All I need is my dear friends. And a good European quantity of alcohol in my blood, in London, in Poland and in Italy

Chapter 3. In Canegrate, Italy

I forgot to mention how even in Poland I had to find an internet café to do some work that popped out while I was away. Maybe this is why I wanted to get to Italy and do nothing else than eat, get silly drunk and generally talk all kind of crap with my oldest friends.

Did I say that I’m stuck in the past? Yes I did. And every time I meet my old friends, this is exactly what I want to talk about: memories.

From discussion regarding our immense database of Japanese cartoons (every 30-something years old Italian know at least 30-50 opening themes and cartoons from the late 70’s  / 80’s invasion on our commercial televisions) to stupid things we did and we really never regretted. Sure, most of them have moved on with their lives, by buying new houses (Giuseppe just bought a flat 200 meters from my dad’s place…I would always be there if I still lived in Italy, and he’s not the only one…), but for few nights only our alcoholic evenings bring us together as nothing has happened in the past 8 years.

 

It’s weird also because the last time I was here with Lindsey, and you can’t say certain things or behave in certain ways if someone who doesn’t share your same background (including stupid cartoons, jokes and language) is around.
I just hope that one day she will be able to understand what  is going on around her, because I really don’t like to make her feel uncomfortable around a table of people that don’t really master the English language. So, for few nights only, my friend had the old Olaf Meister back, with his full collection of creative swearing, stolen and translated catch phrases, and capable of drinking litres of alcohol until death comes to knock at the brain door.

I’ve also managed to squeeze some sort of house warming party at the new Giamba’s place, a little flat somewhere in Bareggio, where we enjoyed a night of homemade cocktails with Claudia, and battles with that great videogame that is Guitar Hero. Apparently the more I drink the better I am at singing.

So, there isn’t much to say about that lazy weekend, culminated in my sister’s 31sy birthday on Sunday. I spent what I would call a quality time with friends at the usual bar, with family at the usual summer barbecue, and with my dog at the usual parks. Max tried to kill me by removing the chair from under my ass but I survived. My dad enjoyed the newest addition to his bar, the vuvuzela , and Olga received a fantastic sodastream machine for her birthday.I played more Wii at Beppe's new place with Claudia, and I must say that I'm quite good at the (virtual) farting game.

I didn’t do anything else. Just like in London and in Poznan, I didn’t even bother to pretend to be a tourist and go or see stuff.
All I wanted was there, either around me at the table, or in front of me in a glass bottle.

I’m a terrible tourist, but Europe is my home. And, at home, I like to do nothing at all…

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