Killing time

Hello friends, relatives and countrymen.

I'm currently killing time, hence the title of this post. My timetable suggested I was teaching in the exciting (I'm being sarcastic) locale of Cortemaggiore, which is near Piacenza. To get here, I had to get a train at 6.30 this morning. When I arrived, the receptionist looked surprised and said my class was at 2. Upon further checking; my timetable was wrong, I'm stuck in a town with nothing, and I have 3 hours to kill. Tmesis is when you split one word up and insert another word in the middle of it. Being stuck here is fan-bloody-tastic, I have to tell you. I'm going to read my book and practice Italian, so it's not all bad, however, like a red-necked McCain supporter or a pint of Guinness, I'm bitter. I could and should really, still be asleep.

Mmmmmmm.........Guinness.

What else can I tell you about my Italian adventures.....

Yesterday I was on a bus to my last lesson of the day. It was already running late as there were diversions-a-kimbo all over town, and then we went round a roundabout. I say "went round", which is strictly true, however, it took a while. It was a bendy bus, and the driver misjudged the angle he needed to take, so drove into a bollard. We then reversed a tiny bit, then advanced a tiny bit for a good (bad?) 20 minutes. If you've seen Austin Powers when he gets stuck in the corridor on his wee cart, you'll get the picture. Lots of passing motorists beeped their horns, then got out of their cars and positively thronged about the bus, each adding their thoughts, which I imagine went along the lines of: "Well, you've made an arse of that, haven't you? I suggest you get out of my way so I can go and do whatever vitally important task normally requires driving along pavements and my generally being reckless." Meanwhile my fellow passengers had developed a comraderie reminiscent of that seen during the blitz. I expected people to crack out flasks of tea and biscuits, accompanied by a stirring rendition of 'We Shall Not Be Moved'. Instead everyone just sweated. I phoned my school to let them know I'd be late, which was misinterpreted, and they thought I was hurt. I wasn't, you'll be indifferent to hear. It turns out my lesson was cancelled anyway, so the whole episode was an exercise in futility. But at least it gave me something to waffle about here. Everyone's a winner.

Tattoo news: Following a previous post regarding tattoo's (I said I wanted to get the lighthouse, which is a landmark in Genoa), my mum (Hello mum, I'm on t'internet) wrote to me to say that lighthouses are phallic symbols. I think people think I'm a phallus often enough as it is, so I've decided not to be branded with one. Instead I'm going to get the outline of Italy with the tricolore in the middle. It's hard to explain, but I seem to remember the Italia '90 logo was similar. I've drawn it, so will put a picture up. I'm not going to have Sicilly as the football though. Don't know when I'll get it, as I'm skint just now, but I really fancy getting it done soonish.

Last Sunday, while Hibs were being thwarted by Hearts, I went to see Genoa play. They're the people's club in Genoa, and everyone apart from Simone (he supports Sampdoria) had said I should go and see them. I went with one of my students, and we were in the lower section of the Gradinata Nord. This is where all the atmosphere is generated from. It was really excellent. They never stopped singing for the whole match, and there were more flags than you could shake a flag pole at. Through these, and the smoke, I caught glimpses of the match, which Genoa won 1-0. It were braw. I was slightly concerned when Andrea, my student, said that if Genoa scored, I should be ready to run to the front of the stand. As everyone, myself included, was standing on their seats, this seemed like an ideal way to, at best, break a leg. In the end, when Genoa did score, there was just a lot of jostling, and thankfully no injuries. It added an extra element of dangerous excitement to proceedings, which frankly, was quite a thrill. I bought my ticket for the side stand, known as the Gabbia, but in this section they just leave a door open through to the Gradinata. In a charming reflection of Italy and the Italian spirit as a whole, there is no crowd control, and so people just do what they want. I can't resist walking through open doorways, so I did. It was well worth the 25€ admission charge.

I tried to take apicture on my feeble Italian phone, but it wasn't great. I'll take a better camera next Wednesday for the game against Cagliari.

Untile next time party people, au revoir