All I Want for Christmas is You

I went down to the GPO on O'Connell Street today to post off Christmas presents to some very special and wonderful people who, due to the current state of affairs in Ireland, now live in far flung places across the globe. I thought of the hundreds and thousands of other people up and down the country who will be making similar trips to their local post offices; mammies and daddies and brothers and sisters and girlfriends and boyfriends and best friends and old friends sending cards and pressies off to sons and daughters and siblings and friends here, there and everywhere. 

There will be plenty of empty chairs at dinner tables all over Ireland this Christmas day,  but I'll tell you one thing lads - Grandad's chair at our Christmas dinner table will be the emptiest chair in Ireland.

Dial 'H' for Heartbreak

Right. Deep breaths. This post is going to be a bastard to write. Tissues at the ready - here goes!

Something that I have been dreading happening since I was old enough to dread something happening has finally come to pass. Grandad finally found out what really happened to Glen Miller. How? - you may ask. Well, because he's gone to Heaven, that's how.

Here we go now, snot flying everywhere already.

For those of you who don't know how I felt about my Grandad, you can read about it at the end of this post.  He, like Nanny Alice, was an exemplary human being. Meseff and himseff had a special bond, because we were both as odd as each other. When I was growing up, every single Sunday all the uncles and aunts and cousins would do to Grandad's house for tea. First the adults would eat and when they were finished the kids would take over their places at the table while the adults went into the sitting room. Then we would all go into the sitting room to have the banter and Grandad would sit in the dark in the kitchen and listen to Glenn Miller records. At some point in the evening (after several rigorous rounds of blind man's buff out in the hall)  I would sneak in there too and sit on his lap and we used to sit in silence, looking into the darkness and listening to the music. I'd love to know what he used to think about.

We were bestest buds. He used to knock on my window every Saturday morning at stupid o' clock to take me grocery shopping with him. Unfortunately, there was also a third party involved in these Saturday morning  activities. This was Jazz, Grandad's dog. What can I say about Jazz? The dog was just an anomaly. To me, thinking back now, his personality was indecipherable. I could never tell whether he was good or evil. One thing, however, was very clear. The dog fucking stank. To high Heaven. I mean, he had some serious issues. No living thing should emit such a foul stench. Getting into the car with that thing took superhuman strength. I'd be like "Oh my GOD! The smell in this car is unreal!" And Grandad would give the quintessential Grandad quote "I'll put a bit of scent on the dog" and reach over me into the glove box and take out a bottle of Brut and sprinkle it on the dog. As you can imagine, this only exacerbated the situation. So I used to stick my head out the window the whole way to the shop.

When we got to the shop, I could either have 40p or a Yop. Or on a really good day, I could have an Onken spaceship yoghurt. Jesus they were lovely. As I got a bit older then, bordering on teenage territory, I had a little crush on this fella that worked in the supermarket. Ronan, his name was. Grandad used to elbow me in the ribs whenever he was in view and I used to get all up in a heap. Then one day we were going through the checkout and who was packing the bags only Casanova himself. Grandad turned around to me and said in a really loud voice "Look, isn't that the fella that you like?" I nearly died. "Oh my GOD, shut UP Grandad!" "Ronan, isn't it?" He said this for the benefit of Ronan, who went beetroot red. I. Was. Mortified. I said nothing until we got out the door and then I ate the face off him all the way back to his house in the car. He took it all on the chin, chuckling away to himself and then he made it all up to me by making me my favourite thing ever in the world: Grandad pancakes.

Now these pancakes were the shiznits. No other pancakes on Earth can stand up next to Grandad pancakes. Probably because he cooked them in lard. And of course, the secret ingredient: custard powder. My sister would go crazy if she saw him putting the custard powder into the batter "That's disgusting! You're not to put that in mine!" and he would say "no, no, I won't" and the minute her back was turned he'd signal to me to watch him while he put a heaping spoonful of custard powder into the batter and the two of us would be trying not to look at each other when she tucked into her pancakes.

Then when I was 16 I got my very first job, in Besco's supermarket, so Grandad used to call into me in work and I could still do the shopping with him. But then I moved onto the greener pastures of Pound City and my cousin Anna took over shopping duty. When I was a teenager sometimes when I heard the knock on the window I would do a big groan because I wanted to stay in bed. I want to go back to that time and smack myself in the fucking face. I would do anything for one more scoot around Crazy Prices, me eating the head off him for hiding behind the toilet rolls on me and him just laughing his head off.

Sure that's only the start of it. He was just a legend on all counts. He was always laughing and always smiling and he was just the best, most honorable man. I could tell a bajillion stories, I could go on and on. When I think of my childhood, Grandad had the starring role, not my friends, not school, not anything else, but Grandad. Then when I got older, whenever I had a big fight with Mam I used to ring him in secret and he used to give me the pep talk. He always had my back and I always felt like he understood me, and if there's one thing I have always wanted it's just to be understood.

Then in May, he suddenly remembered that Nanny had died twelve years before, and his heart broke all over again, and so did all of ours. Then he needed full time care and eventually had to be put in a nursing home, where we had our last ever proper conversation. The last thing I ever said to him was "I love you" and the last thing he ever said to me was "I wish I had ten more of you".

Then he passed away at the end of September and we buried him next to Nanny Alice. I'm not taking it very well. I honestly thought he was going to live forever. Most of the time it doesn't feel real and I just walk around with a cloud over my head, forgetting things I have to do and losing things. But then sometimes I get an overwhelming wave of grief and I don't know how to deal with this. I can't believe it's over.

I really do wish I had ten more of him. But like all the greats, there can only be one.

End of an Era

I rang BBB twice this week on our landline number and there was no answer. Highly unusual. So I rang him on his mobile. He said he was after moving out of our house.

The minute he said it, my heart got all cloudy and sad. I was imagining our little red phone ringing in our deserted room, with noone to answer it but the ghosts of two years of my life. I had a Ghost of Pavia Past moment where I imagined myself standing to the side, watching some happy scenes of the time I spent there, doing midnight ninja stealth farts on BBB's leg, introducing pancakes into his life, laughing at my own blog, and so on.

Why am I so affected by it, like? I suppose now it's official that my second life is no more. You see, before, I had two lives; my life in Ireland and then my life in Pavia. The thing about moving to a different country where noone knows you or even speaks your language is that you can be who you truly are, unrestrained by the more often than not cringeworthy dirt that your friends and family have on you. The time you told your friend that she was a baby at her birthday party when you were 7, the time you went down the bogs on rollerskates with your best friend and laughed so much you pissed yourself when you were 10, that unfortunate grunge phase you went through as a teenager, and all the subsequent hearts you (accidentally) broke when you finally came into your own - all these things just melt away and it's who you are now that matters. Anyway, that's fucked out the window now. I don't have my little safe place to go and run away to any more. Well I mean I can always go to BBB's new house but shur that's not the same - the shower head doesn't even spray directly into the toilet! What kind of an establishment is that?! I don't mean that I want to back down that road, it's just nice to know that it's there, this parallel universe that I can escape to if ever everything goes tits up.

I'm really happy now in Dublin and I have that good feeling you get when you know you're in a good place. But, goddammit - I miss that bidet!

Bidet to you all.

Eddie, Eddie, Wherefore Art Thou, Eddie?

Well, well, well. If it isn't Jenniky skulking around her long-neglected blog. 

The cheek of it. 

The utter GOWL of it.

Whatever, take your judgement elsewhere. This is a place of merriment, I tell you! Also a place of whining, though. And bitching. Also occasionally moaning. 

So my last post was over a year ago. A lot can change in a year. Par example, BBB and myself are no more. We broke up in November, but my first clue of our imminent doom came months before that, when he went to Switzerland for the day. 

He drove up to Geneva to see the car show, and as I would rather stick a needle in my eye than go through that torturous hell, I stayed at home to "work on my thesis". He said he would bring me back a present, so immediately I was buzzin off my head as I thought that my lifelong dream of owning a little cuckoo clock (a real one, now) was about to come true. He's hardly going to get me anything else - my utter abhorrence of teddies is well known by anyone who knows me, and I'm not a big chocolate person either. That narrows it down to a cuckoo clock or a fine lump of cheese, both of which I would welcome. Buzz buzz buzz all down the day thinking about me little cuckoo clock-to-be. 

Cut to the evening when he comes in the door home. "I got you a present!" he says. Be still, my beating heart. "I went into a shop and all they had was either teddies or cuckoo clocks", he says, with a cheeky twinkle in his eye, implying that the choice was obvious. He puts his hand into his bag, my pulse quickens. He rummages around and finally pulls out...a little teddy. There are no words to adequately describe the feeling I had just then. Not childish disappointment because he didn't choose the cuckoo clock; something deeper, something dark, with distinct tones of dread: 

It's not going to be him.

Oh no. Noooooooooo. Stomach pains. World-crumbling feelings of wretched despair.

The adorable puppy face he is making and the fact that he was thoughtful enough to pick out a teddy for me is only making the pain worse. 

He's not going to be The Fella. Oh no. It's not him. Oh bollixy bullshit crapbags. 

Shur it's only a matter of time now. Now that I know he doesn't understand me and never will, it's only a matter of time before the crippling loneliness of being with someone who doesn't understand you gets the better of me and I do my signature runner. AGAIN. Fuck sake, like. What the fuck?! Can't wait to die alone. I'd say it's going to be some laugh.

