Mr P has been in Italy over the past few weeks: doing a bit of this and that.And He’s still alive.
Thank Gawd…I hear you all say. Yes – thank The Lord.
Still Alive after a near- death experience – and all because of Mrs P’s Bloody family.
It goes like this:
Went out one evening: Mr P, Mrs P,her younger brother Paulo and his girlfriend Monica (nice girl – bit opinionated, but otherwise okay). We go to this weirdo “Pub” – great according to younger Bro; all made up like a scene from Edgar Allan Poe – but with skeletons in each corner and drinks served by vampires….only in Italy can something this naff be in existence.
All I had was a piece of toast and a non-alcoholic fruit juice – cost me twenty five squid !! Younger Bro had two pints of some fizzy cold yellow stuff, which he laughingly referred to as “beer”.
Anyway – two hours later he’s driving us home; either side of us is the Venice canal – very thin road – and dense fog – not enough space to allow two cars through without a bit of give and take. “CAUTION – is needed” - I hear you all say.
Caution?
My Arse !
Younger Bro – just hits the pedal and starts to hammer through the fog – me and Mrs P in the back seat – him and Monica in the front.
He’s cranked up his car stereo – playing “Woman in Chains” by Tears for Fears (a great track circa 1989). It is very loud and my body is shaking with the boom of the base. It's putting my nerves on end.
Little Bro is smoking a foul Italian cigarette – which bounces up and down in his mouth as he jabbers away – which is often – because the silly sod is turning around in his seat to speak to me . Why is he speaking to me?
Because I am telling him to slow down, to turn that bloody music off and look where he’s going.
But will he?
Like hell he will – he just talks faster – arguing with me, wondering why I am so afraid, and he then speeds up – going 60+ miles per hour in dense fog – on a skinny Italian road – with canal either side…..like a said.
All along the way there are memorials to Italian Youths – who have died on this road – they wiz past like a dream – but I notice them, as well as the bat’s squeak of fear.
Nothing is working with this jerk – so I pray – grab Mrs P’s hand and vow that if I get out of this alive – I will change my ways – be kinder – be gentler – smell the flowers – walk the dogs more – love the neighbours – speak peaceably to everyone;
And deck this twat of an Italian brother in law with one swipe of my hoary hand and then bounce the car door off his head.
So I tap him on the shoulder and grab his earlobe and whisper in his ear (in Venetian dialect) – that I want him to speed up – so we get home quicker, while I’m still feeling mad – ‘cos when we get back I am going to spread his nose across his face and break his jaw into 10 digestible pieces.
P Club – let me tell you this:
Italians do not like violence – No Sir – they do not. And so twat Brother-In Law – slows down – straight away. So I tell him – to speed up – I need to get home quick –'cos his arse is grass.
He does not speed up and spends the next 10 minutes saying sorry.
So there we go – P is still here.
Alive and Well.
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