I am not at home because I am typing this from Italy, L.cky me!!!
My long weekend break, returning tomorrow morning, with Giovanni, started as “coffee soon?” and became “take your passport and meet me at Heathrow at 13:00 hours. Giovanni was born in London’s West End to Sicilian parents and emigrated there in 1990 before making his home somewhere between Tuscany and Paris. He has an ex-wife, five children, three dogs in a villa in the Tuscan countryside and a mistress in Paris with one child. Before you ask how he manages to afford to keep them all, his six-figure salary seems to be that.
How do I fit in? Well, he does like to keep up appearances with the Italian social elite and to rub his ex-wife’s nose in the fact that he hasn’t lost touch with the ladies. Ex Mrs Giovanni doesn’t know about the Parisian mistress or the half-brother of her offspring, so I step in as the model girlfriend. I don’t mind, I love Italy, and I am used to being discreet.
So we came to Italy for proper coffee, ground from good coffee beans, in an authentic restaurant by an adequate barista. I used a small amount of Italian vocabulary on him – enough to say “grazi” – and flashed my most dazzling smile. Red-blooded Mediterranean men do like to feel appreciated by red-blooded British women! And how do I like my coffee? Well, I am partial to a cappuccino, but I do prefer a latte – especially when it is homegrown.
And I discovered that barista training is right around the corner from the hotel. How exciting!
