else in the known universe, so it's barely a stretch. I slept a lot between my SURPRISE leg between Singapore and Melbourne (WHAT did I say about cavolo surprises?!), so it could have stopped anywhere, really. I might have been to the moon. I might have been to Christmas Island!!!)
3. Wearing a t-shirt. Burn in hell coat! BURN IN HELL! You were fine, you were beautiful, and you were Italian and I'm so glad (see first post) that the gypsies didn't get you. But after 3 months, you stank and you were heavy and cumbersome, and I am renouncing you too! Long live singlet tops! Until the weather turns.
4. Thongs! And I mean the kind you put on your feet!!! Especially now that my giant, swollen piedi, complete with weird sharpei ankles (I've been expecting to die of a blood clot since Friday!) have gone down, and my feet are normal again! As normal as feet get, anyway. Feet are kinda weird, aren't they?! But my point is, no more boots!!! I love thongs! And again, for those of you in the Northern Hemisphere, I am talking comfy rubber slip ons here. And I'm getting into more trouble the more I write, so I'll stop. Viva la thongs!!
Please don't turn, weather! I've been keeping tabs - you've been rubbish! But you're here now. Let's be friends!
Now I have to return to real life. This means lapsed bills, leaking roofs (stupid Australian summer) and work. Funnily enough, though, I am ready to return to work. A crazy idea did pop into my head that I could do ET work next week, but I quickly quashed it. I think it was the sleep deprived psychosis talking! In truth, I hope to enrol in a new Italian course in Melbourne. I've already sent out a couple of emails - in Italian! - but as I've received no reply, I'm wondering what I actually sent. I've said some pretty random, and often downright embarrassing things, whilst cultivating my understanding of this language! I was pretty sure my email was a straghtforward inquiry about classes, but I probably offered to murder somebody's goldfish. Or worse.
I've said much, much worse!
Now, time to go and drink a daiquiri by my parent's pool. In the sun. In a t-shirt.
Mi manca tu, Firenze, ma eri fa freddo!!!
Pretty much the first comments made by each of my parents, separately, on my return, were grand salutations on how fat I was NOT! And more followed. It would seem that when you write a blog that centres around food - and how crap you are at love and languages, which I suppose leads to connotations of comfort eating - people expect you to come back the size of house!
I kind of expected it too!
To be fair, I've put on a couple. But I'm wearing my old jeans today, so 6 weeks of gelati and cheese has clearly (VERY clearly) decided to stake its claim on my face. And my chest. I'd like my chin to return to normal, thanks heaps, and hope to God there's no delayed flight to my arse. PLEASE!
I'm going back to the gym tomorrow to make sure that last bacon butty stays away!! Between running for the first time in three months, and that very bacon butty ... and all the other bacon butties ... I expect to have my first heart attack tomorrow as well, and must remember to renew my ambulance membership, which has lapsed. :-)
Good times, food. Good times! Tu sei la mia amica! Per Sempre!
But I am home, and how glorious it is to be home! Now that the sleep-deprived psychosis you were all privvy to has subsided after two nights of comatose-ness (I love you pillow!), I am enthralled in enjoying the following:
1. My friends. Have had a big weekend of catch ups, scrambled eggs (I might as well sign up for a heart transplant now, really!), vino (I did miss you, New Zealand's finest sav blanc - no matter what hurtful things I said during my affair with Sangiovese!!), surprise conversations in Italian with random Italians met at parties (didn't do too badly I must say!!) And coffee. Sort of. But not really.
I do miss good Italian coffee. I know it exists here, but I've had some rather rubbish macchiatos to date - it's the baristas, perhaps, and not the coffee beans. I have also decided that soy lattes are incredibly shit, and am renouncing them. What was I thinking??? You can't put soy milk in coffee!!!! To boot, my mum just this minute offered me one of those 'little packet things' - powdered milk cappuccinos.
Need I say more?
I nearly wet my pants, actually! For the past 6 weeks, I have been bastardising la lingua di Italia, but I will not disgrace my memory of their coffee!! Powdered milk has no place in coffee - it's just one thousand disgusting granules of wrong-ness, and I laughed in her face!!
Yes. It is true. I am now a pretentious twat! I'll get over it :-) And for the record, I have always hated powdered milk cappuccinos! How can ANYONE like them???
