Fast Cars and Not-So Fast Women

We're two weeks further along in my language course, and I think it's high time for another brief hiatus. A couple of weeks ago I dealt with amusing things, now I'm going to look at something quintessentially Italian: the motor car. After being in Italy for seven weeks I had begun to notice the art of the motor car and the Italian obsession with it. I appreciate everything with an engine and therefore seeing some of these vehicles in their native environment was quite special. So if I saw something of interest, my coursemates would be taking pictures of pretty buildings and spectacular views, I would be looking the other way, taking a picture of the interesting car that was parked up a side road somewhere.

This first example was seen in Sanremo at the hotel that boasted, amongst other things, the laughing seagull. You can't tell from that picture, but it's actually a British Italian car, that is a Lamborghini with British plates. On the other side of the makeshift turning circle is a Porsche, also with British plates. It's sights like that one that make me proud to be British, knowing that my countrymen have such a good taste in cars...

This was seen just outside the Frassassi Caves. My coursemates were still walking round with beautiful stalagmites and stalagtites seared into their brains, but I was attracted by something of a much different nature. I confess to not knowing a great deal about bikes other than if they look pretty or not. I'm not a great lover of Harleys, but this one (which I believe is a Yamaha) was a pretty special specimen.

If I were able, this would be my car: an old style Fiat 500 Arbarth, souped up with silly additions almost everywhere. The boot doesn't close and there are scorpion badges painted everywhere. Italy is really the only place you can get away with driving a car like that, or else I'd have one over here. I saw it on our tour of Camerino and while my coursemates were admiring the view, my attention was taken hook, line and sinker by this extraordinary motor.

I found this ostentatious motorbike at Porto Recanati on the Rimini coast. I have no idea what it is, but I fell in love with it. It was big and orange and shouty and in-your-face - it was everything I had wanted to be in life (well nearly). I felt I had a certain connection with it, so convinced my friends to take my photo together with it. There's even a Vespa in the background to make things 1. even more Italian and 2. even better.

A little while later, we found another Fiat 500 - maybe the beach is where all the cool people with cool motors end up (ignore the Fiat Multipla in the background). As you can see I like people to think that it's my car, so I pretended I was snapped nonchalantly getting into my retro but classic wheels. Smooth.

My last picture also comes from the day I had at the beach - what can I say, it wasn't that great architecturally so I decided to take lots of pictures of other things of interest. This was particularly interesting to me. As a person who is challenged when it comes to parking, this was impressive. Very impressive.

Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon

During our language course, Sundays were our days off; there were 'voluntary' excursions to places like Siena, Urbino and Venice, but in this particular case 'voluntary' means 'expensive'. Don't get me wrong I really wanted to visit those places, but not for 60Eur a time - especially when I was moving to Verona in about six weeks where I would be a 6Eur train ride from Venice and you don't need a degree in maths to work out the savings...

The first Sunday of the language course Bree and Gaby decided they were going to go to Venice, and because I didn't know many people by that point I decided I was going to chill out and, for those of you with a good memory, Skype the family in the main piazza.

There were two more Sundays on the language course and I think the general consensus on at least one of them was to go to the beach. My experience of the Rimini coast had, up to that point, been a little disappointing: shingly beaches and expensive sun loungers. This didn't really appeal to me and I really begrudged paying to not enjoy myself all day.

I shared my musings with Susan and Lynette and I was surprised to hear that they thought the same and were considering staying around Camerino too. Susan and I had gotten really close as we were sharing Wendy's class time banter. I had also started spending a lot of time in their apartment to avoid Hurricane Gaby.

They lived in a much more central apartment, but to be honest in Camerino no two places are that far from each other. They lived opposite the cafe from the first morning and always got a rude awakening when the locals would descend to read the papers (and then discuss them very loudly) at 7am.

It was a much older apartment to mine and Gaby's, but where our living space had a small table, a fridge, and a tiny television, they had sofas and a proper place to relax. If we'd had that in our apartment I might not be going so loopy about Gaby because I could leave her to hurricane about in our room and I could have shotgunned a sofa so that I could lie down in peace and think about rolling hillsides and gamboling lambs.

Anyway, so I tended to spend some of my time there, some of my time upstairs (in Bree's apartment) and then a teeny-tiny bit of time in my flat, rocking in the foetal position.

