Copenhagen 24th June 2009

We took a ferry over to Denmark from Germany. It was staggering operations management! I didn't time it so I may well be exaggerating but it was about 5 minutes onto the ferry with cars and approximately 2 minutes until we left dock. It was incredible and the same happened the other end. In England it never would work, the drivers would still be finishing their pints at the bar before they even realiased they may be needed back in their cars for arrival! Needless to say it was a great journey: swift, efficient and calm!

So we arrived in Denmark - Ja!!! We only had a few hours drive up to Copenhagen (Kobenhaven) where we arrived at our camp site, the first of our roadtrip, to find it pretty quiet. Most importantly this meant we could have what is really the highlight of the trip for Andy: Our first Tranja cooked dinner!

You may think that I have missed out a detailed description of Copenhagen and the delights we saw. But if you've never been to Copenhagen, you're not missing anything! Really!

In honesty we weren't impressed, the place is covered with signs and advertisements. I made us trek to what the Lonely Planet guide said was the 'tiniest cafe in the world'. Now if you are like me you may think 'what an experience?! I wonder if the espressos are so small they're served in tiny thimble like cups, or served by midgets because they're the only people who can get in and out?'. Well, don't believe everything you read. It was small - yes, but the tiniest cafe in the world? I think not! The guy sitting outside (I know the smallest cafe in the world, had an outside - what a farce!) looked like he thought he owned the place - well he could have - and was rather unfriendly and the girl serving the coffee was frankly rotund!. All-in-all crap.

Copenhagen kind of sucked after that. It was an alright town but not really for me. It's covered in drunks, but having said that, there have been drunks wherever we've been. Maybe we're following them all on the same Europe trail only some of them obviously got seperated at one point or another! Considering Denmark is officially the happiest country in the world, people seem to be getting pretty pissed trying to forget that fact!
"I bloody hate being so happy, hit me again barman!"

So in conclusions, yes, the Tranja was amazing in Copenhagen and the curry we cooked in it (I say we, but Andy did most if it) was tasty and after our first night sleeping in our tent, we were off again....Stockholm here we come, Copenhagen, good riddance!

Stadhagen 22nd June 2009

Our drive to Stadhagen was long and the high standard of driving (compared to Italy that is) in Paris and Northern France, took a a dive as we crossed the boarder. Once again it seems no dangerous people reside in France and even if they did it is presumed they'd have no beef with Germany! No reason at all to cross the boarder with bad intentions, I mean it's not like the German's ever did something like that to them! I am presuming here that they obviously did, didn't the Germans piss everyone off?!! I've bought Bryson's 'short history of nearly everything' just not started it yet!

So as we joined the Autobahn the chaos ensued. Audi's and BMW's are apparently the German car manufacturer of choice, as it was these vehicles that whizzed past us at an almighty speed! Andy enjoyed trying to be a human speedometer, throwing out estimations with absolute confidence when one drove past. I did however discover my favorite German word - Auschfart! It means 'Exit' and it is such a fabulous word considering it sounds a lot like the....well lets just say onomatopoeia plays a role! Anyway we were auschfarting all over the autobahn it was ridiculous! Actually we weren't, I just wanted to write that, in fact, we stayed on the same road pretty much all the way, for around 300Km.

When we finally arrived at Andy's cousin's house, Maca (pronounced Matsa phonetically) we were pleasantly surprised with the German countryside and it seemed we'd brought the good weather with us too!

It was a lovely few days, involving more walking than I'd hoped, but the Bacik family are fond of a good old stroll (Remember Seleve!). Although the family spoke fabulous English I felt I struggled to get me point across. I had several jokes go down like a lead balloon, but strangely enough their two year old, Nico, found my inability to understand a word he was saying charming! So not alll was lost, although I'm still not quite sure what happened when he smelt my butt cheeks!!

We drank German beer and ate German sausages (which are no Waitrose pork) and relaxed in Maca's brilliantly self-designed home. We walked some more, obviously, and sniffed roses, for what I considered a peculiarly long time. I was told we were "appreciating our surroundings", guess I'm just a bit quicker on that front. We also took so many photos, had it not been the digital age the prints would have stacked the height of me. And despite taking almost identical photos of the same things, they were still swapped between photographers afterwards! I took 3 photos, they were nice.

So once again we are off, this time to Copenhagen!

Paris 21st June 2009

I have to say I feel a little guilty that I've not stuck to writing this blog everyday and I am shamlessly stuck not even half way through our massive summer adventure. Happily I have not been writing because I have joined the land of the employed but still my passion and future is writing and that should not be forgotten! So I must continue where we left off, in Paris:

Well we left at 9 am and didn't leave until 11:30 am so yes, we didn't do much! Oh my god, if our tour of Paris was marketed it would be named the 'Everything in one day tour (no time to even take a piss!)". It was a non-stop and exhausting onslaught of beautiful buildings and cultural iconic attractions all on foot and for the most part of the day, fueled by only a crepe!

