Monday, October 30, 2006
Cuomo’s Lucky Store
If you go to Sorrento and end up here, I’ll give you a little tip. On no account be American.
The store is stuffed to the gills with the most fabulous marquetry furniture, musical boxes and pictures you could ever imagine, and to go with this are the eye wateringly high prices they charge. They had one musical box, in a beautiful clear blue lacquered birds eye maple, with an inlay of two lutes and a musical score done so beautifully you think it was painted on. “500 Euro, fuck me!” I exclaim! “That’s a lot of money for a musical box!”
Cuomo comes over. “Where are you from?”
“We’re English” I reply.
“Hahahahaha” He guffaws. “Thees price, it not for Europeans peoples, no”
“Oh, well who is it for then?”
“Ah hahaha, thees price is for our special American customers only. For you price is different”. “Bugger me it’s expensive enough without me not getting the “special american customers discount!!” I exclaim. Cuomo throws back his head and laughs (he does this a lot).
He then explains.
“See, American see 500 Euro and think “$800 dollars that’s expensive”. So I say “no, not 500 Euro, $500, you see?”
I saw. Musical box at a nice discount for special American customer. 350 Euro, not 500, brilliant.
And how much to me, I ask. “you lovely sir and laydee?” 120 euro.” £90. Superb. There’s always a reason for not being a special American you know……….
Zebra Crossings and the like..
Now, you would think that this sign and this pattern on the road are familiar across the world. Ok, in the uk we add belicia beacons and a lovely zigzag line to the equation but basically the meaning and operation of these things is simple. Need to cross the road, step on to the black and white crossing traffice stops you proceed without being knoecked down, bob’s your uncle, fanny’s your aunt and dick’s your playmate. Lovely. Ah……….except, it seems in Italy……
Believe me when I say this. You take you life in you hands if you attempt to cross the road on one of these things. Mistake number one: You assume in Italy they drive on the right, so you glance thusly and step out. Oops. This was, in fact, two mistakes in one. 1) Assuming they drive on the right and 2) that they will stop – they won’t. In fact as they screech around you the thing you’re most likely to notice is not an apology from the driver for failing to stop, but a rapid increase in your Italian vocabulary. Mistake number 2) (or 3, if you count the above as tw…..oh, just go with it) Forgetting about the mopeds – like all other vehicles they ignore the crossing, but, of course, there’s hundreds of them, and the “lane” system doesn’t even vaguely apply to them. You’ll end up with them just whizzing straight in front of you, swerving behind you, and this could be in either direction of course, and before you know it you're well and truly buggered.
Gaelic Watersports
(Many apologies if this story is nowhere near as exciting as the title suggests....)
My wife has a theory. Not one single person of the, shall we say, Irish persuasion can swim. What I hear you cry? On what flimsy evidence is she basing this wild assumption? Well, my mother can’t swim – and she’s from Dublin. And my mate’s Dad, he’s from Belfast and swimming pool sans water wings is simply not on. And that’s it. Based on a survey of exactly two people, the whole of Ireland is incapable of even a frantic eyes-closed, breath-held scramble for the side before a coughing and spluttering fit followed by desperate wiping of the face ensue. Oh, and our friend’s husband (another Belfast boy), and all seven of my Mum’s brother’s and sister’s can’t swim either – but you get my point. A whole proud nation pigeon-holed as aquatically challenged on the basis of such limited information. Well, now she’s eating her words.
When we arrived at the hotel, the lobby was full of case and a lot of blue skinned, red headed people who seemed, shall we say, the worse for wear. Airline travel can be a bit of a bugger. We realise there are Irish when the receptionist asks them if they’d like a hand taking their cases up to the room. “ah, no. We’ll leave them here for now, just tell us where the bar is.” Class. 15 minutes later when we make it that far ourselves, they already commandeered a table which has at least 15 bottles of beer and three bottles of wine on it. There’s only six of them sitting there. Their enthusiasm and bonhomie are only matched by their legendary consumption of Carroll’s and inability to stand after an hour.
What has this got to do with my wife’s theory though? Well, it turns out we’ve only seen the older Irish in this group, and when we go down to our hotel’s “beach” the next morning, there’s a group of at least 30 others, aged 3 to 30, well set to make the most of the fair weather and expensive beer. And if there’s one thing these guys like as much as their beer, it’s the water. It seems we’ve ended up staying at an hotel with the All Ireland Under Thirty Aquatic Display Team. Back flips, belly flops, bombs, synchronised, hands held, all in together running jumps are the order of the day. These guys can swim, and there not a single pair of knitted wool swimming trunks to be seen anywhere. My wife is rather quiet. I mentioned her theory as another huge spout of water erupts upwards from the sea following a double pike with back flip from the decking by one of the gang. She’s seems not to hear me and buries her nose further into her book……….more Forza Italia soon
The store is stuffed to the gills with the most fabulous marquetry furniture, musical boxes and pictures you could ever imagine, and to go with this are the eye wateringly high prices they charge. They had one musical box, in a beautiful clear blue lacquered birds eye maple, with an inlay of two lutes and a musical score done so beautifully you think it was painted on. “500 Euro, fuck me!” I exclaim! “That’s a lot of money for a musical box!”