Fortunately for me (and for her), Gaby went to the beach with her 'new' friends. Bree went too because of the large number of Portuguese-speakers so she could have a day-off from speaking [very good] English and Italian. So that left the three of us to enjoy our Sundays by spending some quality time together.

Lovely.

Ever since the international dinner, Susan had developed a bit of a thing for my scones (no euphemism intended). I don't think there's a Croatian equivalent and so understandably this little slice of England had wormed its way into her heart (even if they were like pellets due to the lack of self raising flour in Italy).

I invited the girls round for lunch - we did it Italian style in that it was our main meal - and then I baked some scones for pudding. We only had a week of the language course left, but I would have been more than happy to study with these girls all through my year abroad. I was actually facing the real possibility of never seeing them ever again and that was something I didn't really want to happen.

I thought back to the month previous where I'd waved goodbye to my friends at Sanremo train station, and if you remember, I never saw them again. Obviously I didn't know that then, or even when I was thinking about the last week at Camerino I didn't know that it would just be so hard to keep in touch with people and that they really can be friends for a season and nothing else.

Still, I decided to make the most of the moment because I wasn't going to have very many more with these girls, in Camerino at least. We ate very well, shared some great times, and then for some reason I sang 'Lost?' by Coldplay very loudly and a bit too low - there's even a video to prove it (I'll spare you that one though).

Rejoice Florence and Take Some Stupid Pictures!

Now you may have been bitterly disappointed with my last post about my visit to Florence. Where was the banter? Where was the back-story? Well readers, I love Florence for its architecture and I wanted to devote an entire post to its beauty before I launch into how I abused it by taking a plethora of ridiculous pictures along the way.

If you remember me saying that I couldn't tell you any of the little pearls of wisdom we were told on our tour, then you're about to find out why...

So the day started by the Uffizi - the most famous art gallery in Florence (the one where David isn't). I found a statue of Neptune and with a bit of clever positioning, managed to ruin the iconography of Renaissance art in about thirty seconds. Job done.

At this point in the language course, inter-group relations couldn't have been any better. To be honest it was the peak - we'd spent all that time climbing up to this point and in the final week with the test and goodbyes pending, things started to wane a little. Oh well, that's to look forward to in a future post...

The 'Desperate' gang - me, Bree, Lynette, Susan (and some tag-alongs) decided to take on the city together (initially at least) and soaked in all the sights together. For those of you who are interested, Gaby didn't join us because she was meeting up with a friend in Florence and, understandably, she wanted to see her and not us.

So we hopped aboard the banter train and went to another part of the city - another sight to see, another old thing to take a picture of - there really isn't any rest for the wicked...

At this magnificent sight, the amusing picture of the hour was using the Obelix thing to make us into majestic unicorns. Score.

Our tour guide was sensing the lack of focus and thought he'd give us a break before he lost us completely to deface other important sights in Florence. This break gave us another photo opportunity...

I've always wondered what I'd look like with dark straight hair.

Now I know.

What was more entertaining was how the rest of the gang looked with blonde curls. Now that was entertaining - especially when we tried it on our tour guide (a sweaty, slightly pervy Italian bloke called Carlo).

After that excitement we calmed down a little and ventured over the the Boboli Gardens via the Ponte Vecchio: name-dropping a-go-go.

In front of the Boboli Gardens is a building that is important though I forget what it is - the only reason I remembered about the gardens was because of their funny name.

Anyway, in front of that is a large expanse of, well, nothing. It's just a large patch of gravel with a funny sculpture on it, but we'll get to that later. First, Susan and I decided to declare our love for each other.

Once that was done, we turned to the sculpture that I think was supposed to be a cat: if you're blind and don't know what a cat looks like. Or feels like. Or really if you don't know what a cat is.

Because of this comtempt towards the stupid piece of modern art spoiling my favourite Italian city, I decided to mock it in an amusing picture. Check.

The last picture is my favourite. It intends not to mock, but to admire, to appreciate and open a discourse on contrasting cultures and how they impact on society. That and it's just darn funny...

After that the Fantastic Four split up and Bree and I went off in search of scarves and 'Ciao Bella' t-shirts and Susan and Lynette went off in search of coffee. That job completed, we met back up at Neptune's bottom and left the city.

In my previous post you may recall we stopped off for one last sight to see on our way back and the photo-fun didn't end there, but you can read all about that here...

Rejoice Florence!

