Really Wet Beore Period

I found the pasta, I found the oil, I found the Parmesan and found the tomato sauce ... I mean ... I found the Italian olive oil, everything else is fake as T-shirts D & G found on the beaches of Riccione in August. The paste should be made in Italy but not swear so much on his estate and taste, Parmesan cheese is not sure, but a cross between cheddar and a worn tire, and tomatoes well ... I trusted more to buy eight cluster and the sauce I do it myself. To experience expect to be home alone and do not fool with others.

wait another day ... another day ... another day of boredom reading. I ended up "time witches "by Ann Rice. The final would be brilliant if I did not know who has already written a second book in the series, and one third still goes to hell ... then that wonderful feeling that you can only give an open ending, and the ability to imagine a continuum, and the drama begins tension between the part of you that refuses to give in to blackmail a purely commercial and the part that screams jumping and swinging in a corner "edddaiiii! Buy it! Buy it! Buy it! Buy it! Buy it! Buy him. " A real tragedy.

I am continuing to read "The Science of Discworld". I recommend it to everyone, but in the original language. Like all books of this author indeed.
Pratchett is a magician with word games and read it in Italian is like watching a movie of Toto in German. And then I think the pace at which translate his books in Italy you can find in the library more or less when you throw exhumed for ossuary.

we're on the subject ... (He knows because we're on the subject ... gh) I would like to remind my dear father, as I knew complained he did not send more email, which is called an exchange of letters corresponded precisely because it is an exchange. Got it? So if I send an email, before responding to a hypothetical replica I just received the above reply ....

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Today I got up at one. E 'Sun do not have a dick, so I bighellonato far, and I'm going to hang out until I can.

Last night I went out with a group of English and went to Temple Bar area to give us some beer. Nice people but you see the generation gap ... they seek the revelry and loud music, I put the quiet and chats. Anyway ... I drank and I did not pay ... I do not know why.
I tried to pay me the first and nothing, I tried to offer the second round and nothing ... I looked around, I smile and shrug ... I did the English hospitality.

Today I am going to buy me dinner ... I swear.
It also wipes her ass ...

Last night was party to the streets of Dublin and all the girls were dressed or undressed for the occasion.
I enjoyed it. I say this with purely academic spirit. Yes, because in the face of a pretty girl in miniskirt saw dozens and dozens of these quarters of beef wrapped in a thin layer of cellophane that were roaming the streets and in pubs. Beautiful is not it? No obvious! But it is nice to think that people here have no problem whatsoever to be seen for what it is and is not ashamed.
a word of shame and pride that they will be. One who was made to portray in the most embarrassing. About
! Where's that picture where, surrounded only by a sheet, played Apollo driving his chariot? I'm sure you did. I mean relatively. Remember

Pratchett book I'm reading? Well the man is brilliant. I read a passage that in addition to being fun and enlightening for its immediacy. I'll translate.
"Our ancestral fear of death led us to one of the oddest personifications. Invent the concept of 'death' is equivalent to give a name to a process - to die - as if it were an object. So obviously, we put on the focus of a number of properties and objects, what they do know that only priests. These properties can come up with many names. May arise, for example, the concept of 'soul'. One thing that has to leave the body while moving from one state to the living body of a dead body. Funny how the most avid believers in the soul tend to be the biggest detractors of material things but to reconsider their basic philosophy by insisting that when a process - life - ends there must be an object that continues.
No. When a process ends is no longer there, no longer exists. Point.
When you stop shaking an egg is not some pseudo-material-essence-of-the-eggs-shackeramento that becomes something else. You get off work, just to shake his hand. "
Simply genius. Like all simple explanations.

