Last night Heather and I had a little too much Prosecco.
There was a pianist playing on the roof terrace of our hotel, and he was playing some classics...Robbie Williams - Angels, Elvis Costello - She, and a bit of Enrique.
He thought we were great and kept laughing at our amazing singing and dancing attempt. However, this morning at breakfast we had to do the walk of shame. Half of the hotel had seen our disastrous moves. I don't think we gave the Brits a good reputation. Apologies.
The waiter at dinner thought we were idiots too. The food was incredible, but after four courses we were so unbelievably full. However, we still wanted to try the desserts. The waiter came over to our table and attempted to say 'would you like dessert?'. However, with his Italian accent 'desserta' sounded like 'starter'.
You should have seen our faces...
"STARTER???"
I don't think I have ever been so afraid of food before. Luckily he had meant dessert and I demolished the best creme brûlée EVER. It was incredible.
I am going to have to go on the starvation diet when I'm back in England.
Unfortunately there are still no Italian men stories. They all wear budgie smugglers and it upsets me a little bit.
Maybe tonight when they're wearing clothes I might have a little shark around some bars. We are planning to find someone that owns a yacht... Well we may as well aim high to begin with.
Hope you like my posh robe.
X
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