2. The Australian summer. Or autumn. It's not scorching, it's not freddo, it's just perfect! I've had two magnificent days working on my tan whilst drinking said sav blanc and rubbish coffee, and I plan to be able to say I stopped off in Tahiti on my way home, my tan will be so fantastic! (I didn't - but my plane went everywhere else in the known universe, so it's barely a stretch. I slept a lot between my SURPRISE leg between Singapore and Melbourne (WHAT did I say about cavolo surprises?!), so it could have stopped anywhere, really. I might have been to the moon. I might have been to Christmas Island!!!)
3. Wearing a t-shirt. Burn in hell coat! BURN IN HELL! You were fine, you were beautiful, and you were Italian and I'm so glad (see first post) that the gypsies didn't get you. But after 3 months, you stank and you were heavy and cumbersome, and I am renouncing you too! Long live singlet tops! Until the weather turns.
4. Thongs! And I mean the kind you put on your feet!!! Especially now that my giant, swollen piedi, complete with weird sharpei ankles (I've been expecting to die of a blood clot since Friday!) have gone down, and my feet are normal again! As normal as feet get, anyway. Feet are kinda weird, aren't they?! But my point is, no more boots!!! I love thongs! And again, for those of you in the Northern Hemisphere, I am talking comfy rubber slip ons here. And I'm getting into more trouble the more I write, so I'll stop. Viva la thongs!!
Please don't turn, weather! I've been keeping tabs - you've been rubbish! But you're here now. Let's be friends!
Now I have to return to real life. This means lapsed bills, leaking roofs (stupid Australian summer) and work. Funnily enough, though, I am ready to return to work. A crazy idea did pop into my head that I could do ET work next week, but I quickly quashed it. I think it was the sleep deprived psychosis talking! In truth, I hope to enrol in a new Italian course in Melbourne. I've already sent out a couple of emails - in Italian! - but as I've received no reply, I'm wondering what I actually sent. I've said some pretty random, and often downright embarrassing things, whilst cultivating my understanding of this language! I was pretty sure my email was a straghtforward inquiry about classes, but I probably offered to murder somebody's goldfish. Or worse.
I've said much, much worse!
Now, time to go and drink a daiquiri by my parent's pool. In the sun. In a t-shirt.
Mi manca tu, Firenze, ma eri fa freddo!!!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
This blog will contain language that may be offensive to some viewers.
*SWEAR SWEAR SWEAR SWEAR SWEAR*!!!!!
Think F word, think S word, think C word - and I am NOT talking about my recent forray into using vegetables as substitutes for my filthy language! This is the real deal, people! Take cover!!!! KMO is NOT HAPPY JAN!!! I don't actually have anything more interesting to say than these hysterical ramblings, so some of you may just want to close the link now. And I also warn you that this post may contain images of dead people. Because I am ready to kill someone!
Greetings from Dubai International Airport! Some people, when they go on holidays, stay in hotels. I stay in frigging airports!
For the second night in a row, I am trying to position my carry on bag so it makes a comfy headrest, as I jam the small of my back into an armrest, and hope that I can get some sleep in the world's most uncomfortable chairs. For the second night in a row, I am downing rotten espressos as I fight sleep amidst crazy people. Because surely only crazy people actually sleep in airports.
For the second night in a row, I am that crazy person!!! Forget having conversations with myself in Italian - this is way more indicative of instability!! Oh my God! How have I gone from FLORENCE to an airport?! Christ!
I'm starting to feel like I should be seeking asylum or something. Hey, maybe when I get back, because I'm now so incomprehensible in any language, the Australian government will send me to Christmas Island!! I could do with a hunger strike right now!
Note to public: I jest because I am tired, and if I don't laugh I will become hysterical. And throw things. And maybe sob. Which would be very bad as I have no tissues, and don't need the runny nose issues. And I am sure I will then sit next to someone who is extremely good looking, when I already look less than top quality. So crying is not allowed!!!! I have no feelings of joy (wrong word but I SO can't think of what I am trying to say right now) about asylum seeker policy in Australia usually. And I have no idea how this blog just became political. I hate politics at five am in the morning. It was less painful talking about it in Italian. That is SAYING something!!
