Roma

So I went to Rome to catch up with Chris & Zoe a while ago – Us jetset types can’t meet in the cities we live but have to ‘Holiday’ to meet. Once again racial profiling worked in my favour at the airport, at the expense of an unfortunate Sri Lankan family as I strolled through customs. Arriving in the general vicinity of the hotel we were staying in I was lucky Chris & Zoe had got there earlier in the day and in the daylight otherwise I think I would have been sleeping under the stars that night. With all our gear unpacked we shot off to the Coliseum. It’s well impressive at night when it’s lit up by hundreds of well placed flood lights (actually it’s impressive in the daytime as well but I’m getting ahead of myself). Although you can only stare at lit stones for so long before you get hungry, luckily if there’s one thing Italians can do well its food. (OK they’re not too bad at cars as well – the new  Fiat Panda is awesome) Great food matched with great wine (Is there any other type) followed up by great friends catching up. After dinner we found an Irish pub -what are you gona do?- The cool thing about this place was the table football game that you played with water pistols, unfortunately for Chris my left shoulder won out over my right shoulder and he got a stain in the pants.

A crazy taxi ride home & Zoe went to bed leaving the lads to carry on ‘catching up’. The only problem being buying catch up juice, to do so we had to buy a magic ticket & then use the ticket to get some beers – fine, but neither of us know any Italian past hello, thank you & excuse me (scusilo) – Of cause we managed

The morning was a little dusty but the supplied Italian breakie & a few litres of good coffee helped a lot, then it was off to St Peters square to start an epic walking tour navigated by the brilliant Zoe Zoe, a lot more attractive & personable than any Tom Tom. We were thinking about popping in to see big Pope Beni (Chris had a letter from the Queen for him) but we realised he was in Oz forgiving the convicts, plus the queue was huge.

This is taking me too long to write so Part 2 will be coming soon.

Spaniards & Orange men

So I’m back in soggy Ireland just in time for the end of the European cup. It’s been a good year for the Spanish,  what with their national team wining the Euro cup, Nadal winning Wimbledon, Carlos Sastre winning the Tour de  France & a bunch of them meeting me. Pity their F1 representative is such a complete muppet. Needless to say we had quite a few pre-game BBQs (Between rain showers) which involved copious amounts of sangria. Soo much fun & man did they tear it up when they won! I don’t think the Guarda are used to fans that just what to sing & dance when they win & not smash everything & everyone in sight.

Then I was off to Ulster (NOT Northern Ireland) to catch up with Matt & whanau. Straight after work on Friday I threw a mattress in the back of the van & headed off for the 7 hour drive to Portavogle. The plan was to drive for a  few hours until I got tired and then pull over for a dodgy roadside kip. Once I got into Northern Ireland thought there were MASSIVE bonfires all over the show, we are talking 20 metre high monsters.  Unfortunately I forgot to pull over & take some photos so you’ll have to take my word for it. By 2:30 I was only 30min away from Matt’s cousin’s place but I was planning a big one on Saturday & knew if I turned up then it would become an all nighter so decided it prudent to stop there.

8am the next day I dropped Matt a line & rolled into town hoping for a coffee…your ‘aving a laugh aren’t  ya? The lads were already up (or in some cases still up) & the only liquid being consumed was amber in colour. A few hours of this & it was off to the club to hydrate before the parade kicked off. It’s a pity that violence often follows these parades as the bands, marching & general pride really is impressive (Leaves any ANZAC parade I’ve been to for dust & this is in a country village not a big city) I must be honest that I didn’t know anything about the 12^th  of July & how passionate these lads are about it. Then it was back to the club to toast the band members, some impromptu pipe competitions & for me to be shapely reminded that the crew were Ulstermen NOT Irish (Not for the first time the call “I’m a kiwi I didn’t  realise” saved my skin). Unfortunately it all turned to custard when the  pot of cockles I ate disagreed with me & I crawled back to the van to curl up & assume the position.

Thanks to all the lads who made this colonial feel at home, next time I’ll lay off the seafood & maybe try the local grub.