As predicted, several months down the road I cut him loose. I had moved back to Dublin by then and I loved doing my own thing and to be honest the whole long-distance relationship thing would have been fine for me were it not for the whole have-to-ring-the-other-person-every-day-or-else-they-will-bombard-me-with-missed-calls-and-messages-telling-me-I-am-neglecting-them thing. I just couldn't deal with it. Plus when he came to visit he basically wrecked my head. He just didn't fit into my life here. I should have listened to my friend Kazza's advice when she said "never take a foreigner out of context". Wise words.

Anyway I'm much happier now that the pressure is off. Although he's still on my Top Ten Rides of the Universe list. Right up there with Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves. Oh early 90's Kevin, it would be an honour and a privilege to cause you a sex-related personal injury. 

In other news, I'm back in Dublin. Think I might lurk here for a few months more and then who knows? How are the rest of ye doing anyway? 

Are ye well? 

Cos ye're lookin well.

Day 2. I'm always so - fashion!

Got up and went to work at 9 and finished class at 11. Came home and let Gillian make me her bitch. Had a lovely shower and put on a lovely frock. Went to work where one of the other teacher's students said to me:

"You are always so - fashion!"

Success.

Day 1. Again.

Lads I'm not sure I can say I fell off the wagon when I was only halfway up on it to begin with. For my last post I did the workout, but I did it like a little whiney dickhead. Then the second day I was literally too crippled (and fat and lazy) to do it. Then the third day I did nine minutes of it and then I said to myself "Fuck this", and I had a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Times seven.

Then I had a little think.

What the fuck like? What the hell is the problem here? I only want to get fit like, it's hardly rocket science. It's as simple as doing the workout every day and not letting my fat sausage fingers lift kebabs to my little piggy mouth.

It's not that simple though, is it? Oh no. It's a complex web of emotions and self-sabotage. And Bounty bars.

I took a step back. I took a good hard look at myself. And then I sprung into action.

I'd been working so hard and worrying so much about this that and the other thing that I'd completely forgotten about myself, so that when I finally remembered to have a look at myself I was like "Jaysus boy, some staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate". Luckily BBB was away for the weekend so I had that time to myself.

First things first, I went through the underwear drawer and threw out anything that I don't absolutely love. Then I moved onto the wardrobe and did the cull of a LIFETIME. Like I literally have barely anything left! I may actually have to go to work in my knickers like. But I'm telling you lads, my soul feels cleansed. Then I did a major facelift of the house. Which only took me a few hours, considering that we live in one room.

Then I did a manicure, pedicure, full body de-fuzz and a facial. The old Jennie was starting to come back. Then I put on me little frock and do you know what I did? Do you know what I actually did like? You won't believe it like, cos I still don't.

I went out and enjoyed myself.

Meseff and Laura went out and lay out under a tree next to the river all day. All day like. Me, relaxing like. Usually on Sundays, it's my only day off so I spend it organizing myself for the week ahead and being knackered and stressed. Not this Sunday though, cos there I was lurking under a tree reading my little book as happy as Larry.

I wasn't quite as happy when I woke up on Monday morning with the back of me legs burnt off me but shur what can you do?

Despite my red raw legs, I got up and weighed myself on my weighing scales, which I bought especially, and wrote it down on a chart I made, along with my measurements. Then I did the first day of the Shred. I think Jillian was happy with me, because she told me I was well on my way to being "Shredded". Although it's not quite clear if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Then I put on the most adorable ensemble ever in the world that I would never have put together had it not been for my wardrobe cull and skipped out the door, all pumped up and ready to teach the SHIT outta some English.

Compare that now to the last Day 1.

Bitches, I be reborn.

30 Day Shred - Day 1 - Jesus Wept.

Good Jesus. That Jillian Michaels wan ain't foolin! I got up at 7 o' clock this morning to do The Shred with BBB. Lads no joke now, it was nearly the end of me. Talk about a near death experience! I was so traumatised that later in the day I had to eat a Bounty and a Reese's Easter Egg.

I hate myself.

Mmmm Fatty Boom Boom

The last few months I have just been pissing along, working insane hours, complaining about working insane hours and just generally being a sad, sad, little lady. In fact, I was so busy being a sad loser that I didn't realise that I was going down a daaaaaaaaaaangerous road.

The road...

(Dramatic pause)

...of the fatty.

Yes it's true.

Don't look so shocked.

I was waiting in the lobby of an institute I teach at and I caught a glimpse of a thundering fatty in the reflection of the door.

"State of yer wan" I thought to myself.

But then this sinking feeling crept over me.

I had another look out of me side eye.

Music from the psycho shower scene.

"Holy fuck, that's me!"

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Good Lord. Holy Mother of the divine Lord Jesus Christ. How did this happen? How could this be? Because it obviously had nothing to do with the months and months of comfort eating to block out the supreme torture of endless teaching hours. Oh no, not a thing to do with that. Not a sausage.

Because I probably would have "et" that as well.

Now I love teaching and most of my students are delightful and I love the little bones of them, but some of them make me want to hurt myself and others.

The only blessed distraction I have comes in the form of a bebellied and boobalicious fat naked guy who enjoys an hourly cigarette hanging out of his window. Which, incidentally, is directly opposite the window of my classroom. May the Gods be praised. When I go to work tonight I'm going to try and get a high quality grainy and pixellated photo on my state of the art mobile phone from 1972.

Some thing boy.

But I digress. Back to the issue at hand. Drastic measures are called for. In a panicked frenzy, I directed my terror towards the interweb. I had heard whisperings that yer wan Gillian Michaels (who's she when she's at home?) has a DVD out that would make you rue the day you were born. 30 Day Shred. Especially for fatties like me. Sold!

I now wait impatiently by the postbox. It should be here by Monday. Hopefully I won't have died from a heart attack or diabetes by then. I think I might spend this time wisely, making a countdown calendar. Everyone knows that countdown calendars are the best things ever. Especially if they have glitter on them.

Note to self: buy glitter.

30 days. Let's see how that goes. I'll have to keep myself busy, because everyone knows that idle hands lift kebabs to fatty's mouths.

What else could I achieve in thirty days I wonder?

5,000 words of my thesis?

Why not shur.

I'll be keeping ye updated on this most recent undertaking.

In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for dodgy photos of a naked fat man taken from behind a plant.

I know, I'm so good to you.

Don't look at me like that...

I did it again. I'm officially the boldest girl in Ireland. When I don't write my blog I feel like I went out drinkin and left a child at home unsupervised! Me nerves do be at me! So to catch you up on recent (and not-so recent) events, here is a handy list of bullet points:

• I got the bursary again so I have moved back to the hovel.
• I am actually delighted about it because it means meseff and himseff are living together again. Love bubble!
• I am, however, slightly disappointed that I won't have any more Skid Mark Sue stories to tell ye.
• I love BBB so much that I can't think about it for more than a nanosecond because I gets a pain.
• I'm always working and always knackered and as a result have turned into a LOSER.

I think that clears up just about everything. Now, onto our main feature. It's a new year. It's resolution time. Last year I resolved to ride a unicycle across a rope over Niagara Falls. I'm pleased to say this went off without a hitch. I took loads of photos, but sadly my camera was stolen. What were the chances of that?

I've decided to share my real resolutions here this year, so that we may all wallow in my failure together in a few month's time. Or bask in the warm glow of my awesomeness, depending on how it goes.

SO here they are:

1. Enjoy myself more. Lately I've just been working like crazy and going home after work to collapse on the chair like a zombie and I have a terrible feeling that I may have forgotten how to enjoy myself, or worse, the general concept of fun. No more! I'm going to make an effort, no matter how wrecked I am, to go out and enjoy myself at least once a week. To start. Then I'm gonna eventually spiral out of control and show up at work in various night-before ensembles until I get fired and end up working at the petrol station where that weird woman works that puts the petrol in your car with one hand and holds a lit fag in the other.
2. Save. Gonna scrimp and save even more this year so I can make my triumphant return to Trinity before the age of 47(ish).
3. Number three - and this is the big one - I'm going to get my Italian driving license. I am TERRIFIED. Just the thought of it gives me Sweaty Arse Syndrome. I have been putting off driving for so long now I mean it's just not acceptable. Time to bite the bullet. Plus if I learn to drive in Italy it basically means I will have driving super powers. I hope.

I think three will do for now. I'll chip away at those bad boys and tackle any new general life resolutions as they arise. 2010 was kind of a tough one for a lot of people, me included, but all of the shite the year has brought just pales into insignificance when I'm curled up against BBB's chest in our little bed, or when my parents call me to say hello, or when my sister emails me, or when I get a letter from one of my chums, or when I see a new picture of my little nephew Jack. I can brush off even the biggest disaster, because I know these simple things are what really matter in life. Sniff.

So a happy and healthy 2011 to all of ye lads, I hope it's a good one, full of family, friends... and really satisfying farts.

You know the ones.

Week Two - D'Job

Right lads, now it’s time to tackle the subject of d’job. After several months of working - oh sorry, did I say working? I meant slaving for Lush I decided I had improved my Italian enough and that the moment had arrived to get a proper job.

So I did.

I won’t say where I work, but I will say this – it rhymes with Shmitish Shminstitute. I don’t think that’s giving too much away.

So now I am a teacher and I have to say lads, when I am standing at that board, blackboard rubber-outer thing in hand, I truly feel at one with the universe.

I teach mostly adults, in groups and individually, then I also teach at a secondary school near my house. Lads it’s like a dream come true! I had been thinking for a while that I’d like to be a secondary school teacher over here but I also thought it might be one of those jobs where you think you might like it but then when you actually try it, it makes you want to launch yourself off the nearest tall building.