In all honesty it's a bit of a blur but all was seen: Notre Dam, the Louvre, the Tour du Eiffel in the day, Champs Elise (from a distance) and the Sacre Cour! Here at the steps of the sacred heart we sat, surrounded by locals and some tourists, with a view of Paris and free music. Once again our visit to a city had coincided with a music festival! I think they know we're coming, "music Festival" is just a cover story so as not to embarrass us because obviously everyone had gone to so much effort for us! Anyway we enjoyed the music they put on for us and the show, even if this young girl they really built up to was sadly average! Young footballers balanced balls on their foreheads while climbing lampposts! Incredible we got it all on video! And even Germain Jackson (yes that's right) popped in to say hello, although Andy will tell you that that never happened, but he's just annoyed I saw him and he didn't! Jealously is an ugly thing!

It was after a couple of sets and after the feeling had returned to our tired feet we ambled on back to the metro, to head onto the Bastille for dinner. Max had suggested this as a real Parisian place to go and eat. We found a nice little bar/restaurant and ate THE most delicious medium rare burger that our tiring day had most definitely earnt us!

Paris done. Next....!

Paris 20th June 2009

We arrive in what seemed to be the Paris ghetto but we thought at least it couldn't get any worse. Or could it? No I'm only stirring it was actually a great stay. Our hotel was brilliant (just outside ghetto borders) Hotel Chassoniers by San Mour metro. Our room was literally just a bed and a basin but all clean and sufficient for the eight hours of slumber we spent there.

As soon as we got in, we shot straight to 'Meating' the steak house Max had recommended to us. Everything went so perfectly. What little French we could remember endeared us to the Parisians, our hotel was so close to the metro and the restaurant was easily reached. Our meal was romantic and such a good feed, our cote de beof was delicious and served by a very fabulously moody Frenchman. Only the French can make moody likable! He ended up being an ex French rugby player and English club coach - small world. He also gave me a muffin for breakfast which was very sweet of him, tasted like crap unfortunately, but Andy ate it in the end; although that really doesn't say much about the muffin, as pretty much anything edible isn't safe in the same vicinity as him!!

After dinner we took the RER train also known as 'area', well, that's what it blummin' sounds like:
"You take the area, to the Eiffel tower", "Yeah we'd like to take in the area, we just need to know how to bloody get there!".

Despite our comprehension confusion we made it to the Eiffel tower by RER by midnight. Just in time to see it come alive with a frenzy of lights accompanied by a chorus of 'ohhhs' and 'ahhhs'. I can't quite put my finger on why, but it really is one of the most romantic sites in the world.

Geneva June 19th 2009

We rose early to head on up to Séleve. We finally got on our way after a lttle detour when someone (It wasn't me or Mish) forgot their passport. We obviously couldn't risk not being able to get back into the country as the mountain is just outside Switzerland border. Especially since we knew how strict borders could be, can you sense the sarcasm!

Anyway, we were smug with our passports passing the border with a total of ZERO officers asking for it!! We took the cable car up to Séleve and Mish had suggested we get a sandwich for lunch, (croque Monsieur for me) and walk to the top, a maximum, maximum I say, 10 minutes walk to the view of the Alps and Geneva including Mont Blanc (well seen that!). Anyway an hour and a half later I can only tell you what the ground beneath my feet looked like, and it was mostly shitty or blumming slippy in flip flops, until we finally met a cloudy non visible view that was apparently the Alps and Geneva! It was such a shame, but my croque Monsieur and I had made it, albeit it covered in sheep shit and absolutely shattered!! It was sweet Mish wanted us to see it, but Nav girl she is not bless her!

That evening we were meeting Mish's new boyfriend and mates out in town. So after a recuperation nap we dolled up and went out. As it was Geneva music festival, the town was heaving with bands and free entertainment. I discovered fruit beer and was loving the bar lady serving it with a champagne glass- girl got me all worked out! We danced on some Protestant statues the significance of which I seemed to miss, but we were definitely living it up Expat style. Pretty rocking!

All in all the company was excellent and Michelle has a lovely life, boyfriend, mates 'n' all.

So our Geneva leg was over, up to Paris in the morning! Road trip!

Europe trip: Geneva 18th June 2009

Our Europe trip started through Geneva and we were delivered to Geneva literally through Mont Blanc's backside. It was an amazing site; after 11 km of tunnel, (and 2 failed attempts at holding our breathe through the whole thing) we popped out of Mont Blanc and arrived in France. It is a staggering height old Blancety Blanc and a great first foreign site of our immense road trip.

It was a strange feeling to know we were in another country although our liquids hadn't been monitored or our bags checked for bombs; in fact we weren't stopped at the border at all. The guard did ask us who we were visiting but it was more out of interest than national security! I did wonder to myself:
"Have these terrorists worked out this security loop hole?" Bloody hope not!
Mind you, had we been driving around looking like trouble we probably would have stopped, but there was no way we looked suspicious in what is, let's face it, Louis Vuitton Mecca!

Anyway it was onto Geneva with not much difficulty, as our American traveling partner, we call her Nav girl, knew the way!

