It's Rome Part the first!
The further I meander down life's leafy highway, the more I realise there is a necessity for habit. Without habit there is confusion and fear and doubt and all those other niggling little things that experientially lead to "the dark side". It is for this fact, and this fact alone, that I continue to present you with the ongoing happenings of my life some offensive time post-happening.
So there was birthday revelry upon triplet nights twixt Godalming, London and Kent and then, but six days hence, myself, the_nunnery and my housemates Sophie and Michael made our way, at the town crier's toll of the midday bell, toward Gatwick and, onward, to Rome...
Which is to say, we didn't. Well, not all of us, leastways. For there was one amongst our party who would openly mock the foolish failures of others. With reaper grin and scorning eye he would breath a heavy sigh before openly lambasting any poor soul who should open their mouth or engage in activity without such ability to follow it through to a clearly successful conclusion. It was thus ironic that, come the check-in gate for flight ezy5245, one Michael Bailey's passport expiry date of "03 MAR / 05" referred not twice to the month of replacement as being March, but, indeed, that it would be the 3rd of such a month an erudite individual should engage the passport office for an exchange. This would be one week and one day before our designated flights and, despite his procrastinations to the opposite, EasyJet did not consider it "okay" for him to fly with his documents ever-so-slightly out of date.
And so Michael Bailey did not fly with us to Rome.
We were not unkind to the dear old chap. We suggested means and methods and routes by which he might be able to make headway to obtain a new passport and find himself in Italy early enough the following day to sign-up for the Marathon. However, none could form an indisputable plan that would allow him to arrive before the following Tuesday at earliest, which would be a short trip by anyone's standards, giving him some 18 hours in fair Roma if lucky. So Michael limped off after sharing an airport pint and much consolation. Though, truth be told, the moment he was out of sight, bag over slumped shoulders, heading for home, Sophie turned to myself and Tam and said "My God, what an IDIOT" and we all belmed at each other for a good few minutes before heading toward security and departure.
Our flight had been earmarked some two hours late from conception, so more drinks and much information monitor watching was had. Straw cowboy hats were bought, fried breakfasts consumed, flights caught, slighty-tipsy-sleep engaged in and, finally, hand holding undertaken as we made descent upon Rome Campiano. We made our way through passport control without hindrance and myself and Sophie waited by the carousel for our bags as Tam rushed off with her suitcase to greet John, who had arrived an hour previously and was waiting for us at arrivals. I followed second to find John with his camera, filming us arriving. He was facing Tam as I wandered up to give him a hug.
And he was still facing Tam.
And he knew I was there.
And he continued not to face me or acknowledge my existence, so I ruffled his hair and said "hi".
Then Sophie walked up and he said "I'll greet you in the proper French manner" and kissed her on both cheeks.
And I thought "Uh-huh, now I see what kind of holiday this is going to be".
If you've been following my journal in any depth you'll realise I have not been completely platonic with Tam, John's girlfriend. Then again, I haven't been completely platonic with John either. More recently John and Tam have had trouble with the long distance relationship but, safe to say, I've backed off to whatever boundaries John has said are okay, whenever he's asked. In general this has been of the form:
"I'm okay with X"
Mike and Tam do X.
"Shit, I'm not okay with X but I'm okay with Y"
Mike and Tam do Y.
"Shit, I'm not okay with Y but I'm okay with Z"
And so on and so forth...
John being a little put out by our doing what he asks is still understandable, as he hasn't been able to cope with it and feels it's damaged his relationship with Tam. Even so, John not even hugging me or shaking my hand to say hello still feels a little...um...childish, especially as it was he that invited himself and Tam on holiday with me. Nevertheless, his slightly rictus grin suggests it might all still be okay, so we head out to get a taxi. We quickly find one and I'm first in. It's got two levels of back seats and I jump across to the left hand side of one and put my seatbelt on. Sophie sits next to me and Tam sits next to her, John then gets in the front, turns to me and says "Mike, don't you think that's a little inconsiderate? I haven't seen Tam in two weeks".
Dare I say "What the fuck?" I get into a cab first. John and Tam could have sat on the row behind us. Sophie got in after me and could have also sat in the front and John immediately has a go at me for...er...not being psychic and knowing where everyone after was going to sit and not realising they weren't going to use both rows of back seats?
May I reiterate "WHAT THE FUCK?!"
So, okay, that's two...but what follows two?
