Italy. An interesting, infuriating place to live as a gin-raddled expat. Some notes and observations.
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
High Jinks
The Combo birthday has for several years been a 'must have' invitation and last night was no exception. The usual line of parked Maybachs and Bentleys, their uniformed drivers talking and smoking in small groups near their cars. Horribly inbred wall-eyed local peasants pressing their stinking rags up against the magnificent double gates over which is mounted the Combo family crest and motto Imbibo ad mortem, craning for a view. A string quartet sawing away on the main lawn. The chinking of £65-a-go Riedel crystal glasses as foaming Krug caresses expensive lips. Oh yes, no expense spared. Actually, Mrs Combo and I and the doggie had a lovely evening eating roast chicken, roasted vegetables and BOOZING*! Well, it's not often now, is it?
*One bottle of Pedigree, a half bottle of local white and a bottle of Monferrato Rosso (Cabernet Sauvignon, Barbera, Nebbiolo and Merlot blend). Oh, and a baby grappa afterwards.
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6 comments:
I was picturing the scene nicely until you introduced THE TRUTH. I'm sure it was a perfect birthday enjoyed by you and Mrs. Combo, but the fantasy option sounds very attractive. One day huh?
Ron...Vinogirl and I will raise a glass to you tomorrow as we will be celebrating one of the vinodogs birthdays...any excuse!
I respectfully withdraw my comment from the Panda post re literary blog postings - this masterful piece of scene setting actually had me right there on the lawn soaking up the atmosphere - MORE OF THIS !
I wonder why empty bottles make a more attractive photo than well-chewed chicken bones - or did they go in the stockpot? And, if you were Michael Winner, there would be a photo of the Lovely Mrs Combo.
A belated happy birthday Ron. Thud and I raised a glass of Napa Cab to you last night.
Yo Ron, my man, way to go, respeck. I too have been celebrating your birthday; in no lesser place than London's West End. I have tonight/yesterday/now been getting wildly drunk with the daughter of the man who invented the Space Hopper. We did this (boozing) in a fabulous throwback bar off the bottom of Tottenham Court Rd. There were men in make-up, and girls with mascara you could stir your tea with. I fell fast asleep on the night bus and woke up a £10.00 cab ride beyond my flat. Why bother?
Happy Birthday.
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