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are exactly seven days that I left. And I'm set.
So what is the bus that takes me downtown, I know next to what is what brings me back to the hostel.
I made my space-time in the hostel and then I can get my privacy even in a place that, by definition, means the casino and promiscuity.
I rebuilt a sort of routine. In the morning, 3 slices of bread, butter and jam, a glass of tropical juice, a cup of coffee and one or two, depending on the time and desire, bowls of milk and muesli.
Then I go to the bathroom and take a shower and start the day. I have the
my coffee, my pub and my paths (possibly leading to the pub or cafe) ... so I'm breaking balls and I can hide and not show it. I can not wait to start working again.

Yesterday I saw a thing out of my logic.
Abstract: my logic rule out football. Any discussion that covers the game becomes boring to me, confused and starts the long run the nausea and the brain starts to leak from your ears ... the end of the Foreword.
On television I saw a lot of "International rules" ... what?
God lightning if I know (and in any event would give any sign of life down here ... there people waiting for some time ...). It should be a mix of Gaelic football, rugby, and football.
In practice, a high-protein group of practical jokers do not have incisors that if by merrily with the excuse to make points, Mah ...

It is true that the Irish have a ruling of their own. Right? In English we say "RAIT". An Irishman will tell you "Roit. An Australian software instead
preliminary "Softuei" instead of "softuer" ... that strange people is that people in hostels.

Today for the first time I really felt a stranger.
I went into a Tesco (a supermarket) and I went out completely demoralized.
I have not found anything that I say "Buy me! Cucinami! Eat me! "... Dunno ... no cheese or grated cheese, tomato puree it.
Now, do not begin to break the embankments with the usual story of Italians who go abroad and continue to make the Italians.
Christ, I am Italian? I'm used to eating three ounces of pasta for lunch? Not that crossed the border to my stomach changing habits and starting to live traditional Irish stew and steak 8oz do good to my gut, and above all become Irish.
I become an asshole in Italian and the international breaks to make your stomach with something that is not used. Got it? And
think that I had come to buy some wet wipes to solve the problem ... I came out of the bidet demoralized and did not solve anything ... shit and shower, an indissoluble.

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Today promises to be a day of shit.
I'm pretty sure I will not have news on business, but at the same time I woke up at dawn and keep your eyes constantly on the phone to see if it rings. If not now have to wait until Tuesday, because Monday is a holiday here ...

I am seriously considering starting to make me shopping and cooking lunch and dinner in the kitchen, a destination from the hostel. For goodness sake, nothing to say against Irish cuisine but there are two fundamental problems. Where to find it and where to find it at reasonable prices.
I can not continue to eat the fucking dog for much longer than I should be ... a plate of spaghetti with garlic, olive oil (or "oil") as the tomato and chilli ... ... in my personal recipe.
Or a plate of carbonara real! Here we bring the mushrooms. MUSHROOMS? But are you crazy? Put the mushrooms in a light Raudo carbonara is like swearing in church and loudly after having drawn attention.

Who said I have a hard head? Well, whoever won a doll.
This evening I decided to eat Indian, so I settled on a take away nearby. I specifically asked, using facial expressions, spoken words and gestures that I know are very important to the Hindu Rig-Veda, not to prepare dishes too spicy (hot).
do you like the dishes were.
The next time, and believe me there will be a next time, I will go there with a shirt with a portrait of Gandhi and the inscription "He Was a big man. He ate tasteless "(trad. It was a great man. Sciapo ate). If you do not work yet I shall reserve to deliver in the bed of a cow's head master. That's Italian style.

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Fear, anxiety. They are in the closet waiting for the Stelfox call me for an interview than those of Cork phone. This week I spoke at length with Gerard, my agent (I look like a fucking rockstar ... I also have an agent) that made me realize that I feel comfortable because my years of experience is a sure passport to find work.
I feel comfortable but I do not know what to expect from this call.

Phone call ended. I'm sweating like a pig that has rolled in the mud but I answered all the questions of the girl who seemed more tense than me and finally told me that soon I will know.
Gerard, whom I told the call, told me that I feel comfortable and, meanwhile, told me he has another potential offer for me.

