Dear diary…
Will my toothpaste for 7 to 13 year olds maintain my pearly whites through an excessive onslaught of cheap red wine these coming weeks? And will using fabric softener to wash my clothes cause long term damage? Just a tad of supermarket confusion, it will pass won’t it?
Does smirking while watching a tourist laboring to fork spaghetti into his mouth before resorting to sucking directly from the plate mean I’m not the nice person I thought I was? And why didn’t his wife offer to cut it up?
A local in the Village beckoned me over today, introduced his friends, poured glasses of Prosecco all round then launched into a rapid fire Italian conversation. It was really hard to keep up but do you think he might have been welcoming me into the fold? I’m pretty sure he meant me, not the bloke walking behind?
And would you 
put the hot frothy milk and two sugars his crusty old friend, the one with the blood red eyes and shock of white hair, was drinking into the ‘baby-chino’ category? Or should I have kept my mouth shut?
Why are songs sung in languages other than English just not resonating yet that song coming from the fellow standing on top of the Colosseum video clip, who incidentally looks just like Dr Gregory House, sounds positively sexy?
Will finally getting the gist of an Italian soap plot because there’s Italian subtitles as well as voice mean I’m finally learning the language? And should I also get a trout pout, bright yellow tan and testicle crushing kick ass platform shoes too? No wait! It’s in Spanish!
Dear Diary…does this mean I’m finally a local?
Oh! And one more thing…do you think I will ever find a Limoncello I’ll like? How many bloody brands are there? Surely that would ‘complete’ my transition?
Meanwhile, some nice photos of Riomaggiore.