We parked up in a central parking lot, making use of Nav girl's canny knowledge of local parking opportunities and popped into town. Emerging from the car park my eyes were met with Cartier and Louis Vuitton (I wasn't so far from home!) and after a short walk to check out Saint Peter's Cathedral; tall, old, great views, massive bells (if you know what I mean!) we hired some bikes. Geneva has a fantastic tourist attraction - free stuff!!! Our bikes were absolutely free, they were giving them away! Well you couldn't take then home but you needn't pay for their daily use.

So we ambled, peddled rather, along Lake Geneva and it was lovely. For a 30 degree odd day the breeze was a 'cool' welcome! I dipped my feet in the water and it was beautifully refreshing and lowered my body temperature for the ride back.

After returning our bikes we headed to pick up Mish, Andy's sister. Trusty Nav girl guided the way. It was great to see Mish and the twins reunited (they're twins, obviously!). We left our car with Lela and Dan and moseyed into town after a freshen up.

Earlier in the day Andy had spotted a Thai restaurant he fancied for dinner and low and behold his twin must have been reading his mind! As this had been the only restaurant we had spotted in a big old town we were no longer skeptical of twin intuition! The Thai was great but with a table of tired, yawning faces we called it a night after we'd eaten.

Day one in Geneva over.

When in Rome!

Italian people actually think I'm Italian. My Benetton polo shirt and Italian shoes are working a treat! No tour operators bugged me on the way to the vatican from the metro and I was free to listen to the tour knowledge as I passed by without interruption. So I found out the Spanish steps were actually built by the French and there's a good pizza slice to be had right outside the vatican (an American tour guide's gem; sometimes stereotypes really do hit the nail on the head, you've got to admit!).

Well, I enjoyed my Sudo Italian status for only a while, as a little American old lady made a bee line for me, without introductions or 'niceties' she simply barked:
"You know where the Sistine chapel is?"
I replied to the old lady.
"Sure it's right behind you" Hiding my disappointment I was so obviously British, or worse, American looking to her!!

She wasn't convinced. So I got out my map and showed her where we were, a maximum 15 steps fromt Saint Peter's Square and the Sistine Chapel, and I told her (trying my hardest to not be patronising): "Well we're here and see that's the vatican and it's just through here and the chapel's inside, I think." The 'I think' was my non-condescending addition but unfortunately it seeded doubt in this little old lady's mind and she was having none of it. She decided to ask someone who knew exactly where it was and I didn't discourage her!!! So I was feeling very pleased with myself until this little old lady questioned my Italian image AND my Italian knowledge. I do hope she reached the chapel however, or maybe she found that pizza slice place her countryman rated!!

Anyway I continued to enjoy the vatican, avoiding all touristy habits and giving a off a few stares or two - just to look authentically Italian !! Sadly, I couldn't avoid the cliche of getting the map out and getting lost. If you ever need to find a car park near the vatican, call me, I spent 20 mins lost in one so know a bit about it. And the green patch of 'supposed' park land near the Square, is Bermuda's triangle, be ware!

Ciao

May 1st - Officially Italian Summer!

Only a few weeks ago before the month of May began, Andy and I were receiving a fair number of odd looks regarding our choie of attire. I suppose we were acting like such Brits, as soon as we see a glimpse of sun, we're outside barbecuing and wearing shorts, sandals and carrying around portable fans and spraying evian face spray like mad. However, I have to say the temperature was reaching mid 20's so of course we were in our summer gear, the only ones in our summer clobber traipsing around town.

Now although Italians love a stare or two, we felt that there really was a cultural idiosyncrasy we were obviously unaware of. And we were right. Apparently in Italia folks, May 1st is the start of summer, and damn those who wear their summer wardrobes before any such date has passed!

Now this was something told to me before May and truthfully I though it was a load of tosh really! So I was flabbergasted when May 1st came round, and blow me, there is every man and his dog (literally) dressed in bright warm weather garb! Women were now wearing open toe shoes and the fur coats had been hung up replaced with delicately colored leather jackets and little dogs stepping out minus their Burberry onesies! Men are seen without their blazers and the odd pedal pusher had been making an appearance. The face of Treviso fashion had literally changed over night!

I was pleased I could now wear my flipflops and flowing skirts without getting a look, but what I didn't realise, is that what is now equally shameful (now that is it Summer) is wearing clothes that might keep you warm, in say perhaps, a chilly breeze! I found this out when only I and a poor little old lady with varicose veins were the only two out one night wearing black tights under our skirts. Seemingly if there's no medical reason for wearing tights it is simply an odd thing to wear in May. Suffice to say I've been bearing my pasty white legs since, although they do attract attention I know it is not for any reason other than for the fact they are so glaringly white it's hard to miss them!

I did visit England however recently where my pasty white legs were certainly in good company in the English Summer sun!