It seems that the reality ' where I lived until today, the unlucky, not yet realized that I immigrated to Ireland ... I'd better move as 'quickly as possible and I systems before being aware of what' s happened, make a U-turn endangering the lives of some reality baby 'parallel output of' asylum, and I am a searching with my eyes bloodshot. If I can fix everything in time who knows' ... maybe I can ask for an amnesty and Italian

The day is going pretty smoothly. Let's say I can not grasp the beauty of anything, are too tight. In any case I found where Grafton Street and the beautiful Molly Malone statue. Grafton Street is in addition
one of the few true Internet cafe that I found in the world. A place that is (correctly from the etymological standpoint) when you surf you can dare to ask for a coffee or tea or the like ... I was beginning to believe that the words internet cafe and were matched for pure aesthetic taste and onomatopoeic.

To pass the time I decided to buy a book. What better choice than "The Science of Discworld" by Terry Pratchett?

Had Only A Little Brown Mucsu For A Period

Here I am. I made the rounds of the agencies in the area of \u200b\u200bO'Connell Bridge and I have the business card of an agent should be concerned.
Let's hope so.
Now I'm on a bus. I took a random I do not know where I will bring '. Just to stay dry and warm, to think. At worst
remain above until it brings me back to the center, I'll eat something and I attack the internet to bombard with my CV across Ireland. The first secretary and
'was nice, the other shits. What
balls be out of work. Balls that stay away from the Sun and my animals.
but will 'all right.

are in a fast food restaurant near the end of the world.
I just parked in front of me a "pair" of four children in strollers. the two ladies (presumably mother and daughter) appears to be exhausted by the offspring. Anyways
'and that' wrote, "Be fruitful and multiply 'but some point you will pass' the will or not?

I just saw a guy who gave his CV to the Director of the fast / food. And for a moment I thought, "Why 'no?" Pero 'Then I gave a quick look into the future, I shuddered, and I decided it would be better for everyone that I should stay on this side of the counter.

I looked for a long reflection on the glass.
I'm really pretty! I'm comfortable as a penguin and fur slippers but in suits make my terrible figure.
I thought I had fixed all but I do not like an alien, and 'that the Irish middle of the dress is a genius ... you save some foreigners but usually I see people that you and 'covered with glue, and you' dipped in the closet and it 'out of the house.
OK. Now back on the bus and then I'll know. Bye.

not yet ascended to the bus. I've been around the mall to recharge phones and then I saw heaven! There 's a bar that makes muffins of all kinds. I got one apple and raspberry, which I do not know what the hell beautifully wild berries are. So for me are all the same and if they sell it and say that 'good is not it? And a coffee 'course.

I took the bus. He shot, shot, shot and shot again ... and brought me back exactly to the starting point without passing through the center. These things happen when you forget a map of the bus in the hostel and are determined not to ask "Excuse? This is true in the center?"

I are going to a pub and the Commitments to the volume that I like, what you leave way to hear others talking.
Well ... Rumor ... you say ... and is' spread the news ... Well here it is: I have an interview with an agency in Dublin which I set a meeting with a company in Cork who apparently liked my eight years of experience. Cosi 'apparently with my eight years of experience I do not I have to clean your ass eh? Employment agencies Italian ????? PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
Oh .... said? ha!
And I had so much fear! That's it? In half a day, even less! 'Cause I think I believed until now that I had answered one of those agencies for which I shot this morning. But no! When I finished the odyssey by bus this afternoon I went to an internet cafe 'and I started to comb through a lazy job ads and send CV to those more' interesting. Well, dear Gerard replied almost instantly to my mail. Telepathy? No. Ass.

know, or at least those who know me know that they are agnostic, and then I do not care dell.esistenza of any hypothetical god '. Pero 'I am convinced that my maternal grandfather is keeping his hand on my shoulder even now, and' dead for many years. He too had emigrated to Germany, when things had gone scatafascio in Italy and had made a considerable fortune. The Great Aldo ... after His death and 'everything went back to hell.