Florence is one of my favourite Italian cities. The only real competitor, in my eyes, is Venice, but Venice isn't really like anywhere on earth so I tend to put it in a category all its own making Florence numero uno! I'd been to Florence once before in my life when I visited Italy on a family holiday back in 2005. To be honest, I wasn't bowled over: it was a cloudy day, but still really muggy; I resented having to walk such a long way; and to be honest when you're 16, Renaissance architecture just doesn't quite float your boat, Valentino Rossi, yes, the Duomo from goodness-knows-when, not really.

We were nearing the end of our third week in Camerino and I'd reached the point where I was bored of visiting churches and quaint Italian towns. I freely admit to hating myself for that, but it didn't change the way I felt about it all.

Saturday was to see us all go on a mass-outing to Florence. We'd done Assisi and Perugia on the first Saturday, we'd done Rome (in a big way) on the second. Finally it was the turn of Florence - home to Dante (before he was exiled), the old Duomo thing, and the bridge with all the shops on. Nice.

We had a really early get up - in fact the sun hadn't quite risen when we left Camerino, but was giving us a spectacular show nonetheless. It was a bit of an arduous journey, but despite my previous encounter, I was really looking forward to going to Florence and making a better fist of it this time around.

We arrived at about 11'o'clock and started walking into the centre of town. The day was much nicer than the one I had been greeted with during my first visit, but there was a beautiful breeze that made the intense heat a little more bearable.

What I noticed very early on was that Florence was very Italian. I know. Well done for stating the obvious, but let me explain. What I love about Italy is the fact that they have never heard of Barratt Homes plc. - they are completely oblivious to the fact that you can create uniform housing estates which are kinder to the eye aesthetically, but how many Japanese tourists do you see taking pictures of housing estates in Surrey?

Italy has real character. The buildings are like people hemmed into a small space - each one is different and no-one seems to care. In between all this chaos you occasionally find a bit of architecture that makes your jaw drop to the floor and pull out the camera.

This is the relationship I have with the Duomo in Florence. From every angle it's magnificent - you can't take a bad picture of it. Don't believe me? I'll let you make up your own mind...

You can tell that I spent a lot of time getting intimately acquainted with this building. I wasn't quite at the stage where I wanted to marry it (like the lady who married the Berlin Wall) but I was in awe of its beauty.

This was just one of the many stops on our journey. As per usual we were having a guided tour so that we could see all the best places in the city and learn a little about them as we went.

The tour (after a break for lunch) went on into the afternoon and ended at the Boboli Gardens on the other side of the city. I can't remember anything of what was said on the tour - no facts, no nuggets of information, but I remember loving it. I was loving just being in Florence, being in such an amazing city. There was nothing about it that I couldn't explain away as character, or charm.

We had a few hours to ourselves before we had to meet for the bus and we decided to wind our way back into town via a bridge that would give us a view of the Ponte Vecchio - the bridge with all the shops on. It is such an iconic image of the city, and it was good to see it again close-up, but this time appreciate it a little more.

The day ended too soon in my opinion and we all piled onto the coach to go back to Camerino. There was, however, one more stop that we had to make before leaving the city. There is a piazza above the city with one of the replica statues of David and an incredible view of Florence down below. The sun had started the day by giving us a stunning sunrise, kept us warm throughout, and gave us a parting gift as I waved goodbye to the city I wouldn't return to for a number of years...

 Florence, Italy, 2009

Baci Baci from Gubbio

Things escalated as I left the International Dinner: I decided I was going to head home after the limbo started. I mean I love limbo as much as the next slightly irritating British tourist, but it doesn't mean I can do it, and I certainly can't do it if I'm wearing a non-elasticated skirt without showing a lot more than I intended.

So I left the party. My friends did not. In fact as we met at the school the following morning, there were quite a few dark-glasses-wearing individuals that were avoiding loud noises and Lynette had some suspiscious scabs on her knees. I quizzed her about this at break time.
'Have a little accident did you?'
'Just a little one.'
'Was it by any chance limbo related?'
'Maybe...'

It turned out things had got pretty rowdy and Lynette, being quite tall, was at a limbo disadvantage and paid thr price with a fall in the last round. Occupational hazard.

That afternoon we were going on another outing. It was week three and I was a little bored of these outings. We'd been to so many places, seen so many churches, had lectures about the Roman conquest of this and the Renaissance revival of that and I was getting a teensy-weensy bit tired of it all. I did hate myself for it - I was in Italy, supposedly living la dolce vita and all I could think of was where I could stop off for a coffee and lose the enthusiastic tour guide.