On my first day there I was shittin it. The night before I had one of my Oakwood sleeps. Me nerves were at me big time like. As I was walking down the corridor me heart was thumping in me ears – oh jaysus! The classroom was getting closer and closer…and me arse cheeks were getting clammier and clammier…

But then a magical thing happened. I walked in the door and a...a transformation came over me. I went into Teacher Mode. It was like an out of body experience. No joke now lads, I was actually in awe of my own sheer excellence.

I was in the lift then with their normal English teacher who is a lovely Italian lady and she said to me “You are brilliant! You have a gift.” My heart did a little dance. Hee hee!

The best thing about teaching though is having the privilege of hearing first hand the hilarious fuck-ups some of them do be making!

Now I of all people know that it in order to really speak another language it is necessary to make an arse of yourself regularly. Well I can see that I have passed this belief onto my students, who come out with the most fucking hilarious things I have ever heard in my life.

Idioms always provide the best laughs; this morning I was doing a conversation class with a fella and he was chatting away and then he said

“…and I mean I didn’t want him putting his leg in my mouth”,

and as usual my brain went through all the files of things he could possibly mean.

“You didn’t want him to kick you in the face you mean?”

“No, no! I meant I didn’t want him pushing my foot!”

“Wh…?”

“No, wait! I didn’t want him putting his finger in my…”

“Ok I’m going to stop you there, just open the book and find the idiom you want to say.”

Pulling my leg was the one he was after.

Then there’s the joy of correcting tests. The tests are the ones where you have a sentence and there’s a space in the sentence and you have to choose a, b or c to go into the space. This has had some hilarious results:

“I had to go to hospital when I sneezed my ankle”

“My back vomits when I spend too long sitting at the computer”

“I had a blister and then I fainted”

“At the end of the concert, everyone clapped their nose”

And then, my personal favourite: I was doing some weather vocabulary with a lovely lady and I told her what thunder was.

"Oh yeah, like the Elvis song!”

“Which one is that?”

“Love me Thunder!”

I love my job.

Week One - featuring Skid Mark Sue

Jaysus lads I have so much to tell ye I don't know where to start, so I thought I would start from the very beginning as I have heard from more than one source that it is a very good place to start.

Well, another year is unfolding in Pavia; the fog has already rolled in for the winter, the birdies have flown south to warmer climes, oul wans are getting out their fur coats again. After work the icy wind reddens my cheeks and the dense fog envelops me as I trudge home, but I don't mind, because I know that after I turn my key in that familiar lock, I will be warmly welcomed by my flatmate's skid marks smiling up at me from the toilet bowl.

Ah yes, Skid Mark Sue. The messiest shitter in the west.

When I moved into this apartment it was just myself and The Flatmate and The Dog, who are both scrumptious. Just to be clear, The Dog is actually a dog. Here she is:

We were getting along swimmingly in our lovely little house, just as happy as can be, until Skid Mark Sue came along and shat all over everything. In a manner of speaking.

I just don't know where to begin. I simply do not know. Perhaps if I show you a picture of something you can begin to understand. For example, here is a picture of an item that belongs to her:

Were Skid Mark an eighty four year old crone bent ninety with arthritis, this would be an acceptable item to own. Skid Mark, however, is not eighty four. She is, in fact, nineteen. And at the rate she is going in awakening the inner murdresses in myself and The Flatmate, she may never live to see twenty.

I won't go into too much detail here, lest I explode in rabid fury, but I will tell you this much: in her nineteen years of existence I can tell you that a toilet brush has never crossed her path. Domestos? She probably thinks it's an island in the Caribbean. Toilet Duck? The national sport of Turkmenistan.

We had a very polite word in her ear though; something along the lines of "Would you mind not leaving your big streals of shite all down the toilet bowl, please and thanks?" And she said "Grand". Grand like. She didn't even have the common decency to throw herself off the balcony in mortification. Anyway that seemed to solve the problem. Until...

The other morning, I went innocently into the bathroom to do my morning tinkle. A gut feeling told me to look into the watery depths - and lo! There it lay. Skid Mark Sue had struck again - but this time it was personal.

Yes people, not only had she marked her territory in the manner that is customary for her, but there, lurking quietly under the surface of the water, was a giant poo. A large turd. A Cleveland Steamer. A log. Whatever you want to call it - there it was. Waiting. In silence. For some poor unsuspecting person to go along and have a wee, only to launch itself from the water and purse its squelchy lips together to kiss the previously unmarred arse of the tinkler.

Horrified, I turned the handle of the flusher. Our flusher is such that, when you turn it the toilet starts to flush, and it doesn't stop flushing until you turn it back to the start position. I left it run for a good thirty seconds and then turned it off. The bowl was clear. Or so I thought...

Within seconds, with all the glory of Christ rising from the tomb, it resurrected. My natural reaction was to turn the flusher again, this time for a good minute.

That should do it, I thought.

I thought wrong.

And then I thought wrong another two times.

Clearly I was dealing with the Chuck Norris of excrement.

I threw down three litres of Domestos and flushed it for a good five minutes.

Nowt.

Drain unblocker.

Diddly squat.

In the end I had to enlist the help of Flatmate.

We boiled up a saucepan or two of the kitchen tap's finest water and threw it down there with gusto.

It worked.

But by then we had both been reduced to peeing in the bidet, which only reinforced my love for it even more. Oh bidet, always there in my hour of need.

Ok lads, that's all I care to divulge for the moment, mainly because Skid Mark just came in. I will fill you in on the other details of my dramatically changed life in subsequent posts. Sorry I went AWOL for so long, I'm starting afresh from Week One of year three of my Italian adventure, and this time I'm back for realsies.

That's right, I just said "realsies".

Week Forty Five - Now With Willies!

Don't worry lads! I'm still alive!

Monday 30th August

Today I decided it was about time I invested in a ladybag.

A ladybag is a handbag of the highest order that serves to demonstrate to the outside world that you are in fact a grown up lady who has made her way in this harsh world and come out the other side looking fabulous, high quality italian leather handbag in tow.

Yes, it is time for a ladybag.

So off I went to the nearest ladybag shop and that's where I saw it - the bag of my dreams. I reached up to take it off the shelf and KERASH! This big metal yoke fell down and hit the ground with the loudest metallic crash I ever heard.

Of course then it decided to bounce off the ground and ricochet off my shinbone.

Oh Christ lads.

Now you know when you are in public and something happens to you and everyone is like "Oh my God are you alright?" and your eyes are stinging with tears of agony and you're like "Ah yeah I'm grand, didn't feel a thing", when in fact you're about to projectile vomit from the pain.

Well yeah, that's exactly what happened. I was just thinking to myself, thank god I am wearing trousers, otherwise my leg would have been shredded. I hobbled home anyway, me leg was killing me, the feckin metal yoke was after connectin with the bone like.

I was wondering why my shin was tickling me and when I got home I lifted up my trouser leg and found out. Blood all over the gaff. Head spinning. Must sit down. Big slice under my knee. Mammy!

Cleaned it up and went to work with big sad eyes on me to get a bit of pity off the girls in work. They delivered. Result!

Tuesday 31st August

Every 31st August I think of my friend Leighanne who always nearly drowns every year on the 31st August. Oh Leighanne!

Anyway, I was chatting to BBB on Skype and we were talking about what I would wear to tomorrow's interview (will give more details when I can) and he was like

"One of your pencil skirts shur, and what about the black top with the weird neck?"

" Well I was thinking that but it's too hot for stockings"

"Whatever you do, stay away from treasures"

"What?"

"Treasures aren't a good idea."

"Jewellery like?"

"No Jesus Christ Jennie - treasures!"

"I have no idea what what you're talking about"

"The things you wear on your legs!"

"Oh - trousers!"

"Fine, trousers then."

Shur God love him.

Wednesday 1st September

Woke up with the worst crick in my neck in history! Went to the interview, hoping it wouldn't require me to look to the side.

All went well and then I went for lunch with the girls from my new apartment, who are just lovely. And guess what - we have a lovely little dog! Her name is Nana. I'll be moving in in two week's time, I think it'll be a good year with the gals.

Anyway after lunch I went home and signed into chat to wait for my sister to come online to tell her about the interview. My neck was killing me so I was absentmindedly rooting in the medicine bag for the Sifacamina i.e. Italian Deep Heat. I was rubbing it in anyway thinking to myself "Shur this thing isn's even getting hot - maybe it's out of date?" and I looked down at the tube only to find I was after rubbing Canasten into my neck.

Oh Jennie girl.

Thursday 2nd September

Today in work the non-gay gay fella was on the till with an American and he said "Seventy two fifty seven please" and she gave him an hundred and he said "Have you got any money?" He meant "change" , but the Italian word is "monete" which is similar. Obviously it was a tiny mistake but the way he said "Have you got any money?" and the head on the American wan when he said it, it was just priceless. I just said then "Change, have you got any change?" And he was like, wait for it:

"Oh right, I'm a donkey."

"What?"

"I'm such a donkey!"

"You mean you're an ass, is it?"

"Oh for fuck sake!"

Now I feel better about the the "as if I had two tits" thing.

Friday 2nd September

Only 3 more days until BBB comes home for one day and then pisses off back south for another two weeks. Can't wait! I'm gonna squeeeeeeze the muscly head off him! Can't wait to see his giant monster foot stickin out from under the covers. Unfortunately since I gave up wheat and dairy I rarely fart anymore, otherwise I would be savin up my best fart for his leg when he is asleep.

Saturday 3rd September

OOooooooh! Only two more days now!