I bought the gift for the birthday of the Sun
You know that I bought it but do not know what '. To be safe I did not tell anyone else.
What a bastard I am.

Here is' the scandal of pedophile priests.
And I'm doing the bartender say the name of the pub where he 'played the last concert of the Commitments in the film. What does have the two? Shit! Maybe the Catholics have made me come up with the pilgrimages, and so '...

Nothing ... The pub was the docks and it 'been closed since they made the film ... no pilgrimage. But the priests are pedophiles ... unfortunately.

Yesterday and 'a special person who died. I do not remember
but the name, telling her story, maybe you will understand who you are. In post-war democratically racist, a small woman, black, decided that it made no sense to occupy a predetermined place on the bus of life, even if he should do so by law, and so 'he sat in a seat, however, that' was reserved for someone other than her. He sat
hypocrisy of a nation whose Constitution states that all men are equal when in fact it is not 'so', the hypocrisy of a nation that had grown up with the back bent blacks of his children, adopted children against their will '. He sat
hypocrisy of a nation that had liberated the contract and a claim difficult to weld with Europe during World War II by the blood of its sons blacks.
This woman does not manifest ', do not cry,' I do not throw 'bombs killed anyone. He sat down, settled 'the skirt and continued' to look out the window.
Death, 'a level as he called Toto', makes it all the same, at least she tries.
hope not erase the memory and the sense of a life as special as many as all of them. Sweet dreams my dear lady.

And so 'maybe I go to Cork ... but you know I do not know shit about Cork? And I only know that 'more' calm and less expensive than Dublin, the cultural center of Ireland and as you rightly said Tommy "We fuck are you doing here with the cultural capital of Ireland?" Boh ...

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This thing of "Moleskine" begins to like it very much. Write what 'that goes through my head I think there also used to fix the things you see and live ... well ... I had to wait thirty years and a trip to Ireland to start writing my diary "secret".
It 's a beautiful thing "Moleskine!" These notebooks fit perfectly in the pockets of Jenas and when you feel like you pull out, take the pen and start taking note. Now, for example, are in a bar, sipping a cup of coffee '(for those with long-term, I have already' spoken) and while watching people come and go write. It's probably me since I have a certain tone noticed several people noted that glides the pen on the notebook.

Mah .. has stopped raining. I think
montero 'on the first bus that passes and I shall see that' running around Dublin for a while '.
So I did the weekly subscription and € 19 as I turn and when I want.
From now on I will not have 'more' on the pretext of a sore foot to stop me in the pub ... mah ... invent something 'anyway.

Oh well. Important thing. Marinella, the girl with whom I share the apartment gave me the OK. Thursday 'give me the house key so' can 'fix and clean my room and on Monday' I will 'inside. So meta 'work and' done. Manca solo work.
On the banks of the river there is' an agency that advised me saying that I Marinella fantastic and well that if I go and pull 'likely to make me do an interview with one of their agents immediately.
Prudence would suggest to wait until next week, when I am 'in the new house and can' sleep well, take a bath as Christ commanded, and maybe a taxi perndere looking rested and fresh to face this new adventure ... but I've never been prudent? We'll see. I'm going to stick to the bus ... it feels.

My English is improving day by day, even hour to hour. I begin to understand what they say on the radio even though I'm not careful and already 'when I wake up, if I speak English with someone, my tiny brain puts the march and began to think in English. And the thing and 'particular. When you speak English so 'to do as a school, you think in Italian, then translate and then say what you say.
But when you have to survive in a situation like mine get the message directly without translation, and sometimes I was not able to translate something in Italian and English I understood perfectly.

The bidet '... I miss bide '.
I do not understand the philosophy of these Nordic toilet.
Chicago and I have to take a shower. As if a dirty shirt and should bring all the equipment in the laundry. Mah ..