In short, I just missed my connection from Duabi to Melbourne. I was 15 hours early to Heathrow, but the plane was 2 hours late. Cavolo! Now I'm wondering the terminal and trying not to take out my credit card, which is generally what I do when I'm this tired and stroppy. Actually, that's a lie - I have never been shopping whilst feeling this tired. I've never been anywhere but bed!!
Dear Jeses: please give me my bed. Amen.
I just spelt Jesus wrongly, but I don't care. Maybe someone else who's actually called Jeses will hear my plea. As I don't believe in either person, it's no less likely! I feel so sorry for myself right now, and I am sure that scary gypsy in the purple coat is behind all this. She's probably been following my blog and knows I diss her on a regular basis :-) Mi dispiace.
Anyway, this is getting out of hand. I am just ranting. But once again, another unplanned blog post at five am in the morning! Time to go and cash some euros and buy some Arabian coffee - from what I remember, it wasn't half bad. And though I drank it pre Italy, it's post England. Do the math! (Starbucks in London should be forced through the gates of hell for all eternity. Disgustoso! Loro sono un criminine contro umanita'!) At the very least, they are a crime against people who have an addiction to high grade caffeine. Do you give a high-class coke addict washing detergent? I don't THINK so!!!
Still, trying to stay positive. Pfft! What good has happened thus far? I suppose I did get to watch La Bella E' La Bestia on the plane, in Italian, as I promised I would! It was hysterical!!!! Must hang on to that moment of pure glee when Belle starts singing about her vita di provincia. And the fact that they mix up Bongiorno and Bonjour because, sometimes, Italian just doesn't fit. ("Tutto qui, l'bel paesino! ogni die li non cambiare mai! Il cosi della gente vivi con semplicità ... BONJOUR!!")
Next movie I watch should be The Terminal. I didn't like it, but I'm starting to relate to it. I need some tips on how to sleep, eat food other than McDonalds and 4 day old croissants, and not go completely insane! You really will see me on television soon - I'll be the one one carrying two suitcases and speaking a third, equally unintelligable language: stark-raving-sleep-deprived-crazy!!
Can I go home now? :-( I'll even go to Christmas Island! Amen.
Think F word, think S word, think C word - and I am NOT talking about my recent forray into using vegetables as substitutes for my filthy language! This is the real deal, people! Take cover!!!! KMO is NOT HAPPY JAN!!! I don't actually have anything more interesting to say than these hysterical ramblings, so some of you may just want to close the link now. And I also warn you that this post may contain images of dead people. Because I am ready to kill someone!
Greetings from Dubai International Airport! Some people, when they go on holidays, stay in hotels. I stay in frigging airports!
For the second night in a row, I am trying to position my carry on bag so it makes a comfy headrest, as I jam the small of my back into an armrest, and hope that I can get some sleep in the world's most uncomfortable chairs. For the second night in a row, I am downing rotten espressos as I fight sleep amidst crazy people. Because surely only crazy people actually sleep in airports.
For the second night in a row, I am that crazy person!!! Forget having conversations with myself in Italian - this is way more indicative of instability!! Oh my God! How have I gone from FLORENCE to an airport?! Christ!
I'm starting to feel like I should be seeking asylum or something. Hey, maybe when I get back, because I'm now so incomprehensible in any language, the Australian government will send me to Christmas Island!! I could do with a hunger strike right now!
Note to public: I jest because I am tired, and if I don't laugh I will become hysterical. And throw things. And maybe sob. Which would be very bad as I have no tissues, and don't need the runny nose issues. And I am sure I will then sit next to someone who is extremely good looking, when I already look less than top quality. So crying is not allowed!!!! I have no feelings of joy (wrong word but I SO can't think of what I am trying to say right now) about asylum seeker policy in Australia usually. And I have no idea how this blog just became political. I hate politics at five am in the morning. It was less painful talking about it in Italian. That is SAYING something!!
In short, I just missed my connection from Duabi to Melbourne. I was 15 hours early to Heathrow, but the plane was 2 hours late. Cavolo! Now I'm wondering the terminal and trying not to take out my credit card, which is generally what I do when I'm this tired and stroppy. Actually, that's a lie - I have never been shopping whilst feeling this tired. I've never been anywhere but bed!!
Dear Jeses: please give me my bed. Amen.