Sunday 4th Spetember

Today is the longest day in the history of days. I tell myself I just have to get through today and then it's all biscuits and gravy as I get home and get ready, all excited for the arrival of BBB. To pass time I decide to have a flick through the nudie man calendar in the back. It's all famous rugby players with rugby balls over their willies.

Or so I thought.

Upon closer inspection, there are willies hanging out all over the place! I couldn't believe it! Willies like! Men's willies! Holy Mary Mother of God! Just in case you didn't believe me I took some photographic evidence. Merely to back up my claim, you understand. Take this photo, for example:

Just two lads hanging around on the treadmill, discussing what went down in Ruby's last night. Nothing amiss here, right? WRONG! Because if you just look a little closer...

BOOM!

Look! Look! A big willy just hanging there for all to see! Oh holy God! Lads I don't know what to think!

I mean I like it, like...

Week Forty (ish)

Lads I am SO much better than the last post, thanks to my amazing friends. Sofia has left me her apartment for the month of August and Lorenzo helped me move in. Thanks lads!

Monday 26th July

Today myself, the once-mysterious Lorenzo and BBB drove out to Imperia to see my friend Sofia so that she could give me the keys of her apartment in Pavia so that I can stay there while I'm looking for a place, the blessings of God on her.

Meseff and himseff went down to the Italian version of Penneys and I bought an 11 euro togs and he bought a 7 euro pair of grandad swimming trunks in a fetching shade of blue. Then we met Lorenzo and hit the road.

Now lads. Just take a moment to imagine how buzzin off me head I was, after months of sweating my ball bags off in 35degree landlocked Pavia. Plus like it wasn't as if we were going to Tramore like, we were going to the beach in ITALY.

Hee hee!

Of course now every 5 nanoseconds I involuntarily emitted a high pitched squeal of delight, followed by the soon to be smash hit of the summer:

"We're going to the beach! We're going to the beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeach!"

The two boys were like:

"Jesus Christ Jennie boy calm down like, we're not going to Bora Bora, we're only going to Imperia."

I was like:

"Lads, I'm Irish, which means IT'S THE SAME THING!"

We got there anyway, had a lovely lunch and then hit the beach. I hit the umbrella and the factor 50 under the curious gaze of 50 leather-skinned Italians.

After only one day on the beach, I felt like I had a two week holiday. I didn't realise how much I just had to get out of Pavia for a little minute just to have a breather. On the way home I was trying my best to stay awake, I really was, but I have a sneaking suspicion that for large portions of the journey I was doing the head-bobbing goldfish next to Lorenzo in the seat.

Whoopsie.

Tuesday 27th July

Today was going to be a stressful and sad day.

Stressful because I had to move house, and sad becaue BBB is heading home for 2 months.

Lorenzo gave me a hand moving, cos he is the best like, and then BBB called over to my temporary abode and we had a sad snugglefest before he headed off to the airport. I would have been much more down in the dumps if I didn't have all of my stuff to unpack, so I just spent the rest of the evening solemnly sorting out my stuff and then I headed to bed with no one but Pablo my pillow boyfriend for company.

Sniff sniff.

Wednesday 28th July

Went to work today with a head and a half on me cos I really wasn't in the humour to be "upbeat" and "kooky" with two months of having no leg to fart on stretching out ahead of me. Managed to drag myself through the day and went home on the train with some puss on me.

Thursday 29th July

Waking up in Sofia's apartment is just wondrous. There is always that little moment before I open my eyes where I think I am in my horrible old hovel, but then when I really do open them I am in heaven. There's just one thing though...there is no hot water.

But that's ok because I have already established a routine where I boil 2 pots of water for a 2 inch post war bath in the evenings.

Spiffing.

Friday 30th July

Today I have to say goodbye to Lorenzo, who is heading to Lapland for 6 months. After today I will officially be the only person I know in Pavia until September.

Fabliss.

Lorenzo called up to the house to try and fix the hot water, but no dice. Then we headed "in giro". Now lads, this is the thing that I just can't get my head around about Italy, especially during the winter months. Instead of going out to the pub for the craic and the banter, Italians prefer to go "in giro". That means they meet up in town, they might get an ice cream or a drink somewhere, then they just lurk around town. Just having strolls like. Meanwhile I'm thinking to myself:

"Christ it's minus fifty and I'm GASPING for a proper drink and a sit down."

It also reminds me of something you would do if you were underage, like for example when we are all sitting in the window of Geoff's having a nice drink or seven, you always see groups of 16 years olds done up to the nines just walking around because they can't get in anywhere.

But I digress.

We were in giro for the night and at about 3 he said he had to go home so he brought me back to my house.

And lads, I don't know was I just being a weirdo but I could sense a certain...atmosphere.

We got to my door anyway and he said:

"Eh well, don't be too lonely here on your own, shur September will be here in no time."

And then I was like:

"Eh yeah, heh heh, you be careful up there and be good. And wear a rubber."

"Heh heh".

So then the moment came. I can't remember ever kissing him hello or goodbye before so I didn't know what the protocall was. So instead like I just kind of edged forward and put my head on his chest. He had one hand in his pocket and put the other one around me. Now when I say around me I mean it was around my general personal space, but it wasn't touching me, it was about an inch from my body like.

I was like:

"What the fuck was that? Who puts their hand in their pocket to hug someone?"

He was like:

"No my hand is stuck in my pocket! One second now."

And he reached his other hand around to pull his hand out of his pocket, where his finger was stuck in his keys which were in turn stuck in his pocket.

But it was too late. The information enterned my brain only AFTER he said "one second now", and I was going in for the proper snuggle when he was reaching his hand over to the other pocket and YES, you know exactly what happened.

Boob fondlage.

Oh Jesus.

"Oh, eh, sorry"

"No, eh, its alright, heh heh"

Dying an inner death.

Then we had a quick hug and he sprinted off in the opposite direction and I couldn't get the key in the door fast enough.

Lads it was so funny.

I loves him I does.

Saturday 31st July

Went to work today as usual. Bit glum thinking about how I am all alone in Pavia but I just decided to take it one day at a time and sure the month will pass in no time.

I miss BBB terrible though. I miss the aul bit of chat before we go to sleep, I miss tripping over his shoes that he ALWAYS leaves in the middle of the floor as I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I miss the smell of his breath, I miss his giant monster feet and the way he looks when he's a-haboo babby bunty.

I miss the bit of human contact as well. Since even Laura is gone home, I am left completely sans-snuggle. And considering that I am a snugglehead, I have been finding it tough. I didn't realise it though until Francesco in work came up behind me and gave me a surprise snuggle and I nearly melted at the warmth of the human touch, when usually I would be like:

"Piss off boy will yeh - Jesus!"

Sunday 1st August

Today in work I said to Francesco:

"Don't forget to sign that, Love"

Christ, I'm losing it.

Next stop: Rock Bottom

Lads I'm in a bad way. Everything is gone wrong all at the same time and I'm up in some heap (pronounced haype).

First off the house situation:

Meseff and himseff were supposed to be getting an apartment together to save ourselves a few bob (and to have a buzz). This was all fine and dandy, we were picking out apartments and buzzin off our heads at the thought of having our own fridge, of going out and not walking a half an hour home and of having deadly parties and more money to do mental things and having general good times 'n' shit.

Everything was peachy until....

Three weeks before we were due to move out, Big Brown Mamma calls.

First she pretended she wanted him to stay in the hovel for financial reasons. BBB explained that we were saving money by getting an apartment. Then she said if he moved out she wouldn't pay his rent. Then she said she would come up in September and help him find a place. He said "I thought you said if I moved out you wouldn't pay for me?"

The it all came out.

She just didn't want him to live with me.

Then his aunty had to get her two cents in - apparently BBB should only be going out with his friends and should have a "little girlfriend" that he sees twice a week or at weekends, and should "be free to find himself another girlfriend"

Colour me enraged.

Deep breaths.

We live together now for fuck sake!

I mean it's all fine and dandy that he lives with me now, his first year away from home, and I am after teaching him how to cook and look after himself and how to be independant and according to him "the importance of hard work"; now that I have already taught him all that stuff and I am no longer of service, it would seem that I can go and fuck myself.

Now obviously, because I am a nice girl, I completely understand that she is trying to "protect" her son. That is completely understandable and grand, even if she is most likely doing it because she is a bit jealous. However, because I am such a nice girl, I simply cannot understand why you would do this to me THREE WEEKS before we move out, thus effectively leaving me thoroughly fucked.

That was two weeks ago, and I am still grinding my teeth about it, because I have answered a squillion ads for rooms and nothing has come through for me. All the contracts are for students only and those that aren't are for disgusting houses that require a squillion euro deposit which reeks of scam to me. Now I am thoroughly screwed, because I have to be out of here by next Tuesday. Of course BBB is fine because he is flying home to BBM, who clearly couldnt give a flying fuck if I end up living in a cardboard box.

Christ like, a bit of common courtesy please! If you don't want us living together, grand - just open your mouth and say it straight away! Don't leave us make plans and then dump me in the shitter at the last minute!

Me nerves!

Next up, work:

It would seem that I have fallen foul to a cleverly worded work contract and instead of the figure I thought I would be coming out with every month, I will be coming out with approximately half that amount.

Wondrous.

And finally, the general morale situation.

I'm not going to lie lads. Morale is low. I think it might actually have reached an all-time low, in fact. As in WORSE than Luxembourg. And that was BAD.

I'm not taking Fionn's death very well. I'm not very good at death anyway but this is hard lads.