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Last night I was a bit 'embarrassed, or at least it was my stomach, so I had dinner with a sandwich and a Guinness (you know ... "Why drink beer if you have a stomachache?" You're worse than my mother! And do not bother the balls! I went in the usual pub (as I do in a hurry to become habitual), usually old men, the usual sit-com ... and usually attempt to integrate when the eyes of cattle bartender met my sentence is the automatic exit, "A Guinness please" and so it went.
All this digression for what? Ah yes! To give proof of my inveterate stupidity and lack of survival instinct. Now I'm in a pub is a pass, lunch time and when I entered I thought: "Today I eat something light ... I take ..." I gave it a read to the dishes the day and I decided to chicken curry.
Now, for the uninitiated, India has been subjugated by the British Empire for years and I think now the Indians in revenge do strange rituals intended to curry curse on the British Isles. For those who are use to eat a chicken curry in Italy will be a curry chicken with the flavor of a chicken having a week stuck in a sock used (and would love to investigate what they did to the Indians Italians). Not so here ... the curry is nitroglycerine mixed with gunpowder! So be warned! When you order a dish with curry in Ireland expect much more than a damn hot plate.
Greetings from your left for the "Gambero Rosso" in Ireland.

Oh no I said this morning that I have changed rooms. This has given my new life as a migrant dummy aura of stability. I started with two suitcases, one regular and immense that until now I had not dared even to look for a long time for fear of running into a panic. The thought of opening it and know that after two days I had to put everything in place to move made me really bad. Until today I was in a room for eight (dorm room for a laugh ... a crammed with four bunk beds is a description that is closer to reality) the ground floor and the bathroom was in the basement, at the bottom the corridor and uncomfortable this made all the operations related to personal hygiene.
Now I'm on the second floor, and leave you to imagine the profanity that I pulled to drag the baggage (those who have read Pratchett will understand what I mean) the staircase, but at least the bathrooms are in front of my room. The room is always eight, but two beds are empty, so I'm facing the most peaceful nights, even if I have more chance of being identified as the fart

night ... Ah ... I forgot the milk! I drank milk so good only at the farm, taken directly from the cow, and a burned away. I do not think that the hostel is being supplied by the Quality Standards so I suppose that in general, hence the milk is of excellent quality. Ah

about breakfast this morning ... I was making toast when he got a guy who has slipped four slices of bread in the toaster, yawned, scratched his ass and then he started to see their slices do with stoic . And I thought, "This is an Italian." Two minutes later, I check my slices and then go out for a while even those of my companion and he does the cooking "tsc" without stopping to see their slices.
After fifteen seconds of the table behind you hear "A FRANCOOOO! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU A FA '! WAY 'TO SINN' TE RUBBENO EL POST. " I close my eyes and sighed, and shot my neighbor "and NUMMI ER BREAK THAT SHIT NUN SE STE COCEN SLICES." Pick a deep breath and do it "and did not COCEN no! and thank goodness ... if the bread becomes tough as the soles of your shoes. "M'ho could before." "And so 'a social worker?" I made a nice smile, I took my slice and I went to breakfast. We do recognize

everywhere ... but I wonder why many Irish people look like JF Kennedy? Broad forehead, straight nose and thin face and slightly grouped where there should be only the mouth ... I do not know what I mean. Brava
the Irish people, I always respond, maybe I'll take all your ass ...

All those with whom I speak tell me that an Englishman ok. But I quite understand the mother tongue and I do not understand the foreigners who speak English. The worst are the Spaniards! Mix the English ... like a train leaving ten sentences you say in one breath and softly biting words ...

I revise my philosophy about the coffee.
In Italy "I'll go get a coffee" means "come back in five minutes" unless you tell a civil servant and then we are half-day leave. Here they give you a urinal hot stuff, and just as cold milk separately. A pint of stuff. And as long as the coffee becomes drinkable may take up to several minutes. But I do not regret
espresso or mocha ... maybe because I know that soon I can remember ... riberlo Sun do take the kettle in November. I love you.

