A triumph of our times
Some of you may remember stories from about a year and a half ago, when I dutifully accompanied Tot A to his posting on The Continent to set up something that none of us really understood very well - Ze Hub.
Imagine my pride, therefore, when I nipped over to Milan this weekend (successfully evading BA strike action - I am a travel scab) for the opening of said venture.
We arrived to a throng of Milanese notables, nibbling on light snacks and quaffing prosecco. Pleased at our decision to dress only in black, we joined right in, quaffing with the best of them and making like models.
Sort of. Inner poise at all times, that's us.
Leaving our hero surrounded by an adoring throng, we nipped out for sustenance at a nearby pizzeria, marvelling as we left at the queue that snaked around the corner. Desperate social entrepreneurs begged for entry, dropping Tot A's name like tabs of acid at an illegal rave.
We missed the swing band but made our way back in time for a bit of jigging about to the DJ. By this time most of the Milanese were outside smoking furiously. We left at 2am, the party was still rocking, and a certain third sector networker from Bologna was licking his lips at the sight of a buff young Swiss man dipping a cucumber into a tub of cream cheese.
Next morning we left A to his hangover and tidying, and trotted up to the top of the cathedral in the sunshine.
The rest of the weekend was spent eating raw fish with Sicilians (am still not convinced it's right for a pregnant woman to eat raw prawns), a day trip to Genoa and its splendid aquarium and even more splendid pesto, more munching in a restaurant that delighted me by playing Edith Piaf, and moving A's sofa bed up from the vaults to the much brighter glass mezzanine level so he can imagine himself as living in a New York style loft apartment rather than as Quasimodo.
Terribly proud of my tot. I think the post-it says it all.
Imagine my pride, therefore, when I nipped over to Milan this weekend (successfully evading BA strike action - I am a travel scab) for the opening of said venture.
We arrived to a throng of Milanese notables, nibbling on light snacks and quaffing prosecco. Pleased at our decision to dress only in black, we joined right in, quaffing with the best of them and making like models.
Sort of. Inner poise at all times, that's us.
Leaving our hero surrounded by an adoring throng, we nipped out for sustenance at a nearby pizzeria, marvelling as we left at the queue that snaked around the corner. Desperate social entrepreneurs begged for entry, dropping Tot A's name like tabs of acid at an illegal rave.
We missed the swing band but made our way back in time for a bit of jigging about to the DJ. By this time most of the Milanese were outside smoking furiously. We left at 2am, the party was still rocking, and a certain third sector networker from Bologna was licking his lips at the sight of a buff young Swiss man dipping a cucumber into a tub of cream cheese.
Next morning we left A to his hangover and tidying, and trotted up to the top of the cathedral in the sunshine.
The rest of the weekend was spent eating raw fish with Sicilians (am still not convinced it's right for a pregnant woman to eat raw prawns), a day trip to Genoa and its splendid aquarium and even more splendid pesto, more munching in a restaurant that delighted me by playing Edith Piaf, and moving A's sofa bed up from the vaults to the much brighter glass mezzanine level so he can imagine himself as living in a New York style loft apartment rather than as Quasimodo.
Terribly proud of my tot. I think the post-it says it all.
posted by Lady V at 8:47 pm
2 Comments:
oh it was epic indeed. still have not recovered... but so nice to have you ladies over!! and hopefully this will also signal the end of the line for me, and the beginning of a noble retreat to the island...!!!
Yes, Yes, Yes!
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