When I looked at his face I didn't only see his little face; I saw Mammy and Daddy and my brother and my sisters and my whole family. I saw our house and my room and all my friends. He was like a symbol of home and all the things that tie me to it. When I looked at his picture on my phone I used to get a warm feeling in my tummy cos seeing him made me think of all those things. Now that link is gone and I don't know my arse from my elbow.

But just with everything together I just feel so sad. It's like an unbearable weight on me. I don't think I've ever been so lonely in my life. Poor BBB can't help me because every time I look at him I think of how his mother fucked me over. Anyway, how could I ever expect to be helped by someone who has never even heard of The Goonies?

Next Tuesday BBB is leaving for home for two months. All my other friends are already gone home for the summer, because Pavia shuts down for August. I am the only stupid fucker left here, forlornly taking the train to Milan every day to a job that earns me significantly less than I need.

I could handle any of the above three crises with ease if they had come individually, or even two together, but everything all at once is so hard, especially when I am all alone far away from home. I don't know how I am going to pull myself out of this one lads.

No dirty jokes about that last line.

We interrupt your regular programming...

...to bring you some terrible news altogether.

There is another dog in Heaven.

This one, to be precise.

My little Fionnzy Bunzy. Or, as I affectionately called him "Shithead". Mammy told me not to call him that though, cos she claimed he knew what I was saying. If he really knew what I was saying though, he would know that it was an expression of love. I also called him "Snooklepop", but that was mostly on Tuesdays.

Fionn was the best dog you could ever find in your long legged life. In fact, he was scientifically proven (by me) to be The Best Boy in Ireland.

Ten years ago my Nanny died (shout out to Nanny Alice in Heaven - best nanny ever!) and Mammy sent Daddy out to get a little dog for Grandad to keep him company in the house, since his own dog had died a bit before Nanny. Daddy went down to rescue a dog, and that's when he saw little Fionn. He couldn't believe his luck and brought the dog home to show Mammy.

Now before Fionn came onto the scene, we always had big dogs, and Mammy was terrified of them. They weren't allowed even look at the house, never mind come into it. Whenever they came within a three mile radius of Mammy she ran screeching into the house, so when she reached out and gingerly brushed the tip of her finger off the top of Fionn's head, we knew this dog was special.

"He's too lively for your Grandad!", she said, "but we can keep him, the poor little fella. From now on his name is Fionn."

I still remember that day, Daddy came to collect me from school. I believe I was going through my grunge phase at that time.

"There is a surprise in the house," he said.

"Is there?", I said, wondering what it was, since the last "surprise" there was at the house for me was an excercise trampoline.

We got home and when he opened the door this little red streak of madness came out to greet me. I couldn't believe it! After our last big dog went to the big farm in the sky Mammy said we weren't to have any more dogs.

Straight away he became one of the family. He was stone mad alright, and he was always up for a mess, but he would also sit down and watch the telly with you of an evening.

He went for weekend retreats to Grandad's house, and he would come home Sunday nights worn out after the two of them had been tormenting the living daylights out of each other for two days straight.

As he got older he mellowed out a lot. Every time you would sit down, he would plant his arse right on your foot. And if you were sitting cross-legged, shaking your foot, he would come over and put his back up against your shaking foot, thus receiving a nice relaxing back massage.

He also loved blankets. You could be sitting on the couch eating a prime rib and he wouldn't look at you even out of his side eye, but the mnute you whipped out a blanket, by god, he was up on your lap before the blanket was even over you!

He really was like my little brother. Mammy is fairly sure she gave birth to him anyway. He was her little buddy in the house. He followed her around every day as she was doing her bit of pottering. She used to sing him a special song and he used to love it. Once or twice when my parents went away I stayed there to mind Fionn and he would take to padding around after me. It's a nice feeling, having another little person who wants to follow you around and be with you while you are doing mundane things such as ironing.

In the evenings though, he was all about Daddy. Himself and Daddy would disappear into the spare room to watch the match. Daddy would have a bag of crisps and then Fionn would lick the paper. Or one time, Daddy had two small bags of crisps and he ate the first one and gave Fionn the paper. Daddy was wondering in the back of his mind how Fionn was making so much noise with the paper, but he was watching the match so he didn't take any notice. A while later he put his hand out for the other bag of crisps only to find that Fionn was after opening them and eating them and that's what all the noise was about!

Then yesterday, Daddy called me and said

"I have a bit of bad news for you Jen."

"Is it Fionn?"

Nausea.

"It is girl."

He had a tumor on his liver and while the vet was operating he had a heart attack and died. It was better he went that way anyway because otherwise he would have had to be put down.

Poor little Fionn. He was such a good boy.

After I hung up the phone I went into BBB's room where he was studying with his friend. Obviously I was hysterical.

His friend said "Don't worry - you can get another little puppy and raise it"

I wanted to stab him in the face.

You can shove your fucking puppy up your arse!

I know he was trying to be helpful, but for your information readers, when someone's dog dies, the last thing they want is for you to suggest that their little buddy is replaceable.

I am balling and roaring because it hurts SO bad, but at the same time I expect him to be there waiting for me the next time I fly home. That's when it'll really hit me.

At the end of the day though, I just have to think that Fionn was lucky to be rescued by us and that we were lucky to find him. He was the best boy and one of the family and we had a great ten years together.

R.I.P. Fionn, much loved little brother and The Best Boy in Ireland.

Week Thirty Six

Monday 21st June

Today I was a very bold girl and I didn't write my blog. I was too busy trying to repress the memory of the incident on the train. You see the thing with my very highly developed brain is that it made the connection between taking a train and terrible things happening so that now every time I have to take the train to work I am literally a quivering mess on the platform and have to block it out the whole way to Milan. No matter how much I try to mind-over-matter it I still gets the heebies jeebies.

Sigh.

Me and my nerves.

On the upside though I am extrmemely smug about the seven stone I lost on my liquid diet in the hospital.

Hee hee.

Tuesday 22nd June

This day last week I got a facebook comment from my American niece who was somewhat bemused my use of her name in week thirty four's blog.

Her name is Mary Bridget.

I'll say no more.

Wednesday 23rd June

When BBB collected me off the train from Milan this evening we were having a nice chat as we came out of the station. A bit of rubbish blew over my ballerina shoed foot.

Hang on a second.

Blew over my foot? That's odd, seeing as there is no such thing as wind in Pavia. Not even a gentle breeze like.

I looked down.

And that's when I saw them.

The cockroaches.

They were EVERYWHERE. Scuttling all over the place, the size of human heads.

"Jesus CHRIST!" I roared, and started jumping all over the place, because there were literally hundreds of them, all over the place, moving at speed towards my little feet.

I'll tell you now lads I've never walked home so fast in my life. Me skin was crawling up the road ahead of me like. Bleurgh!

Thursday 24th June

Ladies and gentlemen, a word about cuntomers.

I love my job, and I loved it when I was doing it in Dublin, but sweet mother of the divine lord sometimes I want to stab people in the face. Today this woman came in and I served her and she bought a few little things. Thanks very much and have a nice day missus. She went out across the road to Sephora. Then she came back and said to the other girl:

"Hiya, I just bought some stuff there and I didn't get any samples."

The other girl was like

"Yeeees?"

"Well can I have some samples?"

I fucking HATE when people ask for samples. ESPECIALLY after they spend 50p and expect you to give them the whole shop for free. Usually I am very generous with samples and demos and all the rest, but if the person isn't very nice and only spends four euro and doesn't say thanks after I spent ages doing every demo in the shop then I am not very inspired to give them loads of free stuff. You see people know you will do demos and all lovely things to them so they just come in to get the royal treatment and then fuck off without so much as a thank you.

So the other girl goes

"Eh, yes here is a sample of one of our lovely soaps, it is made from.."

"No, no, I want some skincare samples."

Now hang the fuck on here.

It is FREE. You do NOT get to choose, you fucking cockeyed wench.

I felt like saying oh you want to choose do you missus?

Well you can choose between this:

or this:

What'll it be?

Friday 25th June

Today meseff and himseff went for lunch cos we were feeling fancy. With my blood levels in mind I ordered the steak.

For the good of my health like.

He ordered pasta.

Silly BBB.

When the lunches came out his looked lovely. But mine was glorious. The steak took up the ENTIRE plate, everyone was looking at it. It was bathing in its own juices.

And I was bathing in my own juices just looking at it.

It was melt in the mouth; so tender, so delicious. Om nom nom.

On the way back from the restaurant we passed a girl that I vaguely know and BBB even vaguelier knows through me. We said well in passing.

"She never says well to me when I am on my own" BBB said.

"I don't know what her problem is, it's not like she has a fanny of gold."

A fanny of gold.

Fire up the bidet.

Saturday 26th & Sunday 27th June

Worky worky work work.

I had a bit of a moment in work. There I was exfoliating someone's arm and giving the spiel when all of a sudden I was struck by a sudden realisation.

I work in Milan. In a shop. In Italian.

When I was little I was stuck to my Mammy's leg and didn't want to go anywhere.

Now I commute to Milan every day and battle my way through the metro, get off and go up the exit stairs into Piazza del Duomo so this is the first thing I see above ground when I get off the metro:

Then I cross the road to the shop where I work all day in Italian without even breaking a sweat.

Then after work I hop on a train home and my gorgeous Italian Stallion who I love so much it's actually disgusting picks me up at the station and we go home to our horrible little hovel.

Lads I have to admit like.

I'm kinda bad ass.

Except for that last bit about the hovel.

Week Thirty Four

Lads now I thought this week was going to be great what with starting my new job and everything falling into place, but you know what they say - he giveth, and he taketh the fuck away.

Monday 7th June

Who gives a flying fionnuala.

