In the last couple of days I've learned that in Milan a Cuba Libre is an entire bottle of Bacardi in a glass, a lime and 2ml of Coke. Nice. I've learned that in Milan no one looks where they are walking.
I've also found out that a three Euro umbrella lasts about as long as a cigarette. When it rains I could easily be on about twenty umbrellas a day.
But, fun as it has been, it's time to throw my shit into the passenger seat of the MG and head into the mountains to my new home.
I'm massively excited and a bit worried at the same time. The road to the village (the name of which which I'm keeping secret to keep ex-wives and bailiffs from knocking on my door) is up a mountain track with a 500 foot drop on one side and Italians driving in the other direction.
The MG is rear wheel drive and a bit skittish on ice. It's also got almost no abilities as a hang glider, so if I do screw up there is going to be a yard sale of my possessions and most of my organs in the river at the bottom of the pass.
I'm also nervous about the house. It's water tight, it's got a wood stove, but other than that everything needs ripping out and rebuilding. It's a big task for a guy who has spent his life sitting at a desk answering the phone and talking BS for a living.
I was going to write some more, but have decided to go hunt for a dictionary instead. I've just realised I don't know the Italian word for wheel barrow! Shit.
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