great minds think alike

it's nice to be wanted...

so i hoisted my slim self into mina, leaving unpaid fines and stolen scooter and broken laptop woes behind me, and spluttered to casa dei pucci. determined not to drink, possibly fast and act fittingly glum in view of recent events and disasters that have rightly earned me the moniker POD. in a strange act of telepathy i packed my nun habit and the cross, hoping to solicit a Lady V snort of appreciation.

alas all my firmest resolutions went, as we like to say, TITS up. rocking up to the sounds of the stone roses (i am the RESURECTION la la la) the sight of virile activity put me in an instant good mood. men with tight shirts chopping wood and working up a sweat is all it takes when you are a BL. i sit back and enjoy the view, the sun sinking into the hills. an anorexic-looking maude grovelling devotedly. am told we're having lamb for dinner. wonderful. i hate lamb so it will be all the easier to fast.

graham, tim and lady V rock up. inexplicably carrying bag upon bag of groceries (food shopping seems to a compulsive activity on tuscan soil). the fact that we're leaving the day after doesn't seem to deter the ardent shoppers. lady v trots along for a bear hug and soon enough we're smoking, drinking, talking trash and filth and mischief had or wanted or sought but seldom found. she has brought along a little treat for us: behind convent walls (a late masterpiece from the art exploitation school of 1970s filmaking). am ecstatic since i've brought along tis pity she's a whore and now the expanding film collection can have another category (arty trash) next to the teen crud.

sat around a table we make merry. alberto pots about like a house frau and bakes and stuffs tomatoes with rice. tim tends to his manky finger which he managed to shred into a gangrenous mess (i suggest amputation). john sits quietly in a corner looking like a young marlon brando in the streetcar named desire era. graham leafs through vogue trying to shut out the girlie chatter. food is eaten. bruce springsteen is played loudly. a guilty pleasure for some. an unadulturated joy for others. Shag Marriage Bridge is played (lady v slips AGAIN into BLism waters). glorious film watching ensues. we run out of fags. i roll some of the worst cigarettes imaginable.

i wake up and can't remember where i am.

i miss you all.
end of rant