Italian Bus drivers

They are, to say the least, the scariest drivers I have come across! Given most drivers in Italy are off their rocker, that says a lot. Never in any other country have I seen a bus maneuver out of such small places with a constance gaze out their rear view mirror as if, it doesn't count if they hit the front when they have such a large ass behind them!! They're literally covering their asses! Or complete a 10 point turn at a hotel by the beach. That one was actually pretty impressive, it was a double decker too!

Seriously though it is scary. Here, when a Bus Driver gestures for you to go across the zebra crossing - RUN. Believe me, that 'wave-on' doesn't mean 'Yes please go and I'll wait for you to pass'. Oh no, it means 'If you go NOW I reckon I won't hit you, but it depends how fast you run, you ever can tell!'. Seriously I walk across roads here as if at any moment a driver could have a sudden change of heart and hit the accelerator, as if having weighed the time it will take to wait for me to pass versus killing me, the later option comes out on top!

I've seen little old ladies just walk out into the road. They are obviously hardened to the constant looming possibility that death is literally just round the corner, it's 1.6 engine revving; either that or they're blind. Much like their impatience for queuing, these little old ladies are crossing that zebra when they want and you just better had stop! Maybe I need more pedestrian bravado. Perhaps if I stand out in-front of the Bus and stare it down it will stop? Yeah no I won't be trying that. I'm happy with my half walk half hop, ready to run nervous tread!

Ciao

Post Italia!

The Post system in Italy is amazing! I have never before been instilled with the feeling my post may never reach it's destination from a Post Office worker before last week.

I was sending off my first Short Screenplay to the British Screenplay Competition, the day of the deadline. So when I asked the lady to send the letter ASAP "Subito" I was a little worried when her face turned a shade of grey and her demeanor shrivelled, which made me think that what she was rattleing off in Italian had to mean that that might not be possible!!! I was a little confused and asked for what reason did she think it was such a task that Italia post couldn't send my letter? Now I'll be honest, my Italian is getting good but this woman was incomprehensible, although I continued to nod as if I understood of course. I asked her if she thought it could arrive in a few days, to which her reply was in 5 days or more! It seems, you see, if you want to send a package or letter it's transit time very much depends on the time you decide to send it. It seemed my last minute cavaier attitude didn't wash in Italy! So I opted for the expensive 'express' delivery option which of course takes upto 3 days, and not a penny spent of that money gave me any confidence my letter would arrive at it's destination!

After my confusing morning and expensive 'Express' postal experience, my Italian friend explained to me that if you go to the post office after 9 am on a Friday they won't do anything with that post until the Monday, hence the 5 days at least explanation!

While we were on the subject I thought it appropriate to also ask my friend about a package I have been expecting for a few months. Like many things in Italy the explanation involved a shrug, a gesture that has become loaded with meaning for me in my months in Italy. This particular shrug meant, 'well, maybe it'll reach you and maybe it won't'. Comforting!

So alas I must wait for the teleport machine to be invented as I think this means of delivery might be a little more reliable! Oh and obviously if someone has written to us and not heard a reply, apologies but perhaps now you understand why!!

All things Italian

Well Italy is becoming the place I thought it would be. The weather is beginning to resolve itself and the temperature has got to an exciting 17 degrees! I've been here for 4 months now and it has rained, a lot, but still the commentators for Andy's game on the weekend said the torrential rain was 'Cosi British'! They had a good old chuckle about it but really our rain may be consistent but it's consistently pathetic at least. Here the rain really has its say, as it probably doesn't know when it'll be popping in again!

In any case yesterday was beautiful and I really felt fab driving in the car back from the gym, a glow on my face and my window down. I met the girls there for an acqua class. No that doesn't mean we were surrounded by OAP's, in fact here acqua classes are no easy ride (as I was hoping my first time!). The girls and I shared a few 'ohh that's a bit hard' moments with one another. I wonder if they felt as bad as I did last night though crawling into bed at 9 pm, much to Andy's amusement....must ask them. Or not, it could be humiliating!

I had a dreadful nights sleep too. God knows if it's all that exercise giving me energy frankly my body could cash in on, given the exhaustion. It's not really what you want though is it, extra energy during the rest times, why can't my extra energy come during the day or when I want to stay up late and watch Peak Practice? Why do they put my favorite programs after 'Bed-time'! Takes me back to being 12 and wanting to watch 'Bottom', I sneaked it occasionally...only when Mum thought I'd already gone to bed! Anyway, it was therefore a necessity that I start my morning with reading my new book in a steaming hot bath, that my muscles were craving for. Seriously I was dreaming of suds and massages all night.

And this morning feeling slightly refreshed but still hankering to be horizontal I am committing to page the two ideas for shorts I had last night as I tried to doze off, always my most creative hour!

Ciao

Good Artists copy, Great artists Steal !

Pablo Picasso died in 1973. It may well not be widely known, (or it might be!) that Pablo wrote poetry as well as painted, so he was a fellow writer. (He'd have probably been member of many a writing forum had he lived just 11 years more to see the birth of the internet).

In his life time Pablo was believed to have said that:

"Good artists copy, and great artists steal". 