Gubbio was Roman at some point. The aforementioned tour guide was loving life and going on and on and on and on about why it was so Roman (frankly with the dirty great ampitheatre it wasn't a surprise) and so I kind of stopped listening. Bree and I instead found a more fun pursuit - pretending to be Roman. I don't mean that we adopted the tortoise formation and wore red skirts under our formidable armour - we just pretended to look Roman with our expressions and then take a picture in front of the Roman relic to adorn Facebook - it was a good idea at the time...

After this entertaining chapter of my life, we moved on to a church: I'll do my surprised face, oh wait, I don't have one... That day I happened to be committing a heinous crime in that not only were my provocative knees on show, but my alluring shoulders were as well. It was a mutual decision therefore not to enter the church and so I sat outside looking grumpy with Susan. I wasn't actually grumpy, but after sitting in a coach for over an hour, looking briefly Roman, and the prospect of more uninteresting culture to absorb, all I wanted was that coffee.

Apart from being vaguely Roman, Gubbio was famous for another reason. The town was on two levels and at the top was a quaint old town overlooking the Umbrian plains. Nestled within the backstreets was a well - supposedly a magic well. Yeah, I rolled my eyes too. I think the story went something like, if you visited Gubbio and you didn't want to get mad (as in crazy, not angry) then you had to run round the well seven times. Many, many of my coursemates gave this a go; Susan and I found a Vespa and took pictures of each other on it. We both shared the same feelings of apathy at this point in the course and though we enjoyed visiting new places, taking part in the ridiculous traditions was maybe a step too far.

I was getting on really well with Susan and Lynette; Gaby had cooled off again; and Bree was going through a bit of a rough patch so was cooling off with everyone. Basically her boyfriend was being a bit of an idiot and there was very little we could say to make her feel better about this so she turned to one of the Brazilian guys for a friendly shoulder to moan on. We were still all friends, but I think Bree was suffering from the 'Afternoon at the Pool' syndrome and really wanted some time to herself.

One of the other attractions of Gubbio was a cable car up to the top of the hill on which it resides. Normally I love a good cable car, a beautiful view, and a bit of banter on the way, but on that particular day I really couldn't be bothered. Neither could Susan. The others all wanted to go on the cable car ride, but I could think of a better way to spend 7Eur.

Susan and I went back down to the lower town and found a cafe - admittedly it was quite an expensive cafe, but my 7 Euros were much better off spent on a cup of coffee, a brioche and chats with Susan. We'd formed quite a formidable team in Wendy's classes and when it came to dull lectures all about culture, we shared a very similar viewpoint.

The others returned from their excursion in desperate need of a drink themselves, so they joined us at the cafe for a spot of something before the bus came to take us back to Camerino. They'd enjoyed it, but the enjoyment probably wasn't worth 7Eur and, like the afternoon at the pool, they were kind of regretting not going for the simple option.

We went home that evening after having enjoyed the day, not for the culture, but for the chance to spend it in good company.

Later on that week I emailed my friends and family telling them about my trip to Gubbio and signed off 'baci baci' - kisses. My parents picked up on this: baci baci from Gubbio? Are you secretly in Liverpool?

I said though it sounded like it, I wasn't...

Pub Grub

One of the things I missed about the UK when I was in Italy (and believe me there weren't many) was the traditional British pub grub. I LOVE mashed potato and pie and gravy and roast potatoes and steamed green veg and stuffing with roast dinners, and did I mention mashed potato? This is something that is yet to go viral in Italy.

That said, I love the Italian cafe culture and all the delicious food on offer, however peculiar, and I was in no hurry to get home for a traditional roast. This was not the view of those in charge, and for week three they had scheduled in a nostalgic banquet made up of the very best dishes from our various countries. I confess I was really looking forward to this. Well I was until I realised that it was the students were supposed to provide the food.

The idea was very simple: everyone has the opportunity to make one of their national dishes (official or otherwise) and after presenting it to the group, we would feast on the international delights available. If I were back home in the UK, this wouldn't even phase me slightly: pop down to Tesco and grab everything a girl could need to make the perfect British banquet.

I was not in the UK. There is no branch of Tesco in Camerino. There isn't even an Aldi.

It wasn't long before loopholes were being exploited and several factions had been formed. If it wasn't all in the name of food we'd have a serious problem: the Portuguese lining up against the Spanish; the Brazilians squaring up to Poland. It was a recipe for disaster (don't you love an inadvertant pun).

