Lady V: the Italian years
Gosh! It’s almost 10 days since, following the tradition of Byron, Shelley and other literary giants, I left England’s fair shores for the delights of Italy.
We almost didn’t make it. A 5.30 am start at the King’s Cross in order to beat the crowds clamouring to get on the Eurostar following the fire the week before meant that your intrepid travellers were too tired even to avail themselves of their traditional G&T on the train and could only slump in their seats, surrounded by broken luggage and vague fears that they hadn’t Sorted Things Out before departure. On arrival in Paris, we dragged said broken baggage across town to deposit in a locker whilst we attended to far more important things - ie, lunch.
After our first kir royale and a small snack in a café in the Marais, we felt fully rejuvenated and ready for the next leg of the journey - an 8 hour journey to Milan. During which we sang along to Bollywood classic Bride and Prejudice, consumed a couple of mini bottles of EXECRABLE vin rouge and vile croque monsieurs, then fell asleep again, dribbling lightly. We arrived at 11pm, to be picked up by the lovely Elena, quivering gently after a traumatic experience with her sat nav system, and taken to our new abode in the centre of town. Saving the environment is EXHAUSTING.
Since then we have been consumed by a whirlwind of activity, which I shall summarise thus:
Epic car journeys up and down Italian motorways, Tot A trying not to flinch as Lady V just misses another enormous truck: 4
Hours spent loitering in Autogrills on said motorways, munching focaccia and knocking back espressos: 36
Joyful reunion with Tot F and Little J, involving copious amounts of gin and tonics: 1
Attempt to hold civilised dinner in the manner of 30-somethings on Tuscan holiday: 1 (failed)
Impromptu horseback riding sessions through brambles and thorns: 1
Accidental drinking of souvenir water from Lourdes after one too many proseccos: 1 (sorry Elena)
Trips to the ancestral tot home: 1
Games of Trivial Pursuit played at said home (and won by Lady V, natch): 1
Melanzane pillaged from mother’s vegetable patch: 24
Melanzane now rotting in fridge: 23
Aperitivi swigged and munched: innumerable
Language classes attended: none (v bad, must improve)
Early morning trips to gym to counterbalance abovementioned porking out on aperitivi: 2
Proofs of book cover received from grumpy doorman: 5
Hours spent on Joint Literary Project with Tot A: 12
Hours spent laughing at our own cleverness: 36
Tears spilled in overwhelmed pleasure at being back in Italy: many
I shall be updating you all with future adventures as they happen. In the meantime, unpacking my mackintosh square as we speak…
We almost didn’t make it. A 5.30 am start at the King’s Cross in order to beat the crowds clamouring to get on the Eurostar following the fire the week before meant that your intrepid travellers were too tired even to avail themselves of their traditional G&T on the train and could only slump in their seats, surrounded by broken luggage and vague fears that they hadn’t Sorted Things Out before departure. On arrival in Paris, we dragged said broken baggage across town to deposit in a locker whilst we attended to far more important things - ie, lunch.
After our first kir royale and a small snack in a café in the Marais, we felt fully rejuvenated and ready for the next leg of the journey - an 8 hour journey to Milan. During which we sang along to Bollywood classic Bride and Prejudice, consumed a couple of mini bottles of EXECRABLE vin rouge and vile croque monsieurs, then fell asleep again, dribbling lightly. We arrived at 11pm, to be picked up by the lovely Elena, quivering gently after a traumatic experience with her sat nav system, and taken to our new abode in the centre of town. Saving the environment is EXHAUSTING.
Since then we have been consumed by a whirlwind of activity, which I shall summarise thus:
Epic car journeys up and down Italian motorways, Tot A trying not to flinch as Lady V just misses another enormous truck: 4
Hours spent loitering in Autogrills on said motorways, munching focaccia and knocking back espressos: 36
Joyful reunion with Tot F and Little J, involving copious amounts of gin and tonics: 1
Attempt to hold civilised dinner in the manner of 30-somethings on Tuscan holiday: 1 (failed)
Impromptu horseback riding sessions through brambles and thorns: 1
Accidental drinking of souvenir water from Lourdes after one too many proseccos: 1 (sorry Elena)
Trips to the ancestral tot home: 1
Games of Trivial Pursuit played at said home (and won by Lady V, natch): 1
Melanzane pillaged from mother’s vegetable patch: 24
Melanzane now rotting in fridge: 23
Aperitivi swigged and munched: innumerable
Language classes attended: none (v bad, must improve)
Early morning trips to gym to counterbalance abovementioned porking out on aperitivi: 2
Proofs of book cover received from grumpy doorman: 5
Hours spent on Joint Literary Project with Tot A: 12
Hours spent laughing at our own cleverness: 36
Tears spilled in overwhelmed pleasure at being back in Italy: many
I shall be updating you all with future adventures as they happen. In the meantime, unpacking my mackintosh square as we speak…
posted by Lady V at 6:57 pm
8 Comments:
I'm glad you've decided to render your life in these precise quantitative terms. Shall we analyse these data to see what startling truths lurk beneath? For example, ratio of time spent drinking to time spent writing: ~64:1. A bit lower than I would have expected!
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Ehm! the water from Lourdes??
Might do miracles...
This exceeds the Mon Cheri
Natch
I thought it was traditional to carry two mackintosh squares rather than just the one...?
oh of course, I dried out the lourdes water, INJECTED it into a cherry choc and snorted it u forthwith..
You sound so Milanese. Even your accent has changed
Accidental drinking of souvenir water from Lourdes
you knew you were doing it, didn't you?
you knew you wanted to, didn't you?
you loved it, didn't you?
I have nothing to do with said drinking of holy water. I was somewhere else, probably mourning the loss of a bed to myself, now that we have become a parody of Rock Hudson and Doris Day, sleeping side by side in holy matrimony...
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