Cuomo comes over. “Where are you from?”
“We’re English” I reply.
“Hahahahaha” He guffaws. “Thees price, it not for Europeans peoples, no”
“Oh, well who is it for then?”
“Ah hahaha, thees price is for our special American customers only. For you price is different”. “Bugger me it’s expensive enough without me not getting the “special american customers discount!!” I exclaim. Cuomo throws back his head and laughs (he does this a lot).
He then explains.
“See, American see 500 Euro and think “$800 dollars that’s expensive”. So I say “no, not 500 Euro, $500, you see?”
I saw. Musical box at a nice discount for special American customer. 350 Euro, not 500, brilliant.
And how much to me, I ask. “you lovely sir and laydee?” 120 euro.” £90. Superb. There’s always a reason for not being a special American you know……….
Zebra Crossings and the like..
Now, you would think that this sign and this pattern on the road are familiar across the world. Ok, in the uk we add belicia beacons and a lovely zigzag line to the equation but basically the meaning and operation of these things is simple. Need to cross the road, step on to the black and white crossing traffice stops you proceed without being knoecked down, bob’s your uncle, fanny’s your aunt and dick’s your playmate. Lovely. Ah……….except, it seems in Italy……
Believe me when I say this. You take you life in you hands if you attempt to cross the road on one of these things. Mistake number one: You assume in Italy they drive on the right, so you glance thusly and step out. Oops. This was, in fact, two mistakes in one. 1) Assuming they drive on the right and 2) that they will stop – they won’t. In fact as they screech around you the thing you’re most likely to notice is not an apology from the driver for failing to stop, but a rapid increase in your Italian vocabulary. Mistake number 2) (or 3, if you count the above as tw…..oh, just go with it) Forgetting about the mopeds – like all other vehicles they ignore the crossing, but, of course, there’s hundreds of them, and the “lane” system doesn’t even vaguely apply to them. You’ll end up with them just whizzing straight in front of you, swerving behind you, and this could be in either direction of course, and before you know it you're well and truly buggered.Gaelic Watersports
(Many apologies if this story is nowhere near as exciting as the title suggests....)
My wife has a theory. Not one single person of the, shall we say, Irish persuasion can swim. What I hear you cry? On what flimsy evidence is she basing this wild assumption? Well, my mother can’t swim – and she’s from Dublin. And my mate’s Dad, he’s from Belfast and swimming pool sans water wings is simply not on. And that’s it. Based on a survey of exactly two people, the whole of Ireland is incapable of even a frantic eyes-closed, breath-held scramble for the side before a coughing and spluttering fit followed by desperate wiping of the face ensue. Oh, and our friend’s husband (another Belfast boy), and all seven of my Mum’s brother’s and sister’s can’t swim either – but you get my point. A whole proud nation pigeon-holed as aquatically challenged on the basis of such limited information. Well, now she’s eating her words.
When we arrived at the hotel, the lobby was full of case and a lot of blue skinned, red headed people who seemed, shall we say, the worse for wear. Airline travel can be a bit of a bugger. We realise there are Irish when the receptionist asks them if they’d like a hand taking their cases up to the room. “ah, no. We’ll leave them here for now, just tell us where the bar is.” Class. 15 minutes later when we make it that far ourselves, they already commandeered a table which has at least 15 bottles of beer and three bottles of wine on it. There’s only six of them sitting there. Their enthusiasm and bonhomie are only matched by their legendary consumption of Carroll’s and inability to stand after an hour.
What has this got to do with my wife’s theory though? Well, it turns out we’ve only seen the older Irish in this group, and when we go down to our hotel’s “beach” the next morning, there’s a group of at least 30 others, aged 3 to 30, well set to make the most of the fair weather and expensive beer. And if there’s one thing these guys like as much as their beer, it’s the water. It seems we’ve ended up staying at an hotel with the All Ireland Under Thirty Aquatic Display Team. Back flips, belly flops, bombs, synchronised, hands held, all in together running jumps are the order of the day. These guys can swim, and there not a single pair of knitted wool swimming trunks to be seen anywhere. My wife is rather quiet. I mentioned her theory as another huge spout of water erupts upwards from the sea following a double pike with back flip from the decking by one of the gang. She’s seems not to hear me and buries her nose further into her book……….more Forza Italia soon
# posted by Bucko! @ 7:48 AM 