As Lynette and I were the sole representatives from the UK, it was only natural that we stick together and pool our resources against the considerable might of the other nations. So early that afternoon we sat down with a notepad and began brainstorming cheap and easy British dishes that we could replicate with nice simple ingredients like eggs and flour and pasta...

This was not a terriby easy task and we eventually decided on a meal of Toad in the Hole with jam scones for pudding. Yum. What then ensued was a panic visit to Skype as we both called our respective families for the age-old tried-and-tested recipes from Grandma.

Banquet T-5 hours.

So with five hours to go we had two recipes and no ingredients, we also needed to produce a poster of our recipes all nicely written our in Italian. It's a shame we couldn't knit some time... While Lynette was getting the fine details of her Toad in the Hole recipe, I pressganged a tutor to help me write out these recipes in Italian.

Banquet T-4.5 hours.

Time for a trip to Eurospin, Italy's half-hearted answer to Tesco: flour, butter, eggs, milk, sausages, jam and a spot of whipped cream, oh and some bananas, and a bit of pasta, maybe some more disposable razors and a new hairbrush...

Banquet T-3 hours.

We arrived back at Lynette's flat to do the cooking. My apartment was full of Portuguese people after a nasty incident with internal affairs causing two rival factions to develop. Lynette, despite there being five nations represented in her flat, had the run of the kitchen and chose to shotgun it for Queen and Country.

Susan, the only representative from Croatia, was lacking in motivation because taking on a venture like that solo was quite an expensive operation; so for one day, and one day only, the UK joined forces with Croatia to create something beautiful. Well, Lynette and I cooked whilst making the poster at the same time, Susan ate some of the spoils - you have to be sure it tastes good: she tried a few just to be really sure.

Banquet T-2 hours.

In the Red Kitchen (to use a Ready, Steady, Cook analogy) I was making the scones. I didn't have cutters and neither did I have self-raising flour, or even baking powder: they turned out to be quite an interesting shape... Still, chop them in two, coat them with jam and cream, and no-one knows any different.

Banquet T-1 hour.

In the Green Kitchen Lynette was having some trouble with her recipe. It transpired, after a long time, that the quantities had been wrong. We'd sort of guessed and added more bits as we saw fit, but it wasn't going to be quite worthy of Aunt Bessie.

Banquet T-30 minutes.

With half an hour to go, we were putting the finishing touches to the poster and arranging our goodies in such a way to earn a few more points for presentation. Speaking of presentation, we also had to present our dishes to the group. I'm normally a confident and outgoing person, but I had never done public speaking in a foreign language and I wasn't looking forward to it. Lynette and I prepared a little of what we were going to say.

Banquet T-10 minutes.

We arrived at the banquet venue, a courtyard at the university, next door to my flat. We put our poster up and added our plates to the table. It wasn't long before everyone else joined us with plates of steaming food and the principal called proceedings to order.

Each nation (or faction of each nation) presented their dishes. In the UK the Health and Safety wombles would have a breakdown - food prepared by the unwashed in greasy kitchens that wouldn't know a hygiene certificate if it swept up all the discarded food on the floor and put all the washed dishes back in the cupboards. But we're in Italy and things like that don't matter - no-one got food poisoning so what's the problem!?

It was soon our turn to do the presentation and I think the subtle irony of tea and scones and the literal translation of Toad in the Hole was a little lost on our audience, but they seemed to enjoy the results nonetheless. I saw a Spanish woman manhandling our toad in the Hole so she could get a piece of that batter-and-frankfurter combination for herself; despite being a pudding, all the scones had gone by the time I'd made a swoop of the rest of the table; and the only things we'd be taking home it turned out, would be the dishes.

So all in all it was a success. We didn't win, but then again it was more about the taking part. In this particular competition being outdone by your rivals only means you get a nicer dinner and that's a compromise I'm willing to get on board with.

The banquet soon became a party (started by Poker Face before launching into a Reggaeton mash-up) and I retired early - just as the limbo was getting started...

An Afternoon at the Lake

I have to make an apology. My last-but-one post was entitled 'An Afternoon at the Pool' only it wasn't. This post is entitled 'An Afternoon at the Lake', but for readers who fear a pattern emerging, you can rest easy - we actually spent an afternoon at the lake.

The lake in question was Lago di Fiastra. The course was proceeding nicely and after the afternoon my friends spent at the pool wasn't as relaxing as they had thought it would have been, we thought some TLC at a lake would be just what we needed.

