Porn Dwarves In Naples , Popperphobia, Chav City in Costa Brava

Went to Naples last week, a dirty cool city with plentiful character. Got the boat to Capri, and then a boat around the island, which was just beautiful. I take what I said about Thailand back, Capri was just as lovely, it's just Ischia which is a bit pants and I thought it'd be the same as Capri cos they're close, by which maxim I would imagine England and France are similar, and Oz and NZ, cos they're a relatively close, and obviously, nowt could be farther from the truth. Went to Pompeii on Sunday and saw the city and some models of the people covered by volcanoe lava and ash 2000 years ago, and that was very thrilling, wandering in and out of houses which still have the wall designs on them from from ages ago, and again, touching them and knowing they were put together, like, dead millions of years ago.... and we couldn't afford a guide so we just pretended to look at the map any time we needed to know where we were and eavesdropped on a very enthusiastic Italian woman giving a guide in english. And we were dead lucky cos on Friday all the museums and art galleries in Naples were free cos it was a national holiday, so saw a museum of ancient erotic art which I thought was going to be quite soft cos its was well old art work and they thought bare arms were rudenesses in them days, but it was quite hard core, featuring bestiality, porn dwarves, orgies and cocks with wings flying. Class. Also went round the Museo di Capodimonte the largest gallery in Italy next to the Ufizzo, but that just seemed to be lots and lots and lots and lots of paintings of the same theme, the Annunciation, and Mary and baby and stuff, but Carvaggio's Flagellation made it all worthwhile which is intensley tragic to look at.

So, well aye, that's it then. It's back to sunny sunny Weymouth for me, and temping in Fleet til I can scrape together enough for air fare to a land of heat and adventures. Eugh, I shudder to think of Fleet actually, they had me checking poppers on trousers in the New Look warehouse for 2 weeks (grab a pair of trousers, open all the poppers, close all the poppers, if they work put them in one pile, if they don't, bin em, grab a pair of trousers, open all the poppers, close all the poppers, if they work put them in one pile, if they don't, bin em, grab a pair of trousers, open all the poppers, close all the poppers, if they work put them in one pile, if they don't, bin em, grab a pair of trousers, open all the poppers, close all the poppers, if they work put them in one pile, if they don't, bin em, aaaaarrrrggggghhhh! I am now a popperphobic, poppers freak me out) . Man alive that was a tough job, 3.25% of my brain melted, partly due to sheer boredom, and partly from having conversations with people who do that full time.. And THEN fleet sent me to the New Look offices, as a cleaner. There I am, hunched over with the other scavvy cleaners, marigolds on, hoover and duster in one hand, bleach and shit rag in the other, on me way to clean the bogs, when out of the offices walks a girl from Royal Manor school who was 3 years BELOW me, laughing and discussing important officey-type contractual stuff with her high-powered colleagues, she sees me and we make brief embarressed eye contact for a second and then she passes out and I'm like "Nooooo! Wait! Don't judge me! I don't do this ALL the time! -I've been travellin and that...". So, where was I? Oh yeah, Fleet, joy. Sadly, I have yet again missed the highlight of Weymouth's social calendar: Trawler Race Day. Ahhhh, Trawler Race Day, what simple pleasure, stumbling round ALL of weymouth's pubs, going to the toilet in the bloke's cos the women's are full with queues backing up to Wyke, sittin' on the harbour in the sunshine, feet dangling over the side with my 7th nice cold pint and fish and chips covered in vinegar, mmmmm, Traaaaawler Race Day.

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Only 2 days left, I'm gonna miss my students a lot, and their little turns of phrases that are so endearing: being asked repeatedly whether I want to go to a student's village "for to eat someone"
"No mate, look, I've told you already, it's eat someTHING"
"Oh, ok"
(...the following week...)
"So Katy... (pronounced Catty) ... Would you like to come to my village for to eat someone?"
"Oh man, I give up! Go on then, let us go to your village and eat someone".
And being asked out of the blue:
"You like sausage?"
"Yes I do"
"I take you my sausage"
"Say again?"
"I take you my meat"
"Pardon??"
"My friend, he is farmer and every year he kill a pig for me and I make sausage, and I take you one"
"Aaaaalrighty then! Fantastic! Sounds lovely, like a bit of Italian sausage, me."