I found out that meteor has the lowest rates in Ireland and so I decided to buy the card.
Apart from that I did not understand a saw what he said the lady, except that the phone talking to me and said I did not understand what the hell (They enabled the card but had not authorized the credit and therefore correctly recorded Miss told me "AOH WAKE UP! PUOIIII NOT! "), the board is fine. 20c per minute for national calls and 50c a minute for all calls in Italy, fixed cell.

are now in a pub to rest your feet and I got a coke, so do not break.
are in what I call the neighborhood "Blade Runner" in Dublin. In practice you do O'Connell Street and the obelisk arrives, turn right (coming from the Ambassador down ... so to speak) and you find yourself in a way that lovers rub if the dream of every night. Now turn right again and you're in the film.
Full of colorful signs in all languages, and stalls of fruit and vegetables in the street and people of all races.
For example, a butcher whose motto is "Have a look in the window" on the marquee invites you to throw a look at a show that would die on the spot after a vegan and an internet point. You enter into a kind of confessional and you are a rasta black guy who for 15 € you unlock the phone.
Yeah. Why in Ireland is true that the phone companies make you pay for example a cell with 80 € 89 € credit, but you lock the phone and in theory you could use it only with that card.
And what do you do? From the street the consumer world and standardized around the corner and steps all'immaginifico world of P. Dick and ask rastone to unlock the phone.
Without the law, found the trick ... with a little 'poetry.

Have you ever imagined how it would take a taxi driven by crazy drummer of Commitments? I have had this experience.
the pub where I had lunch I was advised to take a taxi to go to the office of taxes (what I'm going to do? When I hurried up the flaw, I'll know). Said than done. Crazy!
I found myself with a copy of that drummer in the most fundamentalist Catholic, a friend of Bush and xenophobic towards blacks and Muslims, whom he tenderly baptized "Fuking hell bastard childrens' fucking bastard sons of hell ... a tale of a little person so short . And I'm
dick that kept saying that he and I are equal because we are Christians and Catholics (who I am? "Since when?) and white (if you knew how much Arab blood flows in the veins of every Italian is amazed) and that if one day make it possible to build a mosque in Ireland will give him fire his care when it is well filled with children of Satan, of course.
Because there is only one God and Jesus Christ. Words that denote a good deal of ignorance of theological fanaticism noche ....

BTW ... I was in the taxi with me Torquemada who roam up to that place far away to find that in that place there was the office. So I got myself back in the city center on O'Connell Street where I did an hour and a half line at the office of the fees only to discover that I was in the office taxes wrong and that I must call a number to tell me where to go (Affanculo! Exactly!).
begin to understand why what he said that Italian and Irish are similar

... I went to the bank to change those famous 500 €. She first looked at them as if they were a snake, then he understood what they were and they looked as if they were the Holy Grail, then became the head give permission for them to handle, and then, for the thrill it gave me 20 tickets for 50 € ... ... € 1000 I did not and I told her that he was wrong.
gradually begin to lose pieces of my Italian ...

Latest news from Dublin! Should I
have found a home. Fingers crossed. It 's a two-storey house with garden at the back (the typical suburban Dublin house so to speak) in a central but not well stocked. Take the horns for me.

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I bought a card with 5 international € allows me to call for three hours in Italy. If the mother knows the Telecom seize a shot. And maybe!

Then I discovered that in the internet cafe where I was and that permettte to use your notebook you can use skype or messenger even after ending the credit connection.
Dilemma forward ... "good news" to all those who wish to spend more time to communicate with the beloved and / or their friends (and therefore expect in the short time unable to do the trick ... mica are stupid if all of them ... damn them realize it) or be clever and keep the news to me? Well obviously ... GNU rules ... we share the information.
I'm in a pub on O'Connell Street. I stopped to rest your feet ... damn Dr.Martins.
I just found out that in Ireland try to pay something with a € 500 note is like trying, in Italy, to pay a bag of candy with a post-dated check for 2000 € ... what the fuck! They are not currency too? Oh well ... I make a pint, rest your feet and then I go. I wanted

take a Guinness and then leave for the hostel (as they will? Two and a half kilometers? Two? Boh? Damn Dr.Martins), but I stuck button (or button attacked him ... boh?) with a nice Irish 75 years . An old man who seems to be the grandfather of Frodo Baggins ... I do not know when it will end ...

