Saturday, 23 June 2012


It's been a heteromorphic, heady cocktail of varying mental states over the past few weeks.

To summarise: 

I was noted as a 'twat of the tram' on this blog 'Priority Seat Thieves' (May 24 entry).
A someone saccharine start to a courtship soured.
I turned 24. Celebrated it at The Grill on New York Street. Nothing like a slab of rib eye flesh to man up over certain situations.
Lost my car keys (to this date, they remain lost)
Went to Rome for a 6 days. 

I don't tan. I turn into a human dot-to-dot. & with 37 degree heat, my abundance of freckles multiplied to wild proportions. Apparently they're quite endearing, I'm impartial to such views, naturally. 

In a non-cliched act of relaying, I'll be narrating my interval in Italy, omitting the snorefest facts, and presenting my own chateaubriand of calamities. 

The spread will present:

Fashion scar(e)s
Mothers quest to find tea, with milk, and hot
Orienteering skills (lack of)
and inappropriate literature at the Vatican

We'll call the following extract, merely part of the Bernaise. 
Michelangeo once described Rome as his tormenting lover and with sights like this, I'm inclined to agree.

Male sightseeing (top 3):

This sonny jim was just minding his own business at Il Fico

This chap was a man of few words. English words that is. 

Cheeky spot at the Vatican whilst waiting for Benny boy.

It's all culturally uphill from here. Ish.

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