So Bedfordview Man stood up with a passion unseen before to talk about Belgium at French last night.
Everyone was loving his little story about chocolates, pissing statues and NATO, until I piped up – in French:
Er….il y a une grande probleme avec….le…paedophilia en Belgique.
All went quiet for a moment. Seemingly toppling the story of Tin Tin and waffles into a pit of grotesqueness. And one woman dared even question it asking whether I’d read that in a female glossy.
‘No you bint. Er I mean Non. Absolutement pas. And went on to explain that 9 out of ten of the world’s most heinous paedophiles hailed from Belgium and I read it in the biography of one of the victims who lived in a basement - Fritzl-style – for 80 days.
I read dark stuff sometimes. Don’t judge me.
Well the class did. Because maybe I told this story using the complete wrong prepositions and maybe thought I knew a fucking paedophile from Belgium. Or something. Fuck.
Came home, nattering to myself while sorting out my pitiful poen, packing my Italian wardrobe and plenty of heels.
(Along those cobbled streets, I thought it would be the sensible option. Especially after too many limocello’s in the sun, and because stumbling in high heels looks especially fetching.)
Then I realised I was nattering away to myself in French. Without even grasping the bare-poened fact that French isn’t going to help me in Rome. Am stuffed for a bag of cashews. Oh my fat wank, I can hardly remember any Italian.
I suppose when I board a German aircraft to Frankfurt tonight, I can give myself a quick course. Because all I can remember is Va ffanculo. (Go fuck yourself).
Christ I’m nervous and so excited I actually don’t really know what to do with myself. Nervous to see Strapper after so many months, but yet dreaming of fiats and their non-so-sturdy bonnets at the same time.
In the meantime, shit storms are erupting at work like detonating landmines, and yet, I am of the mindset that I am handling it, and the workload.
Perhaps I am even delusional.
I am adapting to it, however it’s what I will come back to that I fear. An inbox fuller than Jenna Jameson’s breasts. Perhaps.
In the meantime,
Wish me luck. This is a rather daring adventure you know.
9 comments:
ciao. Hope you have a stunning time and that he is worthy :-)
have the best time stumbling & remember to bring back something inappropriate ;)
Nessers - Thanks my dear :) What matters - or at least I tell myself this - I'M worthy. Not that it helps or nothin' ;)
totally cooked - oh I will, don't you worry about that (the inappropriate memento that is! ;)
xx
Aurevoir!
Enjoy it and be safe.
Molto grazie Secret!
Abbia una grande festa a Roma il mia cara. Spero che il vostro italiano tutto ritorni a voi sull'aereo. Ciao Peasy - have an espresso longo for me please.
Oh my word Charm...I think you just turned me on. That's the most beautiful looking sentence I've ever seen.
Gorgeous... :)
I'm wild about Italian/s, I can fall in love with the baldest, chubbiest, ordinariest man if he talks to me in genuine italian. Oooooh I am just going all weak at the knees just thinking about it. I can't trust myself alone with an Italian. And if he talks about Italian food with passion in an Italian accent while making pasta........erm where was I?
Va ffanculo. Va ffanculo. I must practice this before I forget it. You never know when it might come in handy one day.
I used to know how to curse like a sailor in both French and German. But alas, it has been far too long and I, being American, never get to leave this land of Tasers and misandry long enough to practice it.
A mutual friend sent me your way. He said you were someone special and that I should check your blog out. So I have come just in time to wave to you as you fly away to Italy. I hope you have a nice trip and remember more Italian than you expect to.
Post a Comment