Tuesday 8th June

Pales in comparison to the upcoming horror.

Wednesday 9th June

Ooh I'm all excited! Today I get to start my new job in Milan. Got up, did meself up to the nines, headed off on the train. Had some stomach cramps but put it down to being over excited.

Had a great first day, rocked that shit and was going home all smug after my shift. By now the cramps were really strong, but shur I only have to stick it out for 30 minutes on the train and then BBB is waiting for me at the station in Pavia.

One stop. Crampy crampy cramp cramp. Hang in there Jennie girl, only a few more stops to go.

Second stop. Grit the teeth. Grit them!

Third stop. Oh Christ, oh Jesus!

Whump!

That's the sound of my skull cracking off the ground.

Draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag.

That's the sound of me being dragged off the train onto the platform.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip!

That's the sound of my trousers being unzipped by one of fifty thousand crowder arounders.

Mee maw mee maw mee maw!

That's the sound of the ambulance coming along.

"Christ look at the colour of her!"

That's the sound of the first thing the ambulance man said.

Lads I was terrified. I didn't know what the fuck was going on. I only had a few cramps like. Now I was lying on the platform and my hands and legs were seizing up and my face was gone numb. And the cramps, the cramps!

On the way to the ambulance as the ceiling tiles whizzed by the ambulance man looked down at me and said "Are you pregnant?"

"No", I said.

"Oh", he goes.

Oh? Oh??!!! What the fuck does that mean? Now that really scared the shit out of me. All sorts of things started going through my fuzzy head. I was like:

Pleeeeeeeeeease don't let me be having a miscarriage when I didn't even know I was pregnant! Please God let my imaginary baby be ok!

Then I started thinking maybe I was having an ectopic pregnancy like Christina out of Grey's Anatomy.

They took me off to some hospital in Milan. I didn't know me own name, never mind where I was. I couldn't collapse in Pavia like, oh no. I had to do it away from home. Anyway they wheeled me into the emergency room where there were approximately five thousand people and left me on the trolley.

I have never felt so alone or so far away from home in my life.

Some student doctor came over and started asking me questions but my face was still seized up and I couldn't move my mouth to talk. Then they left me on the trolley against the wall.

And lads I was in pain. I was wriggling around the trolley and roaring and screaming. And would you blame me like, I was fucking delirious and my muscles were all spasming. I was fucking terrified.

Then some lovely woman who was there with her Mammy came over and she was like

"Are you in terrible pain love? You poor thing!"

I managed a mangled:

"Please hold my hand."

The she was holding my hand and minding me and her Mammy came over and was rubbing my little feet and kissing my forehead and pinching my cheeks.

Now can we all just take a minute to mentally send out good vibes to these two women.

Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...ok.

I thought to myself, thank GOD these two just happened to be here at the same time as me! Then the daughter looked down at me and she said:

"Do you believe in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ?"

"Eh...yeah", I goes.

What like? I was hardly going to say

"Actually Missus, Jesus and Mary and all the rest of them lads aren't real, they are only symbols of the strength we already have inside ourselves so instead of praying to them for strength you should be looking inside yourself for it."

There's a time and a place, people.

So anyway there I am in some hospital in Milan, half dead on a trolley being minded by some lovely women.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

BBB has been waiting for me at the Pavia train station. He has been calling and calling my phone, which has been dead for hours. My train hasn't come in yet, and there's an announcement:

"The 20.30 train from Milan has been delayed an hour due to a medical emergency."

"Everything is ok", he keeps telling himself.

The train pulls up. A girl gets off.

"Are you waiting for your girlfriend?" she says to him.

Sweat starts rolling down his back.

"I am."

"Is she small and blonde and foreign?"

Mini stroke.

"She is."

"They took her away in an ambulance, she's alright though."

Sprints onto the next train to Milan.

The train departs and the conductor comes along.

Sidenote: conductors are Nazis.

"Where's your ticket, son?"

"That was MY missus that got taken away at Milano Rogoredo!"

"Jesus Christ. She was in a bad way. No problem, boy, no need for a ticket here".

BBB then got off the train at Milano, got the underground to the last stop and then sprinted the 47 miles to the hospital along a field that a road sweeper told him to take as a short cut.

I'm sure his muscles were rippling as he was doing it.

I wouldn't be surprised if he swang on a vine at some point.

Meanwhile the two ladies that were minding me had to go and they took my number and then everyone else in the room stepped up to the plate. My phone was taken out of my handbag and charged, someone rang BBB for me, someone let me use their phone to call one of my clients to drive up to Milano and pick me up. My head was stroked, my cheeks were pinched, my face was kissed, my feet were rubbed.

I was still dying though. And I'll tell you one thing lads, you are NEVER too old to need your Mammy!

The next thing, BBB comes flying around the corner, "Amore!"

I have never been so relieved before in my life.

He looks around.

"Where's the doctor here? Who's in charge? Nurse!"

I fell in love all over again.

Then my client and her husband came in. I love this woman, she is my Italian Mammy. I always say that if anything ever happened to me I'd call her straight away and I did and she drove straight up to get me.

After a few hours of being ignored and being handed a plastic bag to puke into (thanks lads, thanks a mil. Not even a kidney dish like) I thought I felt better so we decided to go home.

BBB brought me home to bed and put his arms around me.

"Go to sleep now Amore it's all over."

Yeah, it was all over, right?

Wrong.

Thursday 10th June

Mother of the divine Lord!

Woke up with unbelievable cramps.

Balled my head off because I was down to work today and I didn't want to give a bad impression but christ like, I could barely stand.

BBB brought me to A&E.

I was seen straight away. They took blood, they x-rayed my stomach, they put me on a drip. The next thing the (smokin hot) doctor busts in.

"Jesus girl I don't know how you're standing, you have no feckin haemoglobin, you need a blood transfusion. BBB - go home and pack her bag, she will be here a few days."

No! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Ok let me explain.

I am the ultimate world's most squeamish person. I have no problem with injections, they are grand. Giving blood however, I can't even think or talk about it and I have to sit down. Drips as well. Rotten. Blood transfusions? Look, I'm grand, I'll just die, thanks.

So BBB went home to get my things and I'm not ashamed to say lads, I had a little cry on the chair. It was just all too much like. Far away from home, collapsing on the train, the whole ambulance thing, blood transfusion. Enough like, I'm supposed to be prancing around Lush rubbing cream into people's arms right now.

So then the ambulance man came to take me to my room. I stumbled up the hall anyway with cartoon birdies flying around my head and this young fella in a white coat goes,

"Here she is now! She's pale, but she's on her feet!"

They took me to my room. I faceplanted on the bed.

The young fella is my doctor. He tells me he is the same age as me. I don't know how I feel about this. The male nurse comes in to give me an ECG. There is a booby show. I silently thank God for my perfectly formed mammaries.

Then I am whisked away for 47 thousand tests in quick succession. One of them is a TAC where it's the scan yoke where they inject you with contrast fluid. Of course now I don't know anything about these things, so I didn't know the contrast fluid is hot. First it burned the fucking hand off me and I roared with the fright. Then it went down me main artery into my groin and it was all hot and it happened so fast I thought I was after weeing on myself!

I was lying there like "Oh Christ when I get up now I hope there's not a big wet patch on the table - morto!" But then the nurse came in and goes "did that burn the bod off you girl? It's roastin alright"

Thank fuck.

Then after 42 squillion more tests they brought me back to the room and put me on a 7 thousand drips. BBB slept in the plastic chair with his head on the pillow next to mine. I was awake all night with my head turned away from the drip, so as to avoid projectile vomiting.

Friday 11th June

Had to battle my way to the loo, wheeling the drip along with me, and subsequently mangling it past the cleaning trolley that was parked in the door of the loo.

And lo! Mother Nature's Monthly Gift! What joy! What fun!

Go back to the room anyway with my "I-just-got-mother-nature's-monthly-gift-now-you-have-to-feel-sorry-for-me-for-5-days" look on my face.

"Ah love, did you get your menstruation?" he goes. "Into the bed now til I mind ya".

A short while after the nurse comes in.

"Signorina you are booked for a gyno visit at half one."

Kill me.

I count the seconds til half one.

They wheel me away past the pregnancy clinic. Loads of pregnant knackers are lurking around with their fat knacker impregnators, gawkin up into my face. We get to the waiting room and they leave me in there with pregnant starers. Gawkin up into my face and talking about me overright me, discussing all the drip yokes stickin out of me and the gauze taped to my arms in the seventeen places they took blood from between yesterday and today.

If I wasn't half dead I'd say somthing smart.

The next thing the doctor comes in "Jennifer, you're with me."

Of course it's man.

Of course it is like.

Anyway we go into the room which is a room within a room. The door of the inner room is open. Obviously I assume this is because the outer door is locked and guarded by fire breathing dragons so I assume the position and he gets down to doing what he does best.

Then next thing some wan walks in.

"Giovanni boy I don't know what the fuck I did with that box of gloves I had earlier, well Missus how are ya" she goes and starts rooting in some drawer.

Eh....hello like? Bit of privacy like?

While she is rooting in the drawer another wan walks in "That file is out there on the table for you. I'm going to the shop do you want anything? Howeyeh Missus." she says to us, so close to my undercarriage that it nearly had an echo.

Lads. Come on now. Italians just take the biscuit with this kind of shit. They really don't give a fuck about privacy or anything like that.

Then we went into another room for part deux. "Lep up there Ms. Jack-es" he goes, pointing to a stirruped bed in front of an open window. Just an open window like, looking out onto Pavia. Hang on til I whip out Fifi now to make friends with a passing builder.

