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.