Now as a new writer (who is marked upon originality) it seems to me it is a statement that flies in the face of originality. But having said that, as a screenwriter (and future novelist, hopefully) the job we have is to create characters, place them within a story that we structure, and give it meaning. So, unless we are the most creative and imaginative mind in the world we must at least borrow our necessary ingredients from our experiences.

Now if we were to simply copy those experiences and mesh them together without changing them, our stories would end up incoherent. However instead by taking those experiences, (whether our own or not) and owning them, manipulating their makeup so as to fit together neatly in one story, have we stolen them? At what stage does the stealing matter? Have we stolen the idea if what we end up with is something we have totally reinvented? Arguably something new and NOT the original idea we stole (supposedly)?

The dictionary definition of stealing is:

 Dishonestly pass off another person's ideas as one's own.

Now in art that may be possible. The periods that art has gone through (Cubism for example in Picasso's case) perhaps lend themselves to the argument that artists are all trying to perfect the same 'genre',  or 'style' of their time. Thus, one could indeed pinch another artist's idea should they foolishly share them so liberally with you. But if Pablo considered himself a great artist, and I'm sure he did, then he must have been stealing his ideas! Now unless in the 70's there were an awful lot of women with some pretty clean cut jaw lines walking around, or an underground painter Pablo stole his ideas from, I don't think he was speaking in literal terms when he chose the word steal!

In my opinion with writing, I am inclined to take the stance that, naturally one can never steal an idea and pass it off as one's own, as every idea comes from an experience and only in interpretation can that idea take on meaning. This is assuming a great writer, as Picasso refers to, would not simply look to steal another's idea merely to have it but to own it - thus add himself to it, effectively changing it!

A fellow writer once said to me 'ideas are free'. Now indeed perhaps they are. They are always there for the taking. Thus, if I am stealing my ideas from the universe , I am indeed passing them off as my own, albeit not dishonestly! I'm a Catholic girl I'll have you know!

What I don't like about this argument is that it lends itself to support the premise that modern art is feasibly art, when in fact most of it is a pile of crap. (A controversial opinion I know.) And no I don't agree that the unappreciative feeling you get when you glaze over at a canvas with a red dot on it, unable to find the true meaning, is arguably 'the point'!  Please, I mean our bedroom is untidy all the time and we don't stand marveling at it, let alone asks others to pay for the privilege to do so!

Tracey Emin's Bed

I digressed a bit there, but I think I have found my comfortable conclusion. In writing, one must be original. However, our ideas can be borrowed but, our telling of the story, the sewing of seeds that grow in your imagination cannot be stolen, and that is very much what makes us Great Writers!

Did you know?

What are we to make of these statistics? I don't think I've ever felt so small!!!

And my 'To-be' Mother in law sent me this lovely video today. It's a day of visual inspiration! Got the right link now...

http://www.theinterviewwithgod.com/popup-frame.html

Tipped for great things

I read something very true today in my Shooters newsletter. We will skirt over the fact that it is now 11.35 and I still haven't managed to get on with the Thriller I am writing that needs to be finished in less than 12 days! So the newsletter addressed the point of how one becomes ' Tipped for greatness'. Now, one person's reply to this thread was to say that he Tips himself. It is a more than appropriate response but also very insightful. It made me think: of course we must believe in ourselves and our work but also to believe that the efforts we make will take us somewhere; and not to be halted by others who don't appreciate our greatness as much as we do.

JK Rowling is a perfect example of a writer who was rejected many times before her talents were appropriately appreciated. And had those publishers who turned her away known quite how lucrative her talents were, I am sure then appreciation would have modified!

You see, we are in a unique position ourselves, in as far as we know our talents, we know how easy things come to us, how natural writing feels. Now, as I am at the burgeoning stages of my new career direction I do still find myself trawling through job sites looking for something easy to jump out in front of me and pay me a packet. But I forgive myself for these slips as I always return to my writing questioning why I wasted my time on those job sites at all because you know what, I really tip myself.

I am tipped for great things in writing and although I know that, I won't stop until that is a reality and everyone else knows it too!

ciao 

Firenze and a Fresh outlook

Well living in Italy does have its perks. For example a weekend trip in the car can transport you to the wonderfully romantic world of Florence in under 3 hours! 

We were lucky enough to have the whole weekend in this glorious city. The weather was on our side and our hotel was in the perfect location. We even got free parking, which we heard is normally a nightmare. We pitched up to our hotel and had a parking space right outside the entrance for free, no idea what people are complaining about!!

We stayed in Hotel Beatrice, which was a lovely experience. Aside from our very charismatic owner, who resembled the 'Count' from Sesame Street, the rooms were typically Italian. Somehow when you are on holiday decor that you would never let grace your own home walls earns a new appreciation. The place had an authentic feel that was intrinsic to its makeup and made our stay, in my opinion, all the more romantic.