Afterwards anyway he said all is perfect and well in my lady garden, thank god. I was lovely and relieved then so when they took me back to my room I went for a nice nap with BBB minding me.

So just a tangent here people: THIS is the reason why I always wear nice matching underwear and have my lady garden perfect at all times. Because you never know when some strange man is going to put a probe up your Mary Bridget. My mother laughs at me and tells me I am obsessed and have a problem with the whole matching lovely underwear thing but at the end of the day when I was lying on the train platform and they opened my trousers I didn't give a shite because I knew I was wearing something fabulous. Ladies: let this be a lesson to ye!

Anyway then they gave me antibiotics and I slept like a dead body in the bed.

Saturday 12th June

Yesssss! I get to go home today! I had an infection in my intestines but it seems to be gettin better and my bloods are back up to normal levels. BBB comes to get me and I hobble home down the road.

There is nothing like getting back into your own bed lads.

Now can we just take a moment to reflect on how amazing BBB has been through all this. He never left my side for a second and he fought for me to get the best reatment the whole way. He held my little feet and told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world even when I was cockeyed in the bed with a big unwashed head on me.

God he really loves me.

And I really love him.

Despite all the terrible things that happened this week, I am one lucky bitch.

Week Thirty Three

Monday 31st May

It's another gorgeous day in Pavia so meseff and himseff head out onto the grass to do a bit of study. After lunch I enjoyed a nice fruit salad and by then it was too hot to go back outside so we took our positions on the bed and continued studying there.

All was well until I felt a certain activity going on in my innards. Something untoward was definitely brewing. All of a sudden it was like my whole insides went into spasm and I had the worst cramps I have ever had in my life.

"Oooooooooooooooooow!" I was screeching.

"Jesus, what's wrong Love?" says he.

"I am not joking you I have some cramp!" said I, while contorting myself into every position of the Karma Sutra, trying to make myself feel better when finally:

Pfffffffffffffffft.

A little mini whisper fart.

I couldn't describe the relief.

"Oh thank God, I feel so much better", said I, and lay back down in my position, grateful that there was no smell.

No smell on my end of the bed.

"Oh MADONNA, Amore!" he roars, "Go into the toilet or something!"

"Stop being a drama queen BBB, there's no sm....oh christ that's bad!"

What can I say lads? Fruit salad is a bitch like that.

Then he was like sniffing the air going "ewwwwwwwwwww! bleuuuuuuuurgggggghhhhhhh!"

"Here's an idea!", I goes, "stop fucking sniffing it then!"

"I'm not sniffing it, I have to breathe like", he goes, all indignant.

What has the world come to when you can't even fart in peace in your own home?

Tuesday 1st June

Now it's no secret that I have fallen into the black hole of depression. Generally when this sort of carry on happens I think it's a great idea to stuff my face for a few weeks and get really fat. Surely that will lift my sullen mood, like. Anyway, I have been stuffing my face all the time lately and have not been running so you can only imagine the size of me.

Oonga boonga.

Today however, something happened to lift the oul depression. In fact it blew the depression out of the water.

Before Easter I handed my CV into Lush in Milano. I LOVE Lush stuff and I worked there for a year in Dublin so I thought, imagine now if I could work in a lovely shop that I love and do it in Italian? Double whammy of deadliness like. I know some Lush shops can be annoying because there are some serious knob ends working in some of them but the one I was working in was lovely and relaxed.

Anyway I never heard anything from them so I thought I didn't tickle their fancy. After all I'm only trilingual with a year's experience in the same company like.

Wait for it...

Last week they rang me to come in and do an interview and some demos and I have to say now lads I rocked it. I fucked up once or twice on a bit of grammar but I did a deadly demo and I had them in the knots with my wit and charm. Sure you know the way you'd be like. When you're witty and charming like.

Anyway they rang me today and offered me a one year contract.

I did a little dance.

So yeah, I'm staying here for another year.

This solves so many problems for me, because I was all depressed and up in a heap the last few weeks (did you guess?) because I was worried about next year. I felt like my Italian had reached a plateau and I wasn't learning anything new, like I was only using the Italian I already knew and I was all pissed off over it. Plus Eddie says no to college next year.

But now that I have the job I will learn so much so fast. I will constantly be out of my comfort zone so I will have to push myself hard.

Working in there I will be fairly close to fluent by the time the year is up and I can return to finish my degree like a smug fluent bitch with my thesis done and all my (two) classmates will hate me and want me to die. Hee hee.

AND I can save like a mofo and all my financial worries will be over for my last year in college!

Lads I feel so relieved I couldnt even describe it to ye.

I feel like someone just handed me a second chance on a silver plate.

And I'm taking the hand an' all off them.

Wednesday 2nd June

Woke up this morning and wasn't feeling great so I said I'd try and sleep it off. My hayfever has really been ruining my life lately. Nothing I take works so I am constantly snotting and sneezing and my brain always needs to be scratched and I can't remember the last time I had a lovely sleep cos I'm up all night snotting into a cotton knickers cos I have no hanky and tissues have my nose ripped to shreds.

That's a trick I learned from Mammy. When you are at home sick with a cold always use a nice soft cotton knickers or somesuch to blow your nose so you won't destroy your face. Well I think I left it go a bit far before I switched to the knickers, cos not only is my nose raw and bleeding, but me top lip is like a barren desert.

Anyway as a result of never sleeping I'm always knackered so I thought if I tried to have a mini sleep I would feel better.

Wrong.

Somehow all the snot inside my head formed like a kind of bubble on the inside of my skull and started pushing against the front of my face and the top of my head. The pressure and the pain was unreal! BBB came home and drugged me up to the last and I finally felt better. About two hours later he goes:

"How are you feeling now love?"

"Much better after that Aulin", I goes.

"Ah you only needed to see me to feel better didnt you?"

"Ah yeah."

Nothing to do with the industrial strength painkillers you gave me like.

Thursday 3rd May

We had the washing machine booked for today so we were sorting the things that need to be washed. Being a woman, I was separating whites from coloureds and so on.

"What are you doing?" BBB asked me.

"You can't wash coloureds with whites", I answered.

"Oh yes you can!" he said, producing a little red box "with Grey's colour catchers!"

I just looked at him. I was expecting Barry Scott to jump out from under the bed and Cillit Bang a penny for me. You can't be having your pennies going around dull now.

"No I don't trust those things", I said, but he assured me he used them every time so I reluctantly put my few whites and pales into the laundry hamper.

Two hours later, when he brought the stuff back up, I was folding everything to put it away and I noticed that not everything was pink, or even grey. No, thanks to his orange bathrobe everything was a lovely pissy yellow colour.

All my little white vests were a lovely hue of pisswater. All his white t shirts however, somehow came out cream coloured, ie totally wearable.

Jammy bastard.

Friday 4th June

This is what happened last night.

INT. apartment. Late afternoon. Laura is sitting at a table watching Glee. The phone rings.

Brrrrrrrrrrrring!

Laura: Hello?

Jen: Well girl how's yourself?

Laura: (In American accent) I'm graaaaaand, what's up?

I love when she says all my little Irish Jennie things in her American accent. Highlight of my life: when she said "shur God love him".

Jen: Are we doing anything this weekend?

Laura: Nope.

Jen: Will we go to Ireland tomorrow?

Laura: What?

Jen: Yeah fuck it come on will we go?

Laura: Yeah! On my God let's go!

Jen: We're mad so we are!

And that's how meseff and herseff went to Ireland today.

I didn't realise until we were on the road though how much I really wanted to go home. How much I wanted to just be in my parent's house and be minded a little bit.

Daddy was waiting for us at the train station.

Now lads there is something about Daddies that makes my heart hurt a small bit. So when I saw my lovely Daddy I burst out crying and snotting up into his face.

How unlike me, usually I only cry in private because I am very proud. Even when I was small and fell in the playground in school I kept it in boy. I never wanted anyone to see me crying ever. The second I got home though, all bets were off. I don't know how my mother didn't "bate" me.

Anyway I don't know why I was so emotional when I saw Daddy. Probably because I was down innthe dumps for so long and now suddenly everything is going grand again I was so delighted. Went home to find Mammy and my niece Lily and my little dog were waiting at the end of the drive for me. Any lump in me throat, nah? Then Hazel brought my number one man in the whole world, my nephew Jack out to see me and shur I was made up.

Had a great night, meseff and Laura were stuck to the telly. Meseff and BBB dont have a telly in our house and Laura only has a baby one so imagine how lovely it was to watch a nice bit of Four Weddings in English. Top notch lads.

Saturday 5th June

Today meseff and Laura headed into the sprawling metropolis of Waterford and raped Penneys.

Then right, on our way home we passed The Open Door and I said, I'll just run in here a sec because they usually have some nice pieces.

Sure enough, I found an out of this world top and I went in to try it on. I pulled my top up over my head and hung it on the hanger and was just putting the other top over my head when I looked up.

At the security camera over the dressing room looking directly down on me.

Jesus I didn't know what to think!

The first thing that came into my mind was some perv sitting in the back room watching me try on a top. But I just said what harm shur there is no point getting upset over it. After all my breasticles are nothing short of majestic.

But now it's playing on my mind a small bit.

The camera was one of those ones that's in a bubble. So you dont know which way it's pointing. But just having it over the changing room. Christ like. There's something amiss there.

Sunday 6th June

Today we went out to Mahon Falls and had a pickernic.

Daddy tried to make me fall over by making me look up at the mountaintop while I was walking and then he did and he fell.

