Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Rome


Look what I found on me holidays! A genuine example of the sort of foreign product food labelling that used to typically end up on that great Esther Rantzen TV Show, That's Life. Remember it? Esther the host, a line up of four guys taking the piss out of various things, a geeky guy in the corner with bad shirts and glasses, and at least once per show, a really, really serious bit about a sick old granny ripped off by a callous double-glazing company who took her money and stole her cat as well. At this point, Esther would lower her gaze to deliver the story, and blink very deliberately for effect.
They'd also have pics of number plates with stuff like 5UK COK1 and that sort of thing which was my favourite part of the show.

I could do lots of jokes on the knacker theme but won't. Padraig Nally. That sort of thing.

Anyway. Rome. Very good, I recommend. Three nights and I got to see mostly everything, or the stuff near at hand around the city centre anyway.

The Moo-Dog bullet point guide to the eternal city:

  • The coolest priests hang out in Rome, wear snazzy shades, have slick hairdos and ride scooters. I even saw a vanity calendar of young, chiselled-looking priests on sale at various stalls (for the lay-deez who fancy a bit of eucharistic congress obviously) which instantly made me think I was in an episode of Father Ted. As in the lovely girls episode, except it was lovely young priests instead. By the way, I don't know if it was a nude calendar, I didn't look.
  • Romans used to wash their clothes in piss. Apparently, one's piss is full of ammonia which is great for getting out the stains, which invariably tended to be wine, or blood. Or in a comical full-circle way, piss itself perhaps. Anyway, Romans steeped their dirty robes in piss and then threw in bay leaves so they wouldn't smell like a jacks while out and about torturing christians and stuff. Public toilet attendants made a fortune selling piss to locals to clean their clothes and eventually a special Piss Tax was imposed by the emporer to get his slice of the piss pie. So there.
  • When they serve you mozzarella cheese, it arrives on the plate like a scoop of ice cream or the white of a hard boiled egg. Weird.
  • At swanky tourist-trap places, a bottle of beer can cost about nine euro. I drank one, made my excuses and left for the nearest-looking beer hovel down some suitably dank alleyway.
  • Italians eat like horses. Starter, pasta dish, pizza, dessert, wine. And not a pick on the feckers
  • The women were not as hot as expected. Major disappointment.
  • You'd need balls of steel to even attempt to drive in Rome. Mad as deranged ferrets on the road are the Italians.
  • The inside of St Pauls would make you dizzy looking up at it. Ferocious bit of architectury if ever there was.
  • Reports of rampant pick-pocketry are grossly exaggerrated. Keep your wits about you and your wallet will follow suit.
  • When you see people still crying at Pope John Paul II's grave, something responds in you and you realise you'll never truly rid yourself of your Catholic upbringing.
  • The weather is class. I got burned. So I went out there a culchie, and came back a red neck. Yee haw!