Within walking distance to all the sites and churches we had a spring in our step Saturday morning when we began our tour de Firenze! In short the place is magical. The art museums conjure a spiritual sensibility from the works of Michelangelo & Co. Although I was still pretty confused how all these guys in the sculptures would have been quite so ripped without an LA Fitness membership?! Maybe they had gyms in those days! Probably just hung around the baths lifting stones, tallying reps on the walls with chalk, driving the girls wild!!

Anyway there was too much to pack into here but all in all a fabulous time was had. City breaks are making a come back it seems!!

Right so when you think about jetsetting off to Dubai, I'm sure what doesn't come to mind is spending 10 hours in an airport lounge. Yeah, neither did we and had we known we would have thought twice! Sadly just as we were praising AirFrance for their croissants, among other things, their appeal flopped like a bad soufflle! Our connection flight was 45 mins after our arrival and we thought this was a little ambitious but we, and at least 7 others, were to find out exactly how unachievable that aim really was. 
On arriving we walked a good 50 kilometre before we saw any sign of life. After which the lady standing in uniform informed us we needed to catch a bus to another terminal. She did neglect to tell us that the bus driver had come runner up in last years 'Slowest driver in France' competition. So with the clock ticking and our boarding time past, we began to worry. But with 15 mins to go, we reach our terminal despite all the drivers best intentions! 
Now we were remaining positive, ignoring the gut feeling France was definitely conspiring against us. However the theory was fully supported as we found ourselves at the back of another huge security queue, encore en fois! We did manage to make our gate a whole 12 mins before our take off but, we had lost the battle. France was victorious.
We were told it wasn't our plane we could spy right infront of us, painstakingly close, which is always a great pet peave of mine when someone tells me what I see is a lie.
'Bloody eyes they keep lying to me, one more time and I'm gone, I tell you outa here then see how you survive!'.
Anyway AirFrance put us on the next flight out, a convenient 10 hours later and kindly offered us nothing in compensation. So alas, a 30 euro rip-off lunch and a few hours of kip later I'm not feeling too jetsetting. But as my wonderful man put it 'Christ babe you're still coming to Dubai', that I am, and isn't that great!

writing competitions

Well while literally contemplating the inept self motivation I have and wondering if I'll ever get up to the 7 am alarm-clock to dive into writing, I received an email from Gordy Hoffman. Well, not personally for me, I signed up for a newsletter but still. In Gordy's post he speaks of how important writing competitions are. Now after having spoken with Andy questioning their use, (as it seems to me they buy your script for you entrance fee and then can do what they like with it afterwards!), Gordy had some well needed advice. 

Writing is a lonely business, in the real world at least. When you do get that fabulous idea you are obviously not alone but accompanied by the characters you build up and the world you are creating. which can be an amazing experience. My only finished short I did in one day!

Writing can be lonely and it is difficult, I find, to be your own boss. I tend to be the boss I had always wished for, I have tea breaks when I want, my lunch hours can be whole afternoons and if I need to pop out to do my weekly shop that's fine too! But it shouldn't be, if you are to get writing done, you need to be disciplined and that means being the boss you hate, the one that is always right and makes you feel guilty when you want to dash home to catch that spin class or the one who agrees you can make your important appointment but reminds you the work is still due in tomorrow!! 

OR......you can do what Gordy Hoffman suggests - enter writing competitions. Okay so you have to pay to enter and then the terms and conditions must read well enough you don't feel you are being shafted.  But it is a fabulous idea, there is your new boss.

He has terms and conditions that are clear, he wants the work in at a deadline, but you can hand it in at a later deadline but you'll pay for it. Simply he'll help you get things done. Now it is 5 days until the first BlueCat competition deadline. I go to Dubai to watch Andy play in the Sevens world cup in 6 days....so if I can write an 18 minute short in one day I can finish a feature length in 5, just have to decide if I'm going to go with the thriller or the drama?! hmmmmmm!

ash x

I'm back

Hey folks, sorry for the radio silence. I have had a week with a friend and a week over in England and not found time to write in between. Bad I know, it won't happen again I assure you.

It was great to be home and see friends and family but there is something special about coming back to Italy, our new home. Living somewhere in which you have to mentally make effort in order to communicate with people is very fulfilling. Most of us rush through lives and find ourselves saying things rote, things run off our tongues before we have really even given it a moments thought. But I have to say living in a different country and speaking a different language makes each experience a little more interesting, purely because of the attention you must give it. I appreciate more what my friends say to me and I choose my words carefully when speaking with them. I don't swear in Italian which goes very well with my new years resolution that is not doing so well in the old mother tongue!

I am off to the last day of Venice Carnival tomorrow with friends and this is just a mid week trip. It's really exhilarating with every day becoming a new experience with lessons to learn and opportunities to grow. I shall post some pictures later this week.

And once again I must remind myself (don't know why I'm telling you,  but go along with it) I am here to write. To take advantage of my very fortunate position and write away until I come up with all the masterpieces that are going to make me successful. I mustn't get distracted with how wonderful each moment living abroad is, don't worry I am aware at how sickly I sound. I'm really enjoying rubbing it in though! Only kidding, well.........