Three was John then telling the story of the last time he was in England when he'd been on a pill and the arthritis in his hands had cleared up. He'd then gone to the local A&E ward (ER to you American sorts) and asked for a blood test or a blood sample he could take with him. The duty nurse had said "No". In fact she'd pretty much said "Fuck off you stupid yank", which is somewhat harsh (John's Canadian, for those who consider these designations of prime concern). Unfortunately I had deigned to argue that giving pillheads, blood samples did not equate to her job and it would have been a lot of paper work/illegal for her to do what he'd asked. In fact I continued to foolishly argue her side for a good minute before John said in an irate way "Shut up Ducker, why are you defending her? Sophie, will you hit Mike for me, I can't reach".
Not in a jokey, friendly way. Not in playful argumentative way, but in a disgruntled you've-touched-my-girlfriend-directly-on-the-punani-and-I-don't-like-it kind of way.
It was at that point I thought "fuck all this shit, I am so fucking not glad I'm here", but we arrived at the hostel shortly after and all parted ways to unpack and sort out our rooms. I was in a twin room, thanks to Michael bowing out at the airport, and quickly threw my stuff into (dis)order. Myself and Sophie then met up and decided it was best that we leave John and Tam some extra time to "sort themselves out" and made our way, at 11pm, to the nearest place that sold food and alcoholic beverage. After two whole changes of direction and about 300m we found an open eatery and sat at a table too scared to ask for service realising we didn't even know the Italian for "hello", "thank you" or "beer" ("ciao", "grazie" and "birra" it turns out). Fortunately the staff had a fair enough grounding in pointing-at-things-on-the-menu-and-pronouncing-them-wrong that we managed to order a few antipasti (does not actually disintegrate on contact with pasta releasing a vast amount of energy) and main course plates. John and Tam joined us some hour or so later and we more or less managed to settle into a reasonable tone of polite conversation. A couple of drinks helped and we sat around until about 2am eating and drinking and being merry. We only got up to see what else we could find open after bumping into this little wine bar so easily. Sophie was feeling more tired than the rest of us so she headed back to the hostel as myself, John and Tam wandered around the city.
For about 30 minutes.
Before we arrived back at the original wine bar because everything else was closed.
Fortunately this place stayed open past four, when they forced us to down our remaining wine and head back to the hostel to sleep. I would relate the intervening conversation, which I remember making me feel somewhat uncomfortable, but I can't discern why, due to the late hour, the potency of the wine or the utter banality of the topics in question.
But for now I pause and thus will such holiday happenings be continued...on the ASAP.
So there was birthday revelry upon triplet nights twixt Godalming, London and Kent and then, but six days hence, myself, the_nunnery and my housemates Sophie and Michael made our way, at the town crier's toll of the midday bell, toward Gatwick and, onward, to Rome...
Which is to say, we didn't. Well, not all of us, leastways. For there was one amongst our party who would openly mock the foolish failures of others. With reaper grin and scorning eye he would breath a heavy sigh before openly lambasting any poor soul who should open their mouth or engage in activity without such ability to follow it through to a clearly successful conclusion. It was thus ironic that, come the check-in gate for flight ezy5245, one Michael Bailey's passport expiry date of "03 MAR / 05" referred not twice to the month of replacement as being March, but, indeed, that it would be the 3rd of such a month an erudite individual should engage the passport office for an exchange. This would be one week and one day before our designated flights and, despite his procrastinations to the opposite, EasyJet did not consider it "okay" for him to fly with his documents ever-so-slightly out of date.
And so Michael Bailey did not fly with us to Rome.
We were not unkind to the dear old chap. We suggested means and methods and routes by which he might be able to make headway to obtain a new passport and find himself in Italy early enough the following day to sign-up for the Marathon. However, none could form an indisputable plan that would allow him to arrive before the following Tuesday at earliest, which would be a short trip by anyone's standards, giving him some 18 hours in fair Roma if lucky. So Michael limped off after sharing an airport pint and much consolation. Though, truth be told, the moment he was out of sight, bag over slumped shoulders, heading for home, Sophie turned to myself and Tam and said "My God, what an IDIOT" and we all belmed at each other for a good few minutes before heading toward security and departure.
Our flight had been earmarked some two hours late from conception, so more drinks and much information monitor watching was had. Straw cowboy hats were bought, fried breakfasts consumed, flights caught, slighty-tipsy-sleep engaged in and, finally, hand holding undertaken as we made descent upon Rome Campiano. We made our way through passport control without hindrance and myself and Sophie waited by the carousel for our bags as Tam rushed off with her suitcase to greet John, who had arrived an hour previously and was waiting for us at arrivals. I followed second to find John with his camera, filming us arriving. He was facing Tam as I wandered up to give him a hug.
