Death From Above

I see that PseudoVirgin/CrossCountry trains are still hideously overcrowded, the vestibules are still thinly carpeted (ow, my butt) and they STILL have that terrible fault in the air-conditioning that pushes the delightful scent from the toilets through the entire train.

However, in other news I am filled to the gunwales with curry (thank you drunken_hedghog) and once Castle is over I'm off out on the town to get my Frappuccino (those pesky Starbucks addicted me to it and then refused to open a branch anywhere near me in Ireland. Grrrr).

Talking of drunken_hedghog (and really, we should, cos that woman has AWESOME vodka and is not wary of sharing), I can report that the grapes, flowers and get well soon card were deemed acceptable (see note about vodka above) and a brilliant evening was had by yours truly and hopefully by some other people as well. Moments of numptyism on my part were balanced by numptyism by the walking (hopping) wounded so I don't feel toooooo bad about being an idiot.

And I managed not to stain the carpet. Which as you know, is a bonus. There's a reason sweetsyren has polished wood floors.

Now I must love you and leave you. I have a wedding to go to!

1. First, spend the previous two days writing a frankly hideous amount of smut to create a foundation of sheer awesomeness.

2. Put on the sexy trousers of swish (slit up to mid-calf) and the shoes of striding out.

3. Strut. (as far as the delicious coffee shop and imbibe some delicious caffeine and a croissant).

4. Strut some more (whilst finishing the delicious caffeine).

5. Follow recommendations to the delightful wee shop of perfect colours and amazing textures of clothing. Discover they have a sale on and most everything is only 10 of your delicious Euros.

6. Try EVERYTHING on.

7. Strut a little, wiggle and boogie in your changing room, accessing that foundation of sheer awesomeness brought about by (1).

8. Enjoy. Especially the textures. These materials are expensive, wallow in it.

9. Buy the best of the stuff.

10. Repeat in all the shops that have the nice colours (this turned out to be 3 out of the whole town, but ce la vie, I knew that going in).

11. Strut some more. Swing those bags of accomplishment.

12. Come home with 2 wedding top options and some more delicious clothes to wear to work.

13. Attempt to strut up two flights of stairs to your flat. Avoid stumbling on your face by mere fortuitous coincidence.

14. End. A Winnar is you.

It took 14 hours to get there but as soon as I saw the stars and smelt the flowers at Arezzo (waiting for the local train for the last bit)I knew it would be worth it. Bless 'em my mates arranged for the local taxi to drive all the way down the hill to pick me up at the station and drive me back up so that they could start drinking. They love me my mates, but they have their priorities right.

:D

And then there was the view and the wine and the brandy and the villa and talking about everything and nothing... (this takes us to 4am on the first night/morning).

Friday midday I wandered gingerly downstairs (they stuck me up in the loft/mezzanine. Nice) wondering if the top of my head was actually going to fall off. Yawning and stretching the sunlight beckoning through the shutters drew one naturally toward the front door where upon the following confused conversation took place.

Very long-standing friend (gravelly): "Good Morning"
TH:"Guys? Why do we have a pool?"
V L-S F: "We have a pool?"
TH: "I think so." (*rubs eyes*) (*azure blue thing is still there*)
V L-S F's Husband: *is poked into climbing out of bed* (it must be explained that the conversation had been taking place down a short corridor and through a half open door as the occupants of the main bedroom were still shunning any kind of light source)
TH: "Does that look like a pool to you?"
V L-S F's Husband - to V L-S F: "We have a pool!"

Cue cluster of brits stood in the doorway squinting out into the sun. It was only due to coffee addiction (and the brightness of the day) that prevented pool exploration until later.

And then it only got better. Ask not about the food. Nobody does a wedding breakfast better than the Italians.

And the DRESS!!! and the prosecco. Oooooh the prosecco.

And the Fireworks.

:)