Ciao

ash x

Queuing

I know it's our age old tradition in Britain. We like to queue, there is something nationally precise about our queuing etiquette.

Here - Italians hate queuing. They have to have a system that dishes out numbers so that everyone can stand along the front of the meat counter and not feel like they're in a queue, although they have to wait until their number comes up.

Now in some shops this means your entrances to vicinities can be strategically chosen. For instance, this week I went into our local baker, 200 metres away (I love that), and I chose to enter through the door that was closest to the ticket dispensing machine. This turned out to be a stroke of genius because - I was next. There was no question about it, the place had one old lady in there before me and nobody else, so I took my ticket, no. 66.

Now old ladies love taking their time in bakers, despite hating having to spend any time in there if they're not the one ordering! So there was ample time for two women to join me and stand right in front of the glass as if they hadn't even seen me. So, the third lady who had entered protested that she was the rightful next customer to be served once the old lady had finished. Well, just as my blood was boiling I said in my best Italian:
'Sono prima',
that means 'I'm first' and as the lady looked as me as if to say, 'Oh you're really going to take me on?', the bakery lady asked me:

'What number does your ticket say?'.
I said '66'.

And then she asked the other lady:

'What number does your ticket say?'
and she said 'Well 67'.

Ha ! Sooooo not only did I take her on, I beat her at her own pseudo queuing game. Oh and the lady who hadn't taken a ticket at all, well, she was completely screwed!

There are serious queuing issues for old people here. It seems their desperation of running out of time is really brought to the surface when faced with a supermarket queue. I don't know if they're thinking they're wasting what time they have left but I do know there are some definite rules as to how to get in front of the cue.

Rule 1. Annoy the person in front as much as possible in the hope that you annoy them enough to get them to move to another cue altogether.
Rule 2. Count and inspect the produce the people in front are buying as if to say 'Well I have a third of what you have so why should I waste my precise minutes for your greed!' This can also be accompanied with a look of disgust - it's pretty effective.
Rule 3. Stick close. You can really get on someone's nerves if every time they take a step forward your breathing down their neck. (Having said that most old ladies are really small here, so it's more like breathing down their backs?!)

Anyway those are the ones I'm aware of, and they seemed to be used to good effect!


Ciao

Italian odity: Keys, le chiave

Keys.

Well not as you know it, that's for sure. In England we're used to a modest key, and after meeting one key you've pretty much met them all, I know you can get some funky coloured ones now, but my point it they work the same: short, easy to handle, some would even say ergonomic! Well here in Italy The Key is something to behold!

I mean look at it! It's pretty hilarious really, because only the tip of that thing goes in the lock. And the excessively long neck leads to the, comparatively tiny, area where your forefinger and thumb are needed to apply the pressure necessary to turn the darn thing. Honestly I find it difficult opening doors here!

Andy waited by the door once, refusing to take over until 'I've learnt how to do it!'. But it's a simple matter of thumb strength and I have none! It's a lot like trying to open the milk bottle when instead of the cap turning as your hand moves, it grates through your skin, not budging an inch. It still peterbs me how grannies open those things! Actually, I forgot I did find out how: I bought this nifty devise that does it for you- life saver!

Perhaps it's that the more exclusive your apartment, the bigger the key? Maybe that's why ours is like, ENORMOUS!! No I don't think that's true. I could spread the rumour though?! Hmmm.

Anyway a little Italian lesson for you, Le chiave means: 'keys' in Italian & Ho le chiave enorme means: 'I've got massive keys' (in case any of you do. Nothing like mine though, I bet!!)!

But I guess it does go to show that, the key to anything in life may not take a familiar form, but it works all the same!

Ce Vediamo, Ciao x

I heart Italians

It has been brought to my attention that I may sound as if I am making fun of the Italians in my posts. However this really isn't that case. I love Italians. My humor is really a vehicle to feel more comfortable with my current 'alien' status, as the customs that make Italy such a fantastic place are alien to me right now! But there are many things I have become very fond of. For instance Italians are so eager to talk to you, they will speak with utter enthusiasm even if they can see you aren't understanding a single word they are saying! Now this may sound as though it would be frustrating but I find it more comforting as their efforts make me feel welcome and that feels nice. 

Above all things the Italians are without a shadow of a doubt very friendly and seemingly accepting. And at the moment we seem very different from one another but soon I think these little differences won't mean so much. Anyway that is a little more complex than I wanted to go into right now, I just wanted to let everyone know that I am Italians NO-1 fan.  Now I'm off to find out where the fireworks are coming from, I tell you there is always something going on here: Another thing I love about Italians- boy do Italians know how to party - frequently but in a  sophisticated fashion! Can't wait to see the Venice Carnival in Feb!

Oh and just to let you know, the script is coming along, I've had the last few days just playing with ideas as some real life history has added some fantastic pieces to the story but head down and pen to paper next week! 

Shopping in Italy

Shopping in Treviso is another interesting phenomena. Not only because of their secular natured department stores (as I've mentioned before) but for several reasons. Today lets talk Fashion must-haves!

