The translation of the old posts continues. This one was written during my second week in London in 2009. After reading these posts again I have to admit, I didn’t start off with an open mind toward the new culture.
Question: how many times one has to wear a new pair of shoes before they stop giving blisters the size of a pizza Margherita? My feet are so sored like not even Jesus’s feet were on the Via Crucis (before the nails, of course)! I just hope that the strange coloured ointment Natalia gave me will bring some healing outcomes!
I suspect there have been more cases of sickness in the office after mine. Probably somebody even passed away because suddenly the temperature of the air conditioning is back to human tolerability. Today I managed to count 14 rays of Sun and everybody kept saying “such a beautiful day today! It’s freaking hot in hear, why don’t we cool down the temperature a bit?”, to which I stole a look at my shotgun that I now keep underneath my desk and everybody just kept away from the AC controller. I’m sure that the micro-criminality problems that Italian immigrants brought to the United States during the past century were caused for the same reasons.
One more question: why people in the American TV series always live in super cool lofts, with design high-tech kitchens, mega-satinized fridges, king-size beds and massive windows facing the city’s sky-line? What kind of job can make you so wealthy to afford that in London? I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with the real-estate agency to see some properties, but I doubt there are such places in Battersea. I’d say yes to everything (or almost), but please no carpet floors! I find it to be one of the most unhygienic things and after few weeks you end up having colonies of Alsatian dog-tall mites with whom you have to share the bathroom. Here is a cool idea for my future job: a tiles business! They don’t seem to know what they are on this side of the Channel, perhaps with time I could even get to afford a luxury loft downtown. With tiled-floor, of course.
I will soon end up in the vicious circle of the Friday-night pint after work. By the British tradition, London white-collars meet up in the local pubs on a Friday after work for a pint, which then become four or five. Usually on a Friday late evening you see more drunks around than you see in Campo de’ Fiori in Rome on a Saturday night. I’ve got nothing against this tradition and I’m sure I will easily put up with it, if not that people have to pay at least a round of pints to everybody else and considering that we are talking of groups of 5-6 people minimum, that could be problematic. You don’t even realize it and you end up with empty pocket and a hangover the day after.
So, to wrap it up, if you are one of the singles who live in fancy lofts, that’s OK. But if you are just a common mortal who struggle to get to the end of the month, you’d better remember to have enough cash with you on a Friday so to be ready to pay at least 6 pints (and to drink them, of course!) and a taxi ride home if things get bad. Today I got away with only three pints, not bad, but I have to come up with something soon before I start looking like Homer Simpson!