I just spelt Jesus wrongly, but I don't care. Maybe someone else who's actually called Jeses will hear my plea. As I don't believe in either person, it's no less likely! I feel so sorry for myself right now, and I am sure that scary gypsy in the purple coat is behind all this. She's probably been following my blog and knows I diss her on a regular basis :-) Mi dispiace.
Anyway, this is getting out of hand. I am just ranting. But once again, another unplanned blog post at five am in the morning! Time to go and cash some euros and buy some Arabian coffee - from what I remember, it wasn't half bad. And though I drank it pre Italy, it's post England. Do the math! (Starbucks in London should be forced through the gates of hell for all eternity. Disgustoso! Loro sono un criminine contro umanita'!) At the very least, they are a crime against people who have an addiction to high grade caffeine. Do you give a high-class coke addict washing detergent? I don't THINK so!!!
Still, trying to stay positive. Pfft! What good has happened thus far? I suppose I did get to watch La Bella E' La Bestia on the plane, in Italian, as I promised I would! It was hysterical!!!! Must hang on to that moment of pure glee when Belle starts singing about her vita di provincia. And the fact that they mix up Bongiorno and Bonjour because, sometimes, Italian just doesn't fit. ("Tutto qui, l'bel paesino! ogni die li non cambiare mai! Il cosi della gente vivi con semplicità ... BONJOUR!!")
Next movie I watch should be The Terminal. I didn't like it, but I'm starting to relate to it. I need some tips on how to sleep, eat food other than McDonalds and 4 day old croissants, and not go completely insane! You really will see me on television soon - I'll be the one one carrying two suitcases and speaking a third, equally unintelligable language: stark-raving-sleep-deprived-crazy!!
Can I go home now? :-( I'll even go to Christmas Island! Amen.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
This is the blog that doesn't end ...
Every time I say there will be no more blogs, and then I come back for more. Ok - I like blogging, it's not a chore. But why doesn't that work in other situations? Why, Jesus/Santa/Toothfairy are you making me eat those words over and over again, but didn't listen to me when I said 'I don't want to be in Florence any more. I want to go home now.' It stands to reason that I should, therefore, be stuck in Florence forever!
Cos I did actually say that. Once. Probably after I lost a round against Pronomi or something. Which I'm just about to study because I have FIFTEEN HOURS AT THE AIRPORT NOW, WITH NOTHING TO DO!!!!
That is the reason for this blog! I thought I would be on a plane right about now - at exactly about now, actually - possibly nursing my excess baggage - and reading my dictionary because I would now very much like to know how to say the C word :-) I am instead undertaking my second all nighter in only 5 days. I don't think I've done two all nighters in 5 years!!! Not since the days of Nietzsche and the existential uni thesis have I kept so many late hours company. And I've just mentioned Nietzsche twice in almost as many blogs, so I'm either just really nostalgic for syphillitic philosophers and late night musings, or I'm on the verge of a nihilistic crisis!!
I am sooo tired, and I apologise! This will be a very innane post! It's two am, and I'm still waiting for that third espresso to kick in! And it's airport coffee too, so it may never kick in - I'll just die!!
Last Friday I didn't sleep for vodka (and, I have discovered via photos, TEQUILA! EVIL!!!) Tonight, I am keeping vigil at Heathrow. I'm only about 50% confident that I'm getting on a plane tomorrow! Now I'm afraid to leave the airport because NOBODY seems able or willing to reassure me. I think it's going to be a surprise!! Now, I'm a big fan of surprises - I've long wanted a surprise party, a pie in the face at any event bar my wedding, and random flowers are always welcome. This surprise, however, is SHITHOUSE!
This is positively the last time I ever use a travel agent. Amen.
In short, the ticket details I am looking at RIGHT NOW are 11 hours out. The flight I have on it doesn't exist, and for about an hour nobody would tell me if I had a seat on any Emirates flight at all - real, or imaginary. Preferably real.
WTF?
How does this happen? Emirates kepts cutting me off, STA wasn't open and as I began to unravel with a flat battery on my cell phone, Mia Sorella stepped in to become my champion. Grazie mille, bella! Sei straordinaria! Spero vengo a casa presto!
