Michaels Italian Job

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Location: Genova, Italy

Hello, and welcome to my blog. I'm 30, and as you may have guessed from my blog's title, I'm working in Italy. Genova to be precise. I've been here since June 2008 and don't know when I'm going back to Scotland, if ever. I went to America a couple of years ago and wrote a lot of waffle. If you're bored, why not look at www.michaels-american-adventure.blogspot.com

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

Games, gripes and gammon (well, Parma ham....it's close)

Hello there everybody

As is now the norm, I've been rather busy of late. But this is good, as just as E = MC squared and points = prizes, time = money. I think I'll be leaving my current flat for a new one when I come back here in January, so this is important. Also, I seem to squander a lot of money on trivial things, and often don't have enough at the end of the month for staples like beer. All of this extra work is gratefully received.

Last week myself and the burd went to Parma and Bologna. Flush with assurances from Her and the t'internet that our hotel was near the centre of Parma, I, like the hungover mug that I am, believed them. In actual fact, it transpired that we weren't actually anywhere near the centre of Parma. The city itself was very nice, when we eventually visited the sights. Still naive, I once again believed my previously erronious sources of information regarding our hotel in Bologna. This was, and I quote the website: "a short walk from the historical centre". If Bologna was inhabited by Lilliputians, then it would have been a short walk for Gulliver. As it was, it's not, and so took us about 30 minutes from the centre.

Due to a slight administrative error, neither of us had cameras that had any batteries. This was extremely frustrating, as I like a photo of a statue. Just accept that we were there and saw some of the most amazing things ever ever in the world. Ever.

The food was fantastic. We ate out three times, and each time the eating was good. I ate a lot of parma ham and tiramisu, which although may do nothing for my health, was extremely excellent for my tongue.

In Bologna She wanted to go to see the museum of anatomy. It had stuff about dissections, which didn't really appeal to me, as I'm a tad squeamish about that kind of jazz. However, like the good sport that I am, I agreed to go along. As we were walking to it; hark, we heard the voice of an angel! Unfortunately the angel sounded as if she had her hand trapped in a blender, which was silly, as angels can magic blended food without the unnecessary hazard of using kitchen utensils. Her singing was ok, but she had an accordion thingy which was tuned to 'galaxies out of tune'. It was really awful, so we hung around to hear her, in the same way that people rubberneck at traffic accidents. The anatomical museum turned put to be closed anyway, so rather than see mutilated bodies, we heard some mutilated music instead.

And now a small gripe: Italian's drive very quickly and dangerously, as if they have a bomb that needs defused, or the antidote, in their back seat. However, when they get out of their cars/scooters, they walk so slowly. It's like they want the season to change mid amble to the shops. This is extremely irritating for me, as my default walking speed is 'fast'.

Also, some of the rudeness I've witnessed is beguiling in its needlessness. On buses and trains, people will leave their coat or bag on the unnoccupied chair beside them, even when said bus or train is packed with people standing. This doesn't seem right to a mild mannered polite chap like myself. To add to this, if they sit in the seat on the aisle, they won't scooch over to the unnattended seat at the window, no matter how much you give them the evil eye. This means that you (and I mean I) have to maneouvre yourself (myself) around them. Swines.

Last weekend was a Perferct Weekend. Liverpool won. Hibs won (hello Artur Boruc, you're a legend). And the Grande Genoa beat the foolish Sampdoria in the derby. The game was really bad, but the result is what counted. When I said that it had been a Perfect Weekend to the burd she looked pleased, but then I realised why, (she has no allegiance to any of these teams) and explained that it was because of the football, but, you know, going away was ok too. I think I saved myself!

On Sunday just past, I went to my last match this year, Genoa v Atalanta. It was alot of fun, even if the first half wasn't particularly interesting. It was 1-1. The second half was cool; 3 sending's off, one goal for Genoa and 2 disallowed goals. By the end I was shouting at the evil Atalantan figli di puttane, just like the natives. Good times, although the pack mentality had taken over a bit. All very exciting!

Well, don't want to be late for my lesson, so have to go.

See y'all at the weekend!

Friday, 5 December 2008

A many of many scarves

Ciao tutti!

I have beef, I'm afraid. The focus of my ire this week is people, and to be more precise, people on buses. To be even more precise, old people on buses. I have nothing but respect for people who fought in the war (even if they switched sides half way through), etc etc ad nauseum, but here they seem to be particularly keen to provoke me into acts of physical violence. I'm not a violent manboy, but they really do take the Garibaldi (which coincidentally is not a type of biscuit here). When you get on a bus, any sane, normal and right person sits down, or where this isn't possible, stands but keeps the gangway clear. The very thought of standing in the doorway would turn a Scots blood cold with the sheer proposterousnessity of it. Here, not adhering to popular conventions of decency, they don't stand in a place that keeps the gangway clear, and actually want to stand at the exit. Now, if you're getting off at the next stop, fair play. But as Italians don't adhere to the principles of Fair Play (see Juventus, Calciopoli, Pasquale Bruno and Pippo Inzaghi), they think that standing in the exit, kilometres before their stop is ok. Ok it is not. But still they stand, blocking your path like a 300 pound American football player. This has led me to miss my stop a few times, while I try to maneouvre my way through their midst like the mild mannered, increasingly angry young chap that I am. Normally this is ok, but the other day I was taken way past my stop and had to walk along the motorway in Bolzaneto (pronounced, by Stevie and I at least, as Balls-anetto).

In other news, I may have been pre-emptive in saying Stevie was departing Italy. Instead it looks as if he's only departing Genova for Rome, but still, he'll not be around.

So, why am I a man with many scarves? Well....I bought myself one Genoa scarf. Nice. I bought myself one smarter, non-affiliated scarf for my smart business man like persona. Warm. Then, when I joined the supporters club at Fisia, one of the companies I teach at, they gave me another Genoa scarf. Toasty. Then, the receptionist/security guard at Fisia, who I've had many stuttering conversations with gave me another Genoa scarf. Really toasty. It was really nice of him, so I think I'll repay him with a Hibs scarf when I return in January. But yeah, 4 scarves is more than one person needs, unless they're a man-giraffe hybrid. Which I'm not. I'm still refusing to buy gloves, so my neck is warm, but my hands are cold.

I went to see the mighty GCFC on Sunday play Bologna. It was ok, 1-1, but not massively exciting. This weekend sees the Genoa derby, which due to a technical oversight of school boy error proportions, I'll have to watch on TV. I'm going to Parma and Bologna with the burd, and agreed without realising that I'd miss the footy. Curses!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Still, I'm sure it'll be nice,, and I've been told that Bologna has a tower called the Tower of the Donkey. I'm intrigued, as of all the noble creatures on God/Allah/Buddha's green earth, an ass does not spring to mind.

I'll keep you posted how it all goes.

Ciao

P.S. C'mon the Genoa!