Christ. Eventually went to pee and I can continue writing. Should I flee now that they are outside its field of view. Three hours gives me not just my Guinness pint tends to level off and then it does not seem nice. After five laps the world still seems to run in a non-noticeable (if not as an exaggeration and begins to swirl quickly) and in the right direction. Percentage of sympathetic understanding of the Irish man? 20-30% given that he is going nice and chew each word as an overcooked steak. Do not sip beer like me, he gulps. If I am to him is the sixth to the twelfth). And 'nice John. Frodo Baggins Something (I did not understand the spelling of his surname and even if it is irrelevant) and you know what? He was a shepherd. Oh yes ... a few steps from Temple Bar I found a retired shepherd ... He asked me

light on the Italian political situation and I explained how we are made (bad). Now every four words
Berlusconi and appointing ride ... but you see the lady if I do I have to take the piss out of a hobbit ... or his
God save my soul .. . We believe you?

Changing of the guard. John Baggins has gone leaving me with another Irish man who can speak with baritone carefully avoiding to move his lips and making it almost impossible to decipher the meaning of "uansoangosandoandouandomorinanson" coming out of his throat. Note. This is less than 40 years ... and if you take them as John. I'm beginning to think that beer after a certain age makes all men equal ... I have not thought well what it means but this thing scares me a bit '...

The waitress realized that, despite repeated requests of my friend, My glass must remain empty and my physical and mental health must be preserved.

I know that I will be leaving the pub the other side of O'Connell Bridge and my road is long but especially uncertain. May God or whoever he save my soul ... I

front garden of remembrance, sitting on the edge of a bed and I'm listening to the Modena City Ramblers. I never wrote the color of Ireland? No ... I think not. Well ... I ... you know ... sharp. I look up and see the blue sky ... but a strong blue, alive. I look down and the church seems more real than normal. That's what! Here the objects reach such a high level of ostentation reality that they seem almost fake. They seem proud to be where I am. The houses, sidewalks, poles, traffic lights seem to scream "Hey dick! Look at 'what we got no real !?!?!?"? No. Of course. Oh well I continue my journey to the hostel ... that sucks.

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Well ... here we are at the end. I arrived in Dublin ...
On the plane I started really thinking about what I was doing when the plane got up I felt as if something had definitely torn. It was not the umbilical cord with Italy because I do not have ever had, let's say that I felt the gear shift of a life; mine.
"Only those who have so much to lose" right? And well ... I have very little to lose even though I still much to bring up in Ireland with me .... Sole true?

Let's step back to understand who I do not know what happened.
I'm done with the past and I tried to rebuild a future. Simply as an explanation? Well ... So much. But if I close with the past simple, try to build a future is difficult (say impossible?), Italy. Leave a job and you have eight years of experience and you find yourself with pity in temporary employment agencies for a job in a call center ... no that's not what I mean for the future I'm sorry. Who knows? if the child of the Prime Minister instead of going to the dances for the debutantes and act as nominee for many shady deals dad had been found to be the ass is a step in the offspring of Ferrari but turn to bring home the Bacon who knows ... maybe not so outrageous to claim a steady job, a guaranteed salary, a future ... or not?
But it passes the monastery ... and then I decided to go to Ireland. The ability to migrate is flashed at noon on a Thursday, the night I chose Ireland. After a month I'm here. Just like that things are done this way.

