Busted!

Hello fiends

I'm afraid for those of you hoping that today's blog is about the early naughties (a ridiculous time expression) boyband Busted, you will be sadly mistaken. However, it will hopefully be more entertaining.

I've actually called it this because I was apprehended by a bus inspector for not paying for a ticket. I tried to play the 'I'm a foreigner' card, but sadly said-inspector turned out to be the only one with an education, and he spoke pretty good English. I also tried to weedle out of it by telling a porky pie, but again, he didn't accept this and in fairness, his English was pretty good when he explained to me that the jig was up. He asked where I lived, and as I honestly didn't know what building number it was, I made one up. I was then racked with fear that I'd inadvertently guessed my actual number, and so would receive a fine in the post, but thankfully all my good karma-related work came back back to help me, and I guessed someone else's building.
Michael 1 the man 0. It's a 40 euro fine, which frankly I have no intention of paying, as they'll be unable to track me down. Stevie and I have joked that they'll deport me in a Steve-Buscemi-off-of-Con-Air way, but unless they show a decidedly un-Italian sense of beaurocratic efficiency, I shouldn't be getting led of my return flight in manacles and a jump suit.

I know it's not big or clever, and although I make allusions to both, I don't actually believe I'm the latter, so I don't really mind.

In other news, in a moment of Nostradamus-like clairvoyancy, I think I may meet my end trying to get out of the bath/shower/seat. I'm just too damned gangly, and for those who wonder what it's like to have a shower while sitting down, let me tell you, it's quite tricky, and doesn't work as well as I would like. Also, as it has a seat, it's pretty hard to stand up, which is why I think I might slip, fall, and die a thoroughly un-rock'n'roll death. Fingers crossed I don't though. If I do, you heard it hear first, in the futire I'd like some kooks to believe the following outlandish claims: Hibs will win the Scottish Cup within 5 years, George W Bush will be remembered as a modern day genius, and McDonald's sell high-quality food from sustainable, ethically sourced producers.

My neighbour directly below my room seems to enjoy the marijuana while listening to the worst dance music this side of Amsterdam. I don't really mind the former as it billows into my room, but as for the latter, it's terrible, and he plays it quite loudly at unsociable times. I would go and have a word in his ear (he's just a child so no fear of angry reprisals), but I don't think me swearing at him in English would change anything. At first I though he fancied himself as a budding Carl Cox or Paul van Dik (name deliberately misspelt) and was trying to mix, but I've decided that it's just really badly produced piddle (the beat doesn't seem to follow any pattern and is occassionally interspersed with funny synth noises. I'm not laughing though).
One night he was playing it quite late and I heard his dad come in his room and shout at him. The music stopped and then the child started to half-cry/half-reply like a 5 year old. I generally don't condone physical violence, however, I hope he gave him a good rap round the chops.

I went to see Sampdoria v Kaunas the other night, and was amazed at the Lithuanian's lack of general football skills. The stadium was only about half full, but the atmosphere was still pretty good. Samp won at a canter, 5-0, but it should have been a few more. I half expected to hear a chant of "You're shite and you know you are" (which I did learn earlier today but have now forgotten), but sadly, although the Italian's might be better at football than us, they don't have the same imagination when it comes to insulting songs. I will try to rectify this when I go to see Samp v Juventus next weekend.

I think that's all folks. Barring me being thrown in jail for refusal to pay my fine, I'll try to update this stream of consciousness in the not too distant future.

Until then, arrivederci.

It's like I'm still in Scotland

Hello everybody, and welcome to the rock'n'roll thrill-ride that is my blog.

Talking of rock'n'roll, I watched the 'vicious' assault on Noel Gallagher in Toronto the other day. It's well worth a look, and for those parties compelled to do so, here's a link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwKWgRHnyy8

Don't say I never give you anything! Now, I'm no great fan of What's the Story (Morning Glory), but the reaction seems a tad extreme. Liam's hard man dig at the drunkard is good though.

In Italy-news, there's not a huge amount to report. Since Saturday lunchtime I've basked in the glory of Liverpool defeating the evil and hated ManU, which really started the weekend well. It's typical though - they beat them for the first time in years, and I can't watch the highlights. Rubbish!

Saturday was 'Notte Bianca' (White Night). The bars open all night, as do the shops, and MTV came to sate the masses with Duffy, Estelle, One Republic and Caparezza. Obviously the first three are shoe-in's for my ideal-concert-in-the-world-ever, but I really wanted to see Caparezza. In a twist of Scottish irony, it started raining as soon as everyone was there, and the storm was Hurricane Ike-like in scale (I imagine) when Caparezza was due on, so he stayed on a yacht and was interviewed. It's the wettest I've been in a long time, so this was a bit of a damp squib (pun intended, as always). All things in perspective, it wasn't a bad night though.

If you've always wanted to see a photo of Duffy and another of how wet it was, gaze below and your ambitions will be met. Now go and get better ambitions. She's a lot smaller than I thought she'd be.
















I think that's all for now folks, but no doubt as I go home I'll remember the earth shatteringly witty remark I'd planned to end this on. It would have been good, believe me, but in it's place........

cheerio

Guess who's back

For those who guessed me, well done, your prize is in the post. Unfortunately the post here is as efficient as Gordon Brown's PR, so don't be holding your breath.

Happily we don't seem to have been sucked into a vortex underneath the French/Swiss border after they started the Hadron experiment, which is nice. I've been in limbo for donkeys now, but it's nice not to know it's for infinity and universal.

I'm afraid that this time round I probably won't 'blog on' as often as I did last time. I think most of my breath-taking insights into Italy have already been exhausted previously, so these posts will probably be short and sweet.

So, I'm back in Italy. I arrived in Genoa last night and had a few Guinness' (is the plural Guinni?) with Stevie. La Lepre is too far away, so we went to the Tartan Bar, who for newcomers to my blog is a Scottish pub, run exclusively by Italians, who think that anything British is ok to put in a Scottish pub. So, there's the obligatory tacky tartan, but also pictures of Beefeaters and other such English stuff.

Last night as I lay in my comfortable bed (a far cry from my previous flat), I had the funny feeling of: "My God, what am I doing here again?" It's really strange to think that I'll not be back in the comforting cold, dark and misery of Scotland until Christmas time. I'm sure I'll struggle on bravely, but it is quite strange to know I'll not see your smiling faces for a while.

That said, it is quite nice to be back. Within about an hour I'd seen as many pretty ladies as I saw in the whole of August in Edinburgh. That's not meant to be a slight on Scottish girls, but to use a football analogy, it's like Elgin City versus Inter Milan.

I'd forgotten how hellishly hot it is though. I'm sitting in a cafe writing this, and thankfully I've stopped sweating because I'm sitting on a leather seat, and that's not a good combination. I was lulled into a general chill while in Edinburgh, but that's now been blasted away in a blaze of humidity and sunshine. It was 26 degrees at 10pm yesterday, I imagine about 20 degrees warmer than Edinburgh.

I also knew I was out of Scotland at Milan airport yesterday, when I started to queue for the bus. Suddenly a swarm of Italians clustered round the door (queueing just isn't for them). I took this as my cue to push a couple of old ladies and then scowl at them for the temerity of blocking my path. Oh, how I've missed this place!!

I think that's about me, as I've milked my cappuccino for about an hour now, and either the barman 'likes' me, or it's my cue to pay or order more. It's like San Francisco all over again! Ahhh!

Untill next time, so long, farewell, auf weidersehn and goodbye.