Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Now And At The Hour Of Our Death

The following was scribbled yesterday morning, reverently, into a lachrymose notebook whilst waiting for a train to Palermo....

There is a tiny chapel in the train station of Agrigento and, I must say, very little else. Which is why I find myself sitting here at the back of this wholly deserted room, surrounded by the usual, enormously tasteful Catholic gewgaws and a sweetly patronising message from the Good Pope (the one before the Nazi). Also, because today is a national holiday in Italy, the train station is empty but for a few elderly American tourists, and here in this chapel, it's just me and this old bird...

Anything could happen.

Sadly, my time in Sicily has not been all good. It started out wonderfully, however, and everything was going great, until halfway through my second night, a couple of people with whom I had been getting on really enormously well turned on me, swore at me viciously, pushed me away and left me drunk and weeping in the middle of the night, in the middle of a strange town, without even the name of the hotel where we were staying. I’m still not sure why it happened, but I do know that it ruined the whole trip for me. Or at least this leg of the trip.

Actually, I do know why it happened – it happened because I made jokes about the relationship between our two nations, and because I was talking to a girl that one of the other men fancied. Imagine that. Me. Making someone jealous.

I don’t want to say anything else about it here as I’m going to write to the two people involved and see what they have to say about it in the cold light of day. I'm still reeling from it all actually, and it's left a very sour, and very sad, taste in my mouth.

But life goes on, and I suppose, on the bright side, one day it’ll give me something interesting to write about. But not now. For now at least, we forget, and we move on, back up North to Faenza and hopefully, everything crossed, to the adorable Pea.

Now, come on, Mary, you old bugger! Give me your goddamn blessing!

Thanks, love.

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Catofstripes said...

Never enough information. Hope you're o.k. now.

I've got the book, or rather, it's in Buckinghamshire and I'm away but I'll read it in a couple of weeks time. Don't let anyone give away the punchlines.

The Gossamer Woman said...

Don't you hate it when Mary remains silent and unmovable? Not even a tear or the ghost of a smile? She's a frustrating woman.

Anonymous said...

ouch. sending a hug, with a nice gentle ass-grab for good luck...

Pearl said...

Huh. What a crap thing to happen on holiday. Don't let it poison the whole trip though.

My friend's little boy thinks that it's 'Hail Mary, full of grapes', and as he really really likes grapes, he spends an inordinate amount of time stomping round the house chanting, 'Hail Mary, full of grapes, full of grapes, full of grapes.' It makes me enormously pleased.

Beleaguered Squirrel said...

"lachrymose notebook"

I was going to ask if this meant a pad soaked in tears, but after reading the rest of your post I'm guessing it did.

Could it be that you feel foul of the Mediterranean fiery temperament and took it too much to heart? I know that I, for instance, can't cope with any kind of conflict and go running home in tears while my fiery-tempered friend - who had a childhood full of shouting and assumes it's just one of those things you do to let the tension out - has forgotten everything seconds after it occurred.

Hugs anyway, sounds utterly horrible. Hope you're recovered.