Sunday Dawns. The Slumbering Giants Awake - Just!

By KevinTheB
October 17 2002

Alarm goes off. Into the shower. Funny, seems to be swaying this morning! Wake up Phil, down to breakfast. More people there than I imagined. What’s to eat – pork scratchings, some kind of local sausage with lots of bits of fat in it – maybe just a few rolls and a cake, then.

Coffee! Stop making so much noise with that spoon! Bobby admits to waking up in Reception – one of three bodies there when the cleaners arrived.

Decide to get out to the town. Pass a lady in very fetching pyjama bottoms in the bar area. Had a good night, did we?

Get dressed, check out, head off down to Piazza Garibaldi.

A really beautiful morning – glad we got up! Sit in the square – coffee!

Watch the Italians promenade. Why have they got fur coats on – the sun’s out! Who’s Garibaldi, Dad? The bloke who invented biscuits with dead flies in, son.

Gradually the whole squad assembles.

Begin to piece together last night.

Really fantastic sundial over there.

Shame about the telephone repeaters on the skyline – ruins some great architectural vistas. Right, off to the Gallery.

Spend two hours having a really educational time in the art gallery. There’s a splendid amphitheatre constucted out of (I think) cedar within a great stone hall – used to be used for schooling horses. Walk through into miles of gallery space with all kinds of art – frescos, triptychs, portraits, other religious works, Cannalettos (Venice is just down the road, after all) and to cap it all, a da Vinci pen drawing. That bloke had talent – wonder if he could kick? Why is it Catholic religious works are so concerned with blood and guts?

Turn a corner, and – bloody hell, it’s a sculpture of Ronnie Bergin, but with hair! The man’s got a mullet! Shame we can’t take photos in here.

Leave, enlifted in spirit. Can’t beat a dose of antiquity when in strange parts. Go wandering in search of food. Get back to Garibaldi, and find many of the party are still sat there! Pasta and pizza, methinks, so we find a nice place on the edge of the square. Ace food!

PhilTheB eats – yes – pizza! All of it, no less!

Back outside, stroll back up to the hotel at a vastly reduced pace. Walk past a fantastic baptistry in a cobbled square.

If that's pink marble, that must be where the do the girls. Where are the boys done, then? Into the hotel - make sheep noises at Deb.

Looks like she's flagging. Hear about the bomb blast in Bali - the story really doesn't get through, but it looks bad. 6 o’clock on the dot, and the coach with Fabrizzio turns up. All aboard! Muppet brings on the big bottle of red and opens it – party on! Back to Forli. More strip spoof – this time, certain young lady loses, but in dignity!

Reach airport with two hours to spare – just as well, as the luggage x-ray has broken, and two policemen are searching everything by hand – what a performance! Tempers get a little frayed. Girls undies are examined in detail - tempers very frayed. No call for that. Into the bar. Through to departures – now they’re putting everything through again, this time on a conveyor, and they’re doing it EVER SO SLOWLY! Starts to get tense. Lemon Song. Really echoes in the confined corridor. Carabinieri get edgy. More police turn up – queue starts to move a bit more. At the end, with the plane 60 minutes behind schedule, they just wave people through! Ridiculous!

With hindsight, it's possible they were reacting to the bomb in Bali - but it was still handled in a poor manner.

Take off, and two hours later, hit the runway at Stanstead in the middle of a “bit of a wind!” – out, queue for bags, cuddles, kisses, off into the cars.

See you next time! Bordeaux, isn’t it?