But I'm looking forward to being able to use auxilliaries and pronouns again; no more "you want drink?" "yes, is very cold now" "Is 3 O'clock". And I'll be able to use the present continuous for the future instead of constantly using will to save time, confusion and explaining: "Yes, next year, maybe I will go to Mexico" "This weekend, what will you do?" "Tonight, I will watch DVD".
I'm also well gonna appreciate not being the only unkempt person walking down the street. Everyone's so pristine in Sulmona, even mingers make a massive effort, no Kappa Slappers there. The girls behind the checkout in Eurospin (equivalent of Netto) have on more make-up and better hair then me on a Saturday night. I don't know how long they spend getting ready in the morning, but it's worth it. Even the old men me dad's age take a lot of pride in their appearance, and never come to class in a t-shirt that's a bit manky and worn, it's always collars and smart trousers, and they wear like D&G watches and stuff. Fancy that! My wouldn't have a clue what that meant and wouldn't buy it if it cost more than 30 quid anyway.

Of course, a tear will be shed for My Mountains whom I will miss terribly. I want to take them with me, they're so comforting. And they've got snow atop them again now, even tho it's boiling hot, which I take as a final salutation to me and my worship of them.

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Am currently sitting in Costa Brava near Barcelona on an all inclusive family holiday. I'm surrounded by people from the UK and we're staying in Chav City Central Hotel. It ROCKS man. After being surrounded by dead beautiful, stylish, cultured people who I couldn't communicate with for 8 months, this is the perfect foil. The first sight we were greeted with when entering the bar downstars - apart from thousands of screaming kids with plaits of all colours pulling their skin up off their forehead so far you can see the reds under their eyes - was a young lad of 9 carrying a cup of boiling coffee over to his mum then screaming as he spilt some on himself, prompting her to shout "Eh, geeo'er will ye, ye sound like a flamin likkel girl!" and looking at us with a roll of her eyes, and almost spilling her bacardi and coke as she tipsily knocked into the 12 year old girl sauntering past her with 2 extra large cans of Stongbow in her hands. Man, this place is a tonic I tell yer. And on the 3rd night we were playing Balderdash outside when a massive glass ash tray came flying from one of the balconies above and landed where a woman had just vacated a seat. Scarey. Four star hotel my arse, it's more like a massive council estate block of flats. Oh man, but The Food! The Food! It's all FREE! AND the alcohol! FREE!! Whenever you want it!! Not just quantity but quality, all you can eat (or eat all you can as ma likes to call it) and such a range of food! From stuffed avocadoes to lightly grilled eggplants, to Paella to strawberries to fish, mmmmmm, there's SO much food. And they replace it every 2 minutes. Despite this fact, despite the fact I know this fact, despite having known this fact for 6 days, I still have a very irrational fear that some selfish fat person is gonna charge up and take all the good stuff before I can get at it. So I charge blindly at the food counter in a frenzy of jealous possessiveness like a starving ethiopian every time we enter the room, leaving the others to bagsy us a table, knocking the man in a suit playing light jazz-type stuff on a saxophone, and forsaking the soup and pansy light food for the meat and other luxuries, piling it in my mouth as I pile it on my plate mountainously high, then sitting and scoffing it greedily, with one eye on the ever decreasing food (and ever-replaced, see, I do know this fact, but my brain can't process the concept of never-ending food) before running to get another mountainful before some evil fatso takes all the best food away. It's sad. Especially because after all this eating, at the end of the week, I actually have become the evil fatso foe I feared so much. Using my now chubby elbows and flabby knees to send chavvy old ladies in burberry caps and plaited children flying, and instilling fear into anyone who sees the constant look of aggressive jealousy staring from my chubby cheeked triple chinned face as I scoff monumental amounts of foodage.







Catching some rays by the pool inbetween feeds.