When I missed my plane in San Sebastian (because, admittedly, I am a mental midget) it was an adventure. When I missed my train in Rome, though I was pissed that I might miss class (I am SUCH a nerd!) I got over it. When I thought (still present tense, actually!) I might not be leaving for Australia this year - cos if I don't get this plane I will be spending 2011 begging with the gypsies to pay for another one! - I. Spat. The. Dummy. Non voglio essere un gypsy! Their clothes are rank and they are SCARY! I don't want to be scary! I'm so angry at the travel agent right now, and yet I won't ever say anything to them; I'm nice! And weak as piss! I just want everyone to get along and live happily ever after!! I want my bed. I want my friends. I want Jack Bauer. I want my mum!!!! (I want a surprise that's not cavolo!)
The upside is that I now have time to elaborate on my lovely trip to Cornwall, which went longer than expected because it was just so brilliant to be with friends by the seaside chilling out! I worked with Laura ten years ago, and yet it only felt like ten months since I'd seen her. And now she has a two year old, who is the most enchanting being ever! He stole my heart - and made me more than a little bit maternal :-) (In-joke: Mummy - there's something wrong with your lady!!!) I want one - Laura and James, he is magic!!
I visited the Eden Project, and fell in love with the coastline. I also remembered why it is I love England so much: Black faced sheep and clotted cream!!!! I swear to God, I am the reincarnation of a heroine in a pastoral novel!
Funnily enough, London hasn't had quite the same effect this time around. I am ashamed to admit that I STILL haven't seen Westminster Abbey, and will have to keep that dream fresh for another ten years now! I think I prefer my cities small. With Duomos. And Chianti!
Dear Melbourne: Please get a Duomo. And move to Italy. Amen.
Ok, I'm going to go and study verb conjugations now. It's quite a nice environment for it, actually - I don't know that there are any actual Italians at Heathrow presently, but there are certainly quite a few crackpots, so if I start conversing with myself I will fit RIGHT in :-) And maybe even end up on You-Tube!
Me: Come Stai, Kathryn?
Me: Sto Arrabbiato. E Tu?
Me: Sono annoiato con questa conversazione con me!
I repeat: I am so tired!! Hopefully this really is the last blog from Europe! Time for another killer espresso ...
Cos I did actually say that. Once. Probably after I lost a round against Pronomi or something. Which I'm just about to study because I have FIFTEEN HOURS AT THE AIRPORT NOW, WITH NOTHING TO DO!!!!
That is the reason for this blog! I thought I would be on a plane right about now - at exactly about now, actually - possibly nursing my excess baggage - and reading my dictionary because I would now very much like to know how to say the C word :-) I am instead undertaking my second all nighter in only 5 days. I don't think I've done two all nighters in 5 years!!! Not since the days of Nietzsche and the existential uni thesis have I kept so many late hours company. And I've just mentioned Nietzsche twice in almost as many blogs, so I'm either just really nostalgic for syphillitic philosophers and late night musings, or I'm on the verge of a nihilistic crisis!!
I am sooo tired, and I apologise! This will be a very innane post! It's two am, and I'm still waiting for that third espresso to kick in! And it's airport coffee too, so it may never kick in - I'll just die!!
Last Friday I didn't sleep for vodka (and, I have discovered via photos, TEQUILA! EVIL!!!) Tonight, I am keeping vigil at Heathrow. I'm only about 50% confident that I'm getting on a plane tomorrow! Now I'm afraid to leave the airport because NOBODY seems able or willing to reassure me. I think it's going to be a surprise!! Now, I'm a big fan of surprises - I've long wanted a surprise party, a pie in the face at any event bar my wedding, and random flowers are always welcome. This surprise, however, is SHITHOUSE!
This is positively the last time I ever use a travel agent. Amen.
In short, the ticket details I am looking at RIGHT NOW are 11 hours out. The flight I have on it doesn't exist, and for about an hour nobody would tell me if I had a seat on any Emirates flight at all - real, or imaginary. Preferably real.
WTF?
How does this happen? Emirates kepts cutting me off, STA wasn't open and as I began to unravel with a flat battery on my cell phone, Mia Sorella stepped in to become my champion. Grazie mille, bella! Sei straordinaria! Spero vengo a casa presto!