The Shopping List

There are a few keys items to a shopping list if you are to fit in as a Treivisian! One must have a pair of black lens sunglasses. These are a particular must and a practical requirement if one is to flash a wor

thy Italian stare here and there. It's an art that has to be perfected. I advise beginning your attempts behind the safety of sunnies. Italians manage to stare at you without any obvious message behind their eyes (apart from Security guards that think you're steeling from your shop!).  In the streets of Treviso however they manage to stare at you as if they don't know what it is they're looking at, unsure how to react and almost non-judgmental. Actually no, I take that back. It's totally judgmental, they'r

e just blumming good at not showing it! But staring really is something you have to get used to if you don't want to be the new  girl at work always accusing all her colleagues of sexual harassment. In Italy a bum is to be looked at and admired,  pretty much like everything else really. Try walking through the Piazza with a little baby, like bees to honey I tell you!

If we move down the body to the neck there is once again an item of must have fashion, that lurks here. One has to have a piece of fur darling! Whether you wea

r it round your neck of stuck on your head - it's a necessity. I've opted for a fairly normal furry scarf type number. It has a subtlety about it, more than can be said for the women I have spotted round town with a near alive looking animal thrown over their shoulders, paws gently bouncing off their bosoms as they step! 

Now if we move to the torso we can find the essential down or fur coat. There seems to be an age limit on the fur coats though, 50 and up as far as I have seen! Now I am beginning to believe this item's necessity has b

een less to do with fashion and more to do with the arctic weather Northern Italy enjoys producing this time of year! This really is the only thing that allows you to take a walk around the town without having to stop at every cafe you see along the way and subsequently suffering caffeine induced verbal diarrhea. Although try it once - it's a hoot!

And finally the feet. The feet, ankles and calves have to be protected in what can only be described as works of art - Italian leather boots! My favourite item, well apart from the coat (I hate the cold and it's really been a life saver!). Sadly I arrived in Italy with a pair of new cl

arks boots and so can't justify buying some Italian beauties just yet. Hence I am wearing the boots every chance I get, wear the little buggers out quickly!

Oh and one final tip, don't wear a tracksuit to go shopping in, over here - only in the gym. Just an FYI so you can avoid the "You SO don't have enough money to buy anything here " looks:

 Ciao x

  

Illy vs Hausbrandt

The coffee clubs

The coffee clubs are a very interesting phenomena to watch in Italian cafes. If you were to be a fly on the wall in any Treviso cafe the influx of patrons in a day resembles the actions of a tide. As water rushes in for a split second and disappears again as quickly as it came in. If one Italian enters the cafe for a shot of caffeine, eight more, usually pairs of fur coats or suits will inevitably follow. The waitress will be run off her feet for approximately 2 minutes before everyone is served, thrown back their macchiatos, placed some change on the tray and out the door with a "ciao regazzi".

It is a fascinating natural custom. We English, perhaps all foreigners, of course get a look,

'Ah foreigners, they know a'nothing about how a'take a coffee in Italy!', as we bizarrely choose to savour our coffee experience rather than treat it as if it were a vital injection imperative in order to stay vertical!

There are so many things we English don't understand about the way cafes and coffee works in Italy -  like the Cappuccino incident - I foolishly ordered a cappuccino after midday! The waitress laughed authoritatively at me when I placed my order in pigeon Italian. She wasn't laughing at my Italian (my accent's pretty hot!) as I later was told by a local. They explained to me that a cappuccino is only a morning beverage and not to be had in the afternoon.

"Ordering a cappuccino after midday, oh you English, serious. You're crazy!" Oh that we are. what was I thinking!

My observations have led me to a conclusion that the many cafes in Treviso have patrons that are loyal to a cafe foremost for the brand of coffee. Cafes are divided, as far as I can tell so far, into the Illys, LavAzzas and Hausbrandts. Now before any Italian is to choose what might be named 'a local', the brand of coffee must be considered over and above location. For instance I found our local is not our local because it's an Illy and I'm not in the Illy club but a LavAzza kinda gal (although I can be convinced to go Hausbrandt but only because my gym's next to one and a post workout shot is becoming a tradition!).

One thing seemingly unites all cafe clubs and that is chocolate. Lindt is the favorite and that is a fact. Oh but we'll talk more about chocolate another time, I've not done enough research into that yet!!!!

Ciao x

It's 2009! As it is the new year I have chosen some select resolutions for the coming months. The first, which may be obvious, is to write more and finish a calling card script by mid 2009. Others include swearing less, if anything I am trying to avoid incidents that involve angry parents flashing me glares whilst holding their hands over their toddler's ears. I shamefully find myself opting for a profanity rather than an apt, carefully chosen adjective. It's pure laziness and a pretty embarrassing slip! I am also going to begin to be very serious about successfully living in 'the now'. After many conversations with Andy and family members it is clearly an imperative facet to healthy living!

And Talking of healthy living I am on my way to the gym..........