Then we went out to Tramore and we were up the Doneraile where there is an old cannon. We took forty seven million pictures of all of us on top of it and I was holding the camera and I said:

"Jesus we are getting out money's worth out of this cannon!"

and then Daddy pointed at the camera and goes

"Oh is that a Canon?"

Lads.

Why aren't there bidets in Ireland?

Week Thirty

I’d like to say a big thanks to KFS for the much needed kick up the hole that was required for me to post this. Lately I have been losing the will to blog, opting instead to spend my daylight hours in the foetal position making low pitched whining sounds, moving only to lift croissants to my lips. Night time hours are spent sneakily farting on BBB’s leg and then giggling into my hand.

Monday 3^rd May

Last Thursday night when I came home from rowing BBB said to me:

“Next Friday we are going down to Mesagne, I’ve already booked your ticket”.

“Oh right”, says I, “hang on til I have forty seven heart attacks now over meeting every one of your family members as well as everyone you ever knew whilst simultaneously sweating my ball bags off in jeans because I have no summer clothes. Oh and eh thanks.”

“You’re welcome love”.

Anyway tonight we were going out for Sadie’s birthday. It was wonderful and everything but that is not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about something a bit more sinister:

Ire.

Now boys and girls don’t you be acting like you never got it in your life, especially if you do exercise. If you must know, it’s the reason I don’t wear skirts in summer.

Anyway I went to Sadie’s gaff all dolly dickied up in my lovely frock and high heels thinking I was the bee’s knees but shur I wasn’t to the end of the stairs in my own house when discomfort struck. And I ain’t talking about the shoes people. My two inner thighs were stallin the heads off each other. I knew it was going to be a rough 45 minute walk into Sadie’s.

Now I can hear ye all “put a pair of tights on love”.

No! NO! I REFUSE to wear tights!

Imagine me in a pair of tights. Me like, who gets a dose of the heebie jeebies at the very suggestion of a hypothetical situation which involves me leaving the house in mismatched underwear. The way women look in tights just makes me want to puke. Like a Country Style skinless sausage. Not to mention the sweaty gusset situation. No thank you. So away I went in my stockings instead.

Big mistake.

By the time I got to the end of Sadie’s road I was a broken woman. If anyone looked out the window of their house as I was approaching they would have seen me doing the John Wayne down the road. Lads I was nearly in tears. On the way home I had to borrow a pair of ends from Laura because I knew I wouldn’t make it home without exposing some bone.

God what a nightmare. But shur look, it will come in handy if I am ever kidnapped and then thrown blindfolded from a moving vehicle into woodland and have to find my way back, all I have to do to start a fire is go for a brisk walk, using my skirt as kindling and tah dah! A roaring fire in seconds!

Tuesday 4^th May

Got up, opened the shutter, saw the torrential rain, went back to bed.

Wednesday 5^th May

Now lads can we just talk for a minute.

All you ladies and possibly some gentlemen (swimmers?) out there will be able to sympathize with me on this one.

Is it just me or is it literally impossible to shave your legs without shaving off at least a square foot of flesh?

Today I was shaving me legs at my beloved bidet (is there anything it can't do?) and lo! I made the tiniest nick and two seconds later there was blood squirting everywhere. Bloody handprints on walls etc. It was like a scene out of psycho.

I just don’t get it like. You are shaving away happy as Larry and you feel the tiniest sting ever invented so you take no notice. You rinse the razor and then you look back at your leg and you can see down to the bone!

I don’t know lads, I don’t be able. I always use a new razor every time, I’ve tried every brand but I swear there is no getting away from it. Had I but the time and money and unsensitive skin I would Nair my legs into oblivion the whole time.

I remember one time I cut the knee off myself in the shower and I nearly fainted. Like literally cut the knee off myself. There was a space between my calf and my thigh. Just a void. No I can’t go any further, I’m way too squeamish to relive this.

I just thank God I’m not a man, cos then every morning in the bathroom it would be Face Off all over again.

Thursday 6^th May

Ooh getting all excited now! BBB had a match tonight at 10pm ( I KNOW – some shit time to have a match like) so I had to pack both our suitcases. In one way it was nice that I didn’t have him under my feet while I was trying to count out his underpants (always bring 2 spare – you never know!) but it was kind of shit as well because I had to do the Holiday Excitement Dance on my own. At about 1am I was knackered so I hit the hay and fell asleep straight away. The next thing I woke up with a start – BBB was back and he wanted people in Tokyo to know about it. He was clopping around the TILED FLOOR with his football boots, rooting in the depths of every drawer ever built by a human hand.

“Jesus CHRIST! Could you be making any more noise?” I said, in my half asleep voice, half in English half in Italian with my bun like a pineapple on the top of my head, only one of my eyes looking at him (the other one was still in Sleepy Town).

“Ok sorry Love”, he goes, and then proceeds to root in the back of the wardrobe instead. And I’m fairly sure he was zipping and unzipping something as well. With a tuba.

One of these days I’ll root up his arse with my foot.

Friday 7^th May

Ooh it’s the big day! We are heading down to his home town! Now it’s no secret that I get all up in a heap when I have to go to the shop, so imagine what I’m like when I travel. The last time we were in Dublin airport and BBB said to me,

“Amore, can I tell you something?”

“Of course”, says I, thinking it’s going to be something rosemantic about how much he enjoyed being part of my world or some soppy shit like that.

I turned my face to his and looked dreamily into his eyes, waiting for his reply.

“You are some bollix when you travel”.

So this time I was determined to change!

“I promise I’ll do my best not to be a bollix today, ok?”

“Ah no, be a bollix all you want girl, no bodder”, says he.

“If you insist then.”

We got down to his house with minimal bollixing in the evening and I met his brother and his Daddy and then we went to stay in their summer house, just me and BBB. It was fabulous so it was, lovely big garden, swimming pool, nice relaxed atmosphere.

My only qualm was there was some questionable fauna down there. Now I’m no arachnophile lads, so imagine me when these big yokes with ten heads and seventeen legs the size of an elephant started emerging from the undergrowth. No now. Sorry. Just no.

I went to throw something in the bin in the kitchen and was reaching for the handle of the bin lid when my eyes focussed on the biggest grasshopper I have ever seen perched there. It was at least three inches big lads I’m not joking, I mean it’s roasting hot down there. I was taking in the breath do leave out a roar when he jumps ten feet in the air and I actually choked on my own breath. I think the shock actually stopped my heart for a moment.

I'm not cut out for this type of carry on.

Saturday 8^th May

The strangest thing is happening. I seem to be falling even more in love with BBB. Oh dear – this is not ideal. This is not ideal at all. It would be very convenient for me to stop loving him right now. That way the inevitable suffering and heartbreak of my leaving can be avoided. But no, seeing him in his natural habitat is just amazing. And so is the feeling of how nicely I’ve slotted in down here.

I’m finding it so hard to enjoy the moment though because my mind is frantically skipping ahead to the pain.

Tonight we went to Brindisi with his bestest bud, who recently had his heart broken. On the way back BBB was consoling him a bit while I was sitting in the back.

“Ah no now don’t be thinking like that. There’s someone better out there for you. I mean my uncle [let’s call him Jimmy] was only saying to me this morning that I shouldn’t settle down when I’m nineteen, that I have my whole life ahead of me, and you never know who I might meet etc etc”

Of course now he was so caught up in consoling his friend that he neglected to notice that I was sitting in the back seat listening. He really shouldn’t have said that in front of me. I mean I did my bestest not to take it personally, shur for all his family know I am just some blow-in gringo.

I mean he is right. BBB is only 19. When I was 19 shur I was off out gallavantin, going off to live in obscure countries cos I wanted everyone to piss off and leave me alone. Bit of peace and quiet like. Of course he should not be settling down with the first aul wan who falls in love with him.

I just think it’s so sad, because I’m not 19. No siree bob. I’m not 19 at all. Not even a little bit. And I’ve done plenty of gallavantin and now I feel like it would be nice to gallivant with someone who roots in drawers at inappropriate times of the night.

As sad as I was I was pissed off as well. Pissed off a small bit with Jimmy like. Now I KNOW it was nothing personal, shur he hardly knows me. He was just giving some man-to-man advice to his nephew.

But piss off like. Piss right off! Doesn’t he think I don’t know these things? Doesn’t he think I want what’s best for BBB?

So there I was sitting in the back of the car, the lights of Brindisi flashing past, and all the sadness and the anger just kind of welled up and I really tried my best to hold it back, I really did, but big fat tears started rolling down my cheeks. Why couldn’t I have met him ten years from now? Or even five? For fuck sake like. Then we stopped at the monument in Brindisi port and I had to rub my face on the back of my sleeve, but it was too late.

“What’s wrong love?”

“A bit of an allergy.”

“You’re crying!”

“You shouldn’t have said that thing that Jimmy said in front of me.”

“Oh Christ I’m so sorry I was only trying to console him.”

And then we had to smile for a photo. This one in fact.

Sunday 9^th May

Om nom nom today we had a lovely big BBQ.

While preparing for this BBQ, BBB told me to collect some pine cones from the garden for the fire. Grand says I, and set off picking up the giant pine cones, using my top as a kind of apron, loving seeing him all manly at the grill while I skip around gathering pine cones.

“How wonderfully idyllic, no - rustic”, I thought to myself as I reached for another pine cone.

Then suddenly, the dream was shattered. I put my delicate white hand on a pine cone, just as a giant monstrosity of a spider, a burger with legs, was crawling onto it.

Needless to say I roared and fucked the pine cones back down onto the ground and ran off at top speed.

There’s such a thing as too rustic like.