When I missed my plane in San Sebastian (because, admittedly, I am a mental midget) it was an adventure. When I missed my train in Rome, though I was pissed that I might miss class (I am SUCH a nerd!) I got over it. When I thought (still present tense, actually!) I might not be leaving for Australia this year - cos if I don't get this plane I will be spending 2011 begging with the gypsies to pay for another one! - I. Spat. The. Dummy. Non voglio essere un gypsy! Their clothes are rank and they are SCARY! I don't want to be scary! I'm so angry at the travel agent right now, and yet I won't ever say anything to them; I'm nice! And weak as piss! I just want everyone to get along and live happily ever after!! I want my bed. I want my friends. I want Jack Bauer. I want my mum!!!! (I want a surprise that's not cavolo!)
The upside is that I now have time to elaborate on my lovely trip to Cornwall, which went longer than expected because it was just so brilliant to be with friends by the seaside chilling out! I worked with Laura ten years ago, and yet it only felt like ten months since I'd seen her. And now she has a two year old, who is the most enchanting being ever! He stole my heart - and made me more than a little bit maternal :-) (In-joke: Mummy - there's something wrong with your lady!!!) I want one - Laura and James, he is magic!!
I visited the Eden Project, and fell in love with the coastline. I also remembered why it is I love England so much: Black faced sheep and clotted cream!!!! I swear to God, I am the reincarnation of a heroine in a pastoral novel!
Funnily enough, London hasn't had quite the same effect this time around. I am ashamed to admit that I STILL haven't seen Westminster Abbey, and will have to keep that dream fresh for another ten years now! I think I prefer my cities small. With Duomos. And Chianti!
Dear Melbourne: Please get a Duomo. And move to Italy. Amen.
Ok, I'm going to go and study verb conjugations now. It's quite a nice environment for it, actually - I don't know that there are any actual Italians at Heathrow presently, but there are certainly quite a few crackpots, so if I start conversing with myself I will fit RIGHT in :-) And maybe even end up on You-Tube!
Me: Come Stai, Kathryn?
Me: Sto Arrabbiato. E Tu?
Me: Sono annoiato con questa conversazione con me!
I repeat: I am so tired!! Hopefully this really is the last blog from Europe! Time for another killer espresso ...
The Last Post. Sort of. Cos I'm not dying or anything!
Last blog, and last cadbury chocolate bar! It's taken a long time to develop my taste buds, but I think my ten year romance with English Cadbury has finally come to an end. Perche'? Oops - why?! It may be from the 1KG box of Lindt I consumed/gave away/threw out/never-want-to-see-another-Lindor-ball-again, but I finally had my first cadbury bar in England (this trip), and it was nasty.
Well, ok, not nasty. I ate it. And if someone offered me another one, I'd eat that. I'd eat my own head as long as it wasn't covered in tripe or snails if I'm hungry enough! But the NEW suitcase I bought at Marks and Sparks for the sole purpose of trafficking illegal quantities of chocolate bars over international borders will now need to be put to better use.
Oh. I used the wrong tense, there. It already has been. Thanks Monsoon - you are the best! Christi Cavolo mamma mia FUCK! I don't need ten kilos of chocolate, but I don't need ANY new clothes or shoes, either!!! Goddamn you London! Can somebody please get married/have a party/invite me to dinner so I can wear my fancy-schmancy shoes and frocks? (I like the word frock now: deal with it gli miei amici!!!) They are pretty though :-)
And necessary. I am a cultured European now (pfft) and only like all things fine, including wine, shoes and chocolate :-) (I'm almost wetting my pants at this impression of myself as I sit here in a cafe wearing my Zara trackies and a beret and looking like a bucket of shit!) However, coffee: this is where I draw the line! I found 'Laura's' coffee shop today and thank God I did - I thought I was going to need strapping down in a dark room, with complete removal of stimulus! I was drinking 6 ESPRESSOS PER DAY!!! Jesus Christ! Finito!
Until Lygon st!!!
Today is my last full day, and I am doing it in style! Basically, I have a list of things to eat, and I am working my way through it!!! When I have a heart attack later this year, remember this day as the one that started the ball rolling! Bacon butties, banoffee pies and cream teas will all feature on today's schedule, along with the city landscape, obviously. And no more shopping!!!! Non FARE da shopping! (I hate you FARE). I have just packed my suitcase for the last time, and I do not intend to jam anything else into it - I should actually say I have just packed all of my bags, for I now have four! If customs wants to open them to see if I am indeed trafficking copius amounts of chocolate back to Australia, they can just have them. Blow them up!! There are so many little eiffle tower souvenirs-come missiles in there, they will be the deadliest suitcase bombs ever!!!!
