A call from outer space...

Ragazzi! The tide flows in, the tide flows out, shepherds watch their flocks, the sun revolves in its golden orb and Emma continues to slowly consume the world's diminishing reserves of piggy-type food stuffs. Oh JOY! TRIUMPHANT LAND OF WONDERFUL HAM!!!!!! I THANK THEE OH ROMAN GOD OF PORK! In between rambunctious weekends enjoying what Italy, or more precisely Rome has to offer as far as culinary delights go (forget the guide book, Florence might have pretty buildings, but give me a roman trattoria any day of the week. Florentines wouldn't know a pizza if Dean Martin frisbeed one at their faces!), i have been tearing my already thinning hair out in frustration at the train service to Prato (I am officially the world's youngest Old Retired Fart, listen to me, i'll be complaining that I can't find decent Swedish Orthopedic health shoes anywhere next...). I have been offered a 4 day posh job with lots of posh fancy shmancy fashion toffy noses in fancy shmancy toffy nosed Milan, talking business English to fancy shmancy fake-tanned money grabbers in poncey suits (yeah, yeah, I know, deep down I love it, superficial bling bling Versace...). Business English? Me? Business? LAUGH? I nearly died?! I can't even open a bank account! My only residual talents are the ability to make a continuous prat of myself and eat 3 packs of Asda Parma Ham in less than 30 seconds. Its a wonder the BBC haven't hired me yet! On the subject of Business. And English. And my abilities. Ladies and Gentlemen, I henceforth seeketh advice... I need a new job. Yes, still teaching English, I still enjoy that, and for the moment this will suit me fine, but for the love of god, Wall Street is driving me up the wall - and not in the cool Spiderman sense... Suddenly EVERYONE is working for Wall Street, Sarah in Rome, Gaby in Bologna, anyone else? Maybe its just mine that is horrendous, but let's just say, if you know any good job gossip (tefl.net proving unsatisfactory). sling it my way. I don't particularly care where, although preferably South of Florence or in central florence. and definitely NOT milano. And even more definitely not Prato. (sarah did you take the job in Rome that everyone at my Wall Street is applying for? Damn you!!! about 6 of us sent our c.v's there!) On another point, I have recently discovered........ crime! yes, finally, after the drought of 2005, and peaceful Florence, aside from the odd heroin overdose and attempted kidnapping by what appears to be the same "dusky ethnic minority type in headscarf" that we hear about every so often... This weekend I have heard the particularly grisly story of what I have dubbed the "Psycho-Mammone". (Mammone, you know, boy's who live with their mummy's until they are 40, in England they would be called recluses, unemployed or "a bit simple, like" - whereas here the act of setting foot outside your house before 30 is considered devilishly brave and a display of incredible survival skills) Well, an extreme case of Mammon-ism would be Mr. Mirko Santori, or something of the sort, who's mother was discovered mummified, and sealed into a cupboard with silicon gel three years after her death. It would appear poor old Mirko had a bit of trouble accepting that his poor dear mother, bless her wee soul, had departed the dear earth. Instead, he put on her best dress, powdered her face, tie a bow in her hair and arranged her in the cupboard on a comfortable pillow, then sealed her in. He would remove the seals once every so often to clean the old dear and make sure she was comfy (!?!?!?!??! WHY? WHO? I MEAN... HUH?!?!??!) and then shove her back in again. In the meantime, over the next three years, he recorded his painful decent into complete mental breakdown by scrawling a diary in marker pen on every blank surface in his house. Ah, Italy. Country of hot-blooded passionate males. Or just complte wierdos... Stay tuned for next week with the fat women who didn't move an inch from her living room chair for 2 1/2 years and became one with the fabric covering. She was probably waiting for a train to Viareggio.