And fail.
Naturally, the ticket office closed just before I got there. My feet hurt, and I am overwhelmed by the tales of fellow travelers as they tried like fuck to get home. Some of them have been at it since last Thursday. How they remain as calm as they do is beyond me. I am only 18 hours in. I managed to fly from Tripoli to Rome. It took one and a half hours. I have no right to complain. Twenty minutes ago I did get my hands on a ticket to Milan with not much hope of progressing further. I cannot begin to describe the excitement and sheer bliss of rail travel.
So I won't.
Of course, just as I head north into the "eye of the cloud", a decision is taken to open UK airspace again. Nothing to do with my safety, I hasten to add. No. The problem, the same as it ever was, concerns profits.
Trouble is, dear readers, this sudden openess of the skies is useless to me. The French, lazy, insolent bastards that they are, are enjoying the extra duvet time and will not declare their skies open until I have spent over a thousand Euros on my trip home.
Upside? Plenny of Italian wine, beer and a heaven sent new liquid that the locals call grappa. I am drinking it by the bucketload and have lost the sight in one eye. Everything south of my belt buckle refuses to function.
And I mean everything.
I
To cap it all, my fucking fly is broken. I did not bring any spare pantaloons. I now look like a drink-riddled international sexual deviant. Strangely, I couldn't give a shit.
If I DON'T get arrested for something it will be a fucking miracle.
Next report when I can steal some more bandwidth.
Play nice.
CR.
PS-your stained author was interviewed briefly on Italian telly. I would dearly love to have seen the subtitles they inserted for my words. Some examples: fuck, fucky, fuckingbastardsonsofwhores, cunty Icelandic twats, over-cautious fucking British Airways scum-sucking arseholes, workshy arrogant Italian train fucking worker bastard shits, Alitalia mongs with attitude fucking problems, yes! I am really fucking looking fucking forward to another eighteen fucking hours in your fucking country when I should only need fucking one to miss it enfuckingtirely you scabby, motherless cunts, and so on and so forth. Fade to reasonably happy looking Estonian chick with a fine pair of gams. (Who, I suspect, hoovered up the last stocks of meow meow).
How they remain as calm as they do is beyond me.
ReplyDeleteIt's because getting back to here isn't as delightful as it used to be. It's bloody cold too - there were snow flurries today.
Plenny of Italian wine, beer and a heaven sent new liquid that the locals call grappa.
Grappa? Aaah-ha-ha-ha! You're lucky to lose all feeling below the waist. That stuff burns on the way out. Both routes. It's sometimes known as 'broken glass'.
So you're drunk, shabby and in Rome while I'm soberish, shabby and freezing in Scotland.
I'd trade places if I could.
Although I'd recommend getting out of Italy before Dawkins arrests the Pope in the UK. Brits might not be popular there if that happens. We will be the darlings of Iran, though.
I was barred from Rome because of Grappa. I understand.
ReplyDeleteLong story, nobody would believe it.
Grappa,
ReplyDeleteGirls drink my home made Limoncello used to be about 80% proof when I made it from 100% alcohol, no hangover But smashed after a few ice cold ones! Hoofing!
Enjoy the trainride, somewhat more enjoyable than that in the UK.
Just be thankful you're heading north and not down to Naples!
U should be able to get a pair of trou from Piazza Italia dept store for about €10/15.
Good luck, Ciao dopo!
CD
If you are looking that shabby, then you should get fast tracked by the French. They will take you for an asylum seeker and won't hang about getting you into blighty.
ReplyDeleteHope you get home soon.
vendetta
I'd love to have seen the TV interview.
ReplyDeleteMilan Station, a memorial to Il Duce and Italian Fascism. I bought a "coffee" there once and was presented with a thimblefull of black muck. Great city what with its Cathedral, San Ciro stadium (still got the flags) and Sforza Castle. I recall being in an upside down Volvo following a brief chase by communists sometime in the 80's.
ReplyDeleteDoes the 12 hour night-train, couchettes, still run to Victoria?
To cap it all, my fucking fly is broken.
ReplyDeleteBorrow, beg, steal a hole punch and a hiking boot lace. Fixed in no time.
Don't worry Ranty, at least one Scottish sheriff, a good few ministers and several senior police have been getting away with being real perverts for years. I think you're safe mate.
ReplyDeleteSorry to hear about your travel woes.
I expect your travails will produce a fine blog post, Captain.
ReplyDeleteStay well.
That thimble full of black muck is nectar, banned!
You poor thing. If you're passing by Malaga (well, you never know). I have a spare room!
ReplyDeleteDon't hurry home, I suspect the one-eyed incumbent of No.10 is reaching for the 'Civil Contingency Act' as we speak.....
ReplyDeleteBeen quiet for a while - no internet in Italian police cells I presume :-)
ReplyDeleteDamn... where's the Pope when you need him for a hostage swap?
They would never give Captain Ranty up, just to get the pope back.
ReplyDeleteAh Rome Station. Several years ago now, on a very hot day, I too spent around 3 hours in a queue for a ticket. Then I had to spend another hour in the left luggage place (which seemed like miles away).
ReplyDeleteNeedless to say missed the train.
Thought auch I'll just get on the next one. Not according to the Italian ticket checkers. :( After profusely apologising in broad Scots, I was so pleased I hadn't asked if they understood German.
Just across the aisle a German couple had done the same as me - ticket but not for that train. They were given a fine of €200 each. I had a chat with them to see what caused the difference. Nothing at all. Then they asked my nationality and when I said Scots, the woman looked at the chap knowingly. They knew they'd heard the language somewhere. One said Ireland and the other Scots.
I was congratulated on my command of English by the way lol.