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.
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.
0 comments:
Post a Comment