With the War on Toothpaste still not won, Friday night Paul and I rushed to get out to Heathrow, as getting through security on time is always a gamble. There's also the added excitement of not knowing how many items of clothing you'll have to remove, too. I only got to remove my belt and shoes this time, but because I now wear jeans that only cover half my bum, everyone got a good look at my underwear too. (Not really - I am not 16, I just try to dress that way).
A couple of lipstick lesbians were sat opposite us in the BA lounge, en route to Honkers. They had a small child with them, who was calling both of the ladies 'Mummy'. Both Mummy I and Mummy II were a bit grumpy though. I tried to give the little girl my best "Don't worry about grumpy mummies, they're probably not even going to sell you into the white slave trade, and even if they do, steamed rice and Kai lan is very slimming" smile, but I'm not sure if she got my vibe. At least I tried.
Our flight was delayed (thanks, BA!) and we ended up at Fiumicino on a public holiday, after public transport had stopped running. As much as I love Italy and Rome, that was enough to strike fear into our hearts, especially when we saw the size of the taxi queue. In most places taxis would be flying into the airport, but in Rome they were arriving at the rate of one every five minutes or so. We finally got a taxi over an hour later and didn't have a drink in our hand until after 1am.
We spent Saturday afternoon at
Castel Romano, not some renaissance masterpiece or roman ruin, but an Italian Factory Outlet. If your idea of fun is trying to fight Italians off at cash registers (will they ever learn to queue?) and shopping for four hours, then you would have thought it was great. With hindsight, we spent a bit longer there than we would have liked, but Christmas demands sacrifices like that I suppose. Sophie picked us up from the metro station (€1 a trip!) and drove us out and Alexander and Edward joined us. It’s amazing how a balloon and a paper bag will keep young boys entertained for hours. Seriously. At one stage Edward was stroking my calves in the changing room telling me how hairy they were. I was just praying the whole thing wasn’t being captured on CCTV and I wouldn’t be spending the rest of the weekend explaining myself to the
Carabinieri.
Saturday night was our designated Trastevere night. First we had dinner
here, and it was very good, and everyone got to try the spigola with truffles. It was ridiculously cheap at €30 a head for 3 courses, wine, coffee. La Dolce Vita indeed.
We even had some
Amaro.
Afterwards we wandered around Trastevere, (
so much more crowded than it used to be, just ask Iz!) and went for a drink at the little Scala. Paul and I checked out our old apartment and tsked over the state of the shutters.
I went for cornetti for the group. Then we ended up in some sort of social club, where we drank a little later than we should have. It was just like old times.
Sunday was more like Melbourne – it rained solidly all day – so we abandoned any hope of strolling through piazzas, and instead went for lunch. After trying to call a taxi and failing miserably, fate then had the good grace to delay us at the metro because some old girl couldn’t work the ticket machine and of course the others were broken. Then arriving at Colosseo metro, buses weren’t running. We were reminded of how frustrating we found living in Rome. It didn’t stop us admiring the roman ruins and renaissance architecture on the way to lunch though – what Rome lacks in infrastructure and service it certainly makes up for in atmosphere. And good coffee. I didn’t have a dud one all weekend – it’s always perfect.
I sort of stuffed myself at lunch, purely because I knew I wasn't going to back for a while, and being a bit hungover helped too. Spagetti with Swordfish and Melanzane, Maialino (roast baby pig), and a fried artichoke then
Millefoglie. Lunch over, it was time to jump in the car and head back to the airport at 160KPH – this time not in a taxi, but in a chauffeur-driven leather-upholstered Lancia. Nice (and only €40 – the same as the taxi). The whole weekend was a bit of a rushed trip, but it was very enjoyable and good to catch up with Steve, Iz, Gary, Debs, Trish, Sophs and the boys (H was away), Jean and Mary again.
Labels: coffee, europe, food, friends, Italy, Rome
There was a time when I used to drink a lot of tea. I used to drink it when I was a teenager, trying assorted Twinings teas to find one I liked (English Breakfast and Irish breakfast used to be favourites), but like heterosexuality in my teenage years, something never felt quite right with it. I was introduced to real coffee via a plunger (cafetiere) in my early twenties and from then I was hooked. From plunger coffee I moved on to harder and darker coffees, and the final nail in tea’s coffin for me came in 1994.
friendly and attentive (we had a Polish Mrs Doyle, pushing tea like it was crack cocaine), my tea (Japanese Green tea with Cherry and Rose) was fantastic, the cakes, scones and sandwiches were neverending and we had a great time. Oh, and the Laurent Perrier Champagne wasn’t bad either, almost as sparkling as the conversation and the pianist. It was all very English and a lot of fun. I’d recommend it to anyone.
