Sunday, October 25, 2009

Lotsa noise

I've got a headache, so thank goodness there's only one television on. I'm lying on a put-up bed in the study, the room next to the kitchen and I didn't sleep very well. The noise from next door is horrendous. I can clearly hear every word being said on the television and my aunt Pia has decided to reorganise all her pots and pans. To me it sounds like she is throwing stuff at the walls. It sounds like she's trying to drown out the television. I have got to get up.

Italian television is great. It's so bad, it's brilliant. It's 08.30 and the morning breakfast programme is blaring away. I've only been here a few hours and every programme that I've seen involves very beautiful, some would say stunning, young women standing around, looking gorgeous but doing nothing. Where do they find them all? On last night's programme there were six of them, all absolutely gorgeous, who traipsed on carrying keys (don't ask) and, sitting to one side, was a man whose dress and demeanor said that he was gay. He seemed to be an important guest and frankly I have no idea why he was there. Anyway, as the girls slithered onto the set the host turned to him and said, 'aren't they gorgeous'? As if this wasn't funny enough the look on the gay man's face was a picture. He looked ever so slightly confused and not sure what to say. Eventually he said, 'yes, the dresses are beautiful.' The host turned to him and said, 'is that all you can say?' I nearly fell off my chair laughing.

Back to this morning's programme, a sort of Italian breakfast news, there's this stunning young woman talking about whatever and I can't take my eyes off her. Pia notices this and said, 'she's beautiful, isn't she. She's this year's Miss Italy. And, she's intelligent as well!'

Anyway, I need peace and quiet. I must admit to being a bit noise sensitive so off I go to sit in another room where I can sit quietly and type this rubbish. Bearing in mind that it's early Sunday morning when, what happens? Some idiot upstairs starts drilling with a bloody jack hammer into the concrete floor above.

The Gregorian chant coming from the television in the kitchen was beginning to sound very inviting.

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