Good Moaning from Italia

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Where this then? Well keep reading and you’ll find out, lazy bum.

Oh the irony. I used to think one of the great benefits of moving to the UK was its close proximity to Italy, a place I’m going to be spending a lot of time soon (the reason for which you can read about here). How bloody ironic it is then that today it’s taking me thriteen hours to get from Edinburgh to Bari? Far out, if I was leaving Melbourne (on a plane), in thirteen hours I could be in Singapore, or Hawaii or… deep in the Antarctic. Well, not in the Antarctic, that’d be difficult (unless I had a submarine), not to mention a tad cold and wet.

Four of the thirteen hours has me stuck in Stansted Airport. Ugghh. To kill time I’m currently (that was a pun, but you’ll have to wait a few sentences before you can groan at it) getting my jollies rebelling against decent, law-abiding society. And when I say ‘decent’ and ‘law abiding’, I mean English.

Somehow I broke through one of the airport’s mysterious 700 million rules, and not only am I at my gate three hours early – at Stansted they expect you to wait in a not so huge ‘holding pen’ with all the other 6 million travellers, until they tell you half an hour before your flight which gate to run to, and I do mean run – but I’m also plugged into a random socket (aaaaaand groan) I found behind some chairs. Being London, I expect to be told off at some point because geez, there must surely be some kind of Health and Safety rule I’m breaking. Plus, being Ryanair, I also expect to be charged for the unauthorised use of airport electricity.

When I’m bored of typing, I’ll switch to being bored by people watching. I’m always fascinated by the the ‘fashionista’s’ at airports, the ones who seem to think they’ll be stalked by paparazzi at some stage so they better make a huge effort (if that’s the right word) in the wardrobe department. Apart from mismatching, faux-designer crap, they’ve always got some stupid hat on, a real ‘look at me’ monstrosity that nobody would ever actually wear on the street. Or anywhere. Well, maybe Ibiza.  Continue reading

Out of Office Notice

It seems kind of presumptuous of me to assume I have an audience, one who’s too lazy, too cool or too technically challenged to ‘follow’ me, but checks back regularly to see if I’ve written anything. But I’m gonna assume there’s at least one of you from the three daily views this blog gets (I’m kidding. It’s nowhere near as low as that. It’s at least five). And I’m gonna assume you didn’t just land here by Googling ‘Chupa Chups’ or ‘Cooking with Semen’ (my blog’s top keyword search terms – seriously) and may have noticed the lack of posts lately.

So to you, my sole dedicated, lazy, cool or technically challenged reader – yes, thanks for noticing, I have indeed been away. To Italia I went, but you would know that since you’re a dedicated reader and I mentioned it a few posts ago. Alas I was gone for a paltry seven days, but as some famous person no doubt once said, seven days in Italy is better than seven days in reality. Or something like that.

But that’s only half of my excuse. I’ve also started a new blog, and this one will give you a clue as to why I went to Italia, and why I’ll be going back quite a few times in the next 12 months.

So if you check back here again, and there’s still nothing new to help you procrastinate at work during that interminably long fifteen minutes after can’t-be-arsed-anymore o’clock and thank-fark-it’s-home-time o’clock, why don’t you click over here to my De Winter Retreat blog?

There’s not much now, but give me a couple of weeks and there’ll be Italian stories from my past, Italian stories from my present and I’m sure lots of long winded stuff about food. There’ll also be pictures, like this:

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And this…

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And if you’re super diligent and observant, you might even see an extremely rare picture of me – in all my daggy tourist glory – like this…

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If none of that appeals, then just hold your bloody horses. I’ll get back here eventually.