And he was still facing Tam.
And he knew I was there.
And he continued not to face me or acknowledge my existence, so I ruffled his hair and said "hi".
Then Sophie walked up and he said "I'll greet you in the proper French manner" and kissed her on both cheeks.
And I thought "Uh-huh, now I see what kind of holiday this is going to be".
If you've been following my journal in any depth you'll realise I have not been completely platonic with Tam, John's girlfriend. Then again, I haven't been completely platonic with John either. More recently John and Tam have had trouble with the long distance relationship but, safe to say, I've backed off to whatever boundaries John has said are okay, whenever he's asked. In general this has been of the form:
"I'm okay with X"
Mike and Tam do X.
"Shit, I'm not okay with X but I'm okay with Y"
Mike and Tam do Y.
"Shit, I'm not okay with Y but I'm okay with Z"
And so on and so forth...
John being a little put out by our doing what he asks is still understandable, as he hasn't been able to cope with it and feels it's damaged his relationship with Tam. Even so, John not even hugging me or shaking my hand to say hello still feels a little...um...childish, especially as it was he that invited himself and Tam on holiday with me. Nevertheless, his slightly rictus grin suggests it might all still be okay, so we head out to get a taxi. We quickly find one and I'm first in. It's got two levels of back seats and I jump across to the left hand side of one and put my seatbelt on. Sophie sits next to me and Tam sits next to her, John then gets in the front, turns to me and says "Mike, don't you think that's a little inconsiderate? I haven't seen Tam in two weeks".
Dare I say "What the fuck?" I get into a cab first. John and Tam could have sat on the row behind us. Sophie got in after me and could have also sat in the front and John immediately has a go at me for...er...not being psychic and knowing where everyone after was going to sit and not realising they weren't going to use both rows of back seats?
May I reiterate "WHAT THE FUCK?!"
So, okay, that's two...but what follows two?
Three was John then telling the story of the last time he was in England when he'd been on a pill and the arthritis in his hands had cleared up. He'd then gone to the local A&E ward (ER to you American sorts) and asked for a blood test or a blood sample he could take with him. The duty nurse had said "No". In fact she'd pretty much said "Fuck off you stupid yank", which is somewhat harsh (John's Canadian, for those who consider these designations of prime concern). Unfortunately I had deigned to argue that giving pillheads, blood samples did not equate to her job and it would have been a lot of paper work/illegal for her to do what he'd asked. In fact I continued to foolishly argue her side for a good minute before John said in an irate way "Shut up Ducker, why are you defending her? Sophie, will you hit Mike for me, I can't reach".
Not in a jokey, friendly way. Not in playful argumentative way, but in a disgruntled you've-touched-my-girlfriend-directly-on-the-punani-and-I-don't-like-it kind of way.
It was at that point I thought "fuck all this shit, I am so fucking not glad I'm here", but we arrived at the hostel shortly after and all parted ways to unpack and sort out our rooms. I was in a twin room, thanks to Michael bowing out at the airport, and quickly threw my stuff into (dis)order. Myself and Sophie then met up and decided it was best that we leave John and Tam some extra time to "sort themselves out" and made our way, at 11pm, to the nearest place that sold food and alcoholic beverage. After two whole changes of direction and about 300m we found an open eatery and sat at a table too scared to ask for service realising we didn't even know the Italian for "hello", "thank you" or "beer" ("ciao", "grazie" and "birra" it turns out). Fortunately the staff had a fair enough grounding in pointing-at-things-on-the-menu-and-pronouncing-them-wrong that we managed to order a few antipasti (does not actually disintegrate on contact with pasta releasing a vast amount of energy) and main course plates. John and Tam joined us some hour or so later and we more or less managed to settle into a reasonable tone of polite conversation. A couple of drinks helped and we sat around until about 2am eating and drinking and being merry. We only got up to see what else we could find open after bumping into this little wine bar so easily. Sophie was feeling more tired than the rest of us so she headed back to the hostel as myself, John and Tam wandered around the city.
For about 30 minutes.
Before we arrived back at the original wine bar because everything else was closed.
Fortunately this place stayed open past four, when they forced us to down our remaining wine and head back to the hostel to sleep. I would relate the intervening conversation, which I remember making me feel somewhat uncomfortable, but I can't discern why, due to the late hour, the potency of the wine or the utter banality of the topics in question.
But for now I pause and thus will such holiday happenings be continued...on the ASAP.