Why Ireland? Because it is beautiful because it is in first place in the world in IT (Information Technologies for the uninitiated) ... because I needed to put a nice piece of the continent and also a bit 'of the sea between me and the smell of stale and dung that rises from the beautiful country. All
say that Ireland is fantastic? Well ... occur.

We come to the trip ... I said that I felt this thrill and I do not deny that I also had very nearly the urge to yell to the pilot to turn around and make me get off this jalopy. It was hard to see the tears of the person I love to peep while trying to smile and greet me pretending to be quiet. And it was hard to see the awful truth ... after almost two years living shoulder to shoulder would have to live apart for a month before we meet again. The fact that the terrible truth is out disruptive exit just as the plane began to roll for the track did not diminish the sense of anguish that has accompanied me up to the high altitude.
I stumped every time the hostess was talking, it seemed a dog that growls with a potato in his mouth, and I thought to live a life without knowing what the fuck are telling me those around me. Mmm ... what a joy to the ear then slowly started to get used to and I decided that the best move was not just cagarmela and start reading. And I did ... just in case of accident useless to know that the exit corridors are illuminated in the dark ... the problem is not the dark balls! There are thousands of meters that you'll get in free fall ...

But there, above the clouds, surrounded by sun and blue sky I began to see things from the positive point of view. Things will go well. Christ must be good ... we have not killed anyone and fuck's sake we will also us our dose of luck (meaning of course not as lucky as "becoming the").

I slept. That often takes a light sleeper you when you sleep on a moving vehicle ... one that takes on half of the brain, like dolphins, and you're there you're rilassatissimo and sleep but you see realize that you're snoring as the Landslide Vajont and wonderful thing ... ... you'll slam the balls and experience new forms of relaxation and nasal sound production. The great thing about snoring is that you snore while you sleep and then do not you remember, or if you notice it is not there a problem.

got off the plane I set out a phrase that I think will be carved into the rock by would-be emigrants in Irish soil. I gave him a pat on the shoulder of a young Cagliari who made my own choice and I said "My dear ... from now on we are all our cocks." Verba volant ...

The first approach to the hostel was not the best ... for one used to divide the home with one person say that was quite a shock to be sharing a room with seven other people and even worse on the beach with a few dozen ... and you think that here there are no bidet ... and even the custom to flush the toilet ... Christ ... I know you have diarrhea is a bad problem, but Christ ... (again) because it pay me? Oh well ... never mind ... I've been so

renowned Temple Bar area is nice ... but ... I do not come to say that that is Ireland. Among restaurants, Italian, English, Chinese takeaways and company do not try to tell that the pubs in the area are true ... but let me say how pleased the good ... Totò.
However, I tried a pub ... because I had feet like bagpipes, and I could not have ordered a more Irish stew in my dreams ... too bad that ignorant of the language of superimposed stew had a steak and then, expecting a T-Bone I saw it coming a stew of horror ... but the beer was good. Sigh.

I ended the evening in a pub (this really original) on the road to the hostel. Another pause to rest your feet and another pint. I was in the company of some nice old people, and we saw that in my imagination is the typical British sitcom. Five people, locked in a room that arm trying to pull the story forward trying to make it as fun (Or bearable) possible with corny gags ... I laughed with them even if I knew what they were saying one hundredth of the actors ... I felt so Manfredi with dyed blond hair who looks Italy-Germany in a German brewery.

I decided to take me behind the moleskin so I can record on-the-road experiences and events can fix them before deleting them ... so lame will report to the rhythm of my Moleskine, as I wrote at the time, for the benefit of the reader this site.

One of my roommates is a "nice" child of the fifties who enneenne tonight has kindly kicked out of the room, while I was writing the computer, because he had to stay (at eight? What is a hostel or a hospital?) and for these things is the "common room" ... ok ... you're right ... but fuck. And he got it! He did not understand my broken English (he must be cursed and snooty English), but when I delivered the invitation to give the back of his body orpo how I got the ladies hair.