We met at the bus stop in Camerino and, as per usual, shotgunned the back of the bus. It was a kind of twisty journey, one of those vomit-inducing rides where the front of the bus is about three corners ahead of the back. So if I wasn't looking forward to lying in the sun all afternoon before, it was about to become necessary.

If you were wondering how things were going with Gaby after last night, I can't really tell you. It's not that I'm keeping a dastardly secret for her, or that it was so unpleasant I dare not speak of it - the truth is I don't know. She stumbled in bladdered out of her theatrical mind... again... at goodness knows 'o' clock in the morning. I was up and out of the house before her, I lunched with Lynette and Susan, and the first time I saw her was getting on the bus.

She immersed herself (like everyone else, due to the road conditions) in some music and when we disembarked at the lake she suddenly decided that hiring a sun-lounger (like the rest of us) was a silly and expensive thing to do because all the cool people (like the ones in her class) were totes going to rough it on towels round the headland.

So with Gaby out of the picture, Susan, Lynette, Bree and I hired our outrageous sun-loungers (2Eur - woh...) and sat ourselves in the sun. It was a hazy afternoon - warm, of course, but the sun wasn't beating down and frying everything in sight like normal. Conditions were perfect and with the breeze coming in off the lake, I really could have stayed there for hours.

This didn't happen.

Bree was very keen to dip her feet into the cool waters of Fiastra and very keen that as many of us as possible should join her. Lynette did with little persuasion, but Bree wanted to encourage me to get involved as well.

Problem.

I had no pants for my bikini and going without tends to be frowned upon even in Italy (despite the prolific nudity that appears in public places). I was wearing pants, you'll be relieved to read, but not the kind that you can go swimming in. Still, I wanted to cool off and have a paddle, and paddle I did. Not for long - there's only so much time you can kill walking up and down while your friends are swimming about 10 feet away.

It wasn't long before I decided that my 2Eur sun-lounger was more fun and I went back to join Susan who had resolutely denied all requests that she join us in the lake - she was minding our stuff. It wasn't long before Bree and Lynette came back too as splashing about for more than about twenty minutes when you're not eight  can get a little tiresome.

It sooned turned out that lying down on a 2Eur sun-lounger for any more than twenty minutes wasn't to Bree's liking either and she got the mother of all itchy feet.
'Aren't you bored?'
'Not really' I replied.
'Let's do something.'
'Like what?'
She scanned the horizon and soon found something that would entertain her adequately.
'Let's hire a pedalo.'

We all sat up and turned to her.
'A pedalo!?'
A pedalo.

We hired a pedalo.

There were several for hire - six-seaters and four-seaters. There were four of us, so brilliant, let's hire a four-seater pedalo. Susan did not want to do this. She was very much enjoying lying down and was very concerned about the stuff we would be leaving behind for all and sundry to pilfer (she must have been an expert at keeping an eye on things whilst her own eyes were shut...).

So we were about to hire a four-seater pedalo with only three people. We threw the offer out to those around us and soon found that no-one wanted to spend an hour with us on an unsteady craft in the middle of a very deep lake.
'Why not ask Gaby?' said Bree.
We asked Gaby. She thought that with all the money she had saved not hiring a sun-lounger, hiring a pedalo would probably be ok.

We set sail.

Now after having read that relations were a little strained between myself and Gaby, you may have thought that an hour with her on the aforementioned raft of death would have ended in just that. It wasn't nearly as bad. The thing about Gaby is that Gaby is quite like her Desperate Housewives character. Gabrielle Solis was (at times) self-seeking, self-interested, self-ish - anything that has the word 'self' in. It is not by chance that I called my Gaby, Gaby. So though I was finding Gaby a little irritating, she was oblivious to this and a harmonious hour on the lake together would only take a deep breath and new attitudes to tolerance on my part.

We all had a lovely time. If you've never pedalo-ed on a calm Italian lake as the sun set before, you really should give it a go. It actually did wonders for mine and Gaby's friendship and I left the lake a whole lot more relaxed about the situation.

Once we hit dry land, it turned out that Susan was now very bored (and had been for some time), but as the sun-lounger hire people wanted their sun-loungers back, we were left standing around waiting for the bus to come with very little to occupy ourselves with.

The coach arrived eventually and we piled on and took our seats. Gaby wanted to sit on her own with her music and proceeded to lip sync (much to our amusement) all the way home...