I kid. I so kid!!
But seriously, picture a grown woman wrestling, spreadeagled on top of her suitcase, with a zipper for half and hour and you've got a fairly clear image of what my morning was like! I am not going through that in an airport!! I also emerged from that experience with the clear conviction that, though a shit movie, Confessions of a Shopaholic was like a window into my soul. Minus getting the hot guy, of course. And her green sciarpa was better than mine!!!
Is intervention time!
I am announcing, from London, my intention to give up shopping. Amen. If I can do this, then I will reward myself.... With shopping!! Who wants to come?!
Alright. Much to see, only a few short hours in which to see it. Ciao Regazzi! In Aus, I will see you shortly. In Europa, thanks so much for the memories! And watch this space - now I get to go back to banging on about winning the Pulitzer!! Or whatever the hell it was! Maybe I will just settle for a few thousand dollars, so I can come back and live in Italy and marry whoever and eat spaghetti. Simple dreams I have. Simple dreams!!!! xoxo
Well, ok, not nasty. I ate it. And if someone offered me another one, I'd eat that. I'd eat my own head as long as it wasn't covered in tripe or snails if I'm hungry enough! But the NEW suitcase I bought at Marks and Sparks for the sole purpose of trafficking illegal quantities of chocolate bars over international borders will now need to be put to better use.
Oh. I used the wrong tense, there. It already has been. Thanks Monsoon - you are the best! Christi Cavolo mamma mia FUCK! I don't need ten kilos of chocolate, but I don't need ANY new clothes or shoes, either!!! Goddamn you London! Can somebody please get married/have a party/invite me to dinner so I can wear my fancy-schmancy shoes and frocks? (I like the word frock now: deal with it gli miei amici!!!) They are pretty though :-)
And necessary. I am a cultured European now (pfft) and only like all things fine, including wine, shoes and chocolate :-) (I'm almost wetting my pants at this impression of myself as I sit here in a cafe wearing my Zara trackies and a beret and looking like a bucket of shit!) However, coffee: this is where I draw the line! I found 'Laura's' coffee shop today and thank God I did - I thought I was going to need strapping down in a dark room, with complete removal of stimulus! I was drinking 6 ESPRESSOS PER DAY!!! Jesus Christ! Finito!
Until Lygon st!!!
Today is my last full day, and I am doing it in style! Basically, I have a list of things to eat, and I am working my way through it!!! When I have a heart attack later this year, remember this day as the one that started the ball rolling! Bacon butties, banoffee pies and cream teas will all feature on today's schedule, along with the city landscape, obviously. And no more shopping!!!! Non FARE da shopping! (I hate you FARE). I have just packed my suitcase for the last time, and I do not intend to jam anything else into it - I should actually say I have just packed all of my bags, for I now have four! If customs wants to open them to see if I am indeed trafficking copius amounts of chocolate back to Australia, they can just have them. Blow them up!! There are so many little eiffle tower souvenirs-come missiles in there, they will be the deadliest suitcase bombs ever!!!!
I kid. I so kid!!
But seriously, picture a grown woman wrestling, spreadeagled on top of her suitcase, with a zipper for half and hour and you've got a fairly clear image of what my morning was like! I am not going through that in an airport!! I also emerged from that experience with the clear conviction that, though a shit movie, Confessions of a Shopaholic was like a window into my soul. Minus getting the hot guy, of course. And her green sciarpa was better than mine!!!
Is intervention time!
I am announcing, from London, my intention to give up shopping. Amen. If I can do this, then I will reward myself.... With shopping!! Who wants to come?!
Alright. Much to see, only a few short hours in which to see it. Ciao Regazzi! In Aus, I will see you shortly. In Europa, thanks so much for the memories! And watch this space - now I get to go back to banging on about winning the Pulitzer!! Or whatever the hell it was! Maybe I will just settle for a few thousand dollars, so I can come back and live in Italy and marry whoever and eat spaghetti. Simple dreams I have. Simple dreams!!!! xoxo
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