Do you know what really grinds my gears?

Train drivers, that's what.

Hello friends, family and countrymen. As always, I hope you're well.

Today I'm mostly going to rant, and also tell you about the mundanities of life that I would normally regale you with if I was in Edinburgh. As I'm not, you'll not be able to drift off and think about something else when I'm talking. For this, I apologise. Don't worry though, I'll end it with a tale of genuine (almost-)danger and (almost-)criminality. Please don't skip to the end straight away.

But first, that rant......

Going to Cortemaggiore means I have to commute two and a half hours each way. As you can imagine, this is about as funny as jamming glass into your eye. So on Monday, after waking up at 5.30 am I had to get my train. The day was fine, and I'd given myself loads of time to catch the return; a whole hour in fact. So, I pottered about the train station with the rest of the misfits and then went to have a look at the Departures board. To my surprise and constipation I couldn't see my train. I then saw a sign that said that in Italian something along the lines of "your train has been cancelled, you sucker. Piacenza is a hole, but you'll only be able to escape when we send a bus to replace the train and that'll take you to your destination in less comfort but with an assortment of stenches, none pleasant". Naturally, I was a little surprised by its tone, but accepted this. So, I stood like a lemon outside waiting for my bus. 6.30pm, the specified time came and went. "That's ok," I thought, "nothing in this country runs on time." By the time that 7.15pm had come and gone like the wind, I was sweating alot and starting to think that maybe the bus wasn't coming. After sweating a bit more, I spoke to the information/ticket goon, who told me that it was a shame my bus didn't show, but don't fret, there's a train at 8.37pm. I resisted the urge to punch him through the glass, and instead bought my ticket. By the time the train came (late, of course) I was in a bad mood and had cursed the air blue in three languages (mum, dad, you'd be so proud that I can speak three languages). I eventually got back to my flat at about 11. I'm not sure exactly when, as my brain had misted over in a haze of rage. I almost went David Banner on their asses; it wouldn't have been pretty.

I feel angry just writing that. I'll calm myself with a picture.

Here:

This is the fountain in Piazza De Ferrari. It's one of the main squares in town, and looks quite nice. It's strange though. See that building in the background? It looks quite nice from a distance, but get close to it and you'll see that all the impressive columns and statues aren't real, they've actually been painted on. It's like that on a lot of buildings here. All quite odd.

Here's a video of my flat. Apologies for my sweaty demeanour, but it's (quite literally) part of the fabric of life here:

Although Cortemaggiore is quite tiring, they do redeem themselves by giving you a free 3-course lunch. The food's good, without being spectacular, but the fact that it's free makes up for this. Yesterday I had pigs shins, which although doesn't sound good was a taste revelation.

I'm still mostly communicating by pointing at things and shouting "very slowly in English". However, I did manage to get my hair cut a couple of weeks ago, and he didn't maul my hair. Quite pleasing!

In other good news, my flatnemesis, Roberto, has left the building. However, in a final act of defiant irritation he left his keys in the flat on Saturday night so rang the buzzer at 5.30 in the morning. Lucky for him this was one of the few Saturday's I'd returned sober, so I woke up and let him in. Figlio di puttana!

Which brings me neatly to my tale of almost-crime and almost-robbery. You may be surprised to hear that these 'almosts-' happened when alcohol had been involved.

Stevie and I went out to La Lepre on Friday night for a couple of drinks. Needless to say we stayed until the wee hours, by which time he'd fallen asleep in a drunken haze. I was a bit drunk myself, but was relatively lucid. I went into the bar to get a glass of water for Stevie, and the bar manager told me that a barmaid had over heard people saying that they were going to rob us. We both agreed that this would be a Bad Thing, so we got a taxi and fled. That's it I'm afraid, but at the time this seemed like a relatively exciting story, and one I'll relish recanting to grandchildren. Sorry of you expected a bank heist or a car chase in Mini Coopers though. Not all Italian stereotypes actually happen, you know. Although when I was watching the football last week the commentator did exclaim "Mama mia". Brilliant.

Ciao