London, day three.

Monday, 5th July, 2004.

London, day three.

Madonna cooked for us Thursday lunch time. We had wanted to get an
early start but it would have been rude to refuse when she wanted to
cook for us. The meal was simple Italian fare, a starter of pasta with
some sort of beans. There were six of us sitting at table and it was
always going to be awkward for me. During the course of my stay with
the family, I learned two, much used, phrases "porcisimo, Madonna,"
and, "non troppo," (my spelling is probably dire.) Porcisimo, little
bit, is always accompanied with the universal 'little bit' hand
gesture. Non troppo, means, not too much, again with hand
accompaniment. Madonna took, not one bit of notice and my bowl of pasta
equalled everybody else's. It was only going to go to waste so, I got a
separate bowl and spooned myself one desert spoon out. Madonna shook
her head in horror but laughed all the same. The pasta was simple,
plain pasta, a few mixed beans and a dribble of olive oil but it was
gorgeous. The family had fresh, homemade bread with theirs. Even Nonna
managed to eat about five times more than me and she's two hundred and
seventy three! Suddenly what I was dreading happened. Pasta is one of
the food groups that I find most difficult to digest. For those that
don't know, I had ninety percent of my stomach and intestine removed
for medical reasons, in December. I can eat pretty much anything now,
but only small amounts. The pasta rebelled. My plumbing started to
bubble. I can make a noise that remains in my oesophagus. It isn't
wind, I don' think and it goes neither up nor down, it just stays where
it is and bubbles until the food goes down. The noise is best described
as similar to that of a child farting in the bath but it comes from
somewhere just below my boobs. I never felt awkward about it with Rick
because we just used to look at each other and say, "bubbles!" however,
when it happened at Maurio's I was mortified. Nobody reacted and
Martha, who was sitting right next to me, swore afterwards that she
never heard a thing. She said it's all in my head and that nobody else
heard. I excused myself and sat with my cheeks burning for the rest of
the meal.

Second course was Italian meatballs, again very basic food, but cooked
to perfection. I had one and Madonna worried that I was going to
starve. Nobody fussed about the length of time it took me to eat. It
was all very relaxed and I didn't feel awkward at all. You'd think that
the meat would be heavier than plain pasta but it isn't. The meatball
went down well and I had no further problems. The meatballs were served
without potatoes or vegetables of any kind. Only bread, broken by hand
and shared, was eaten with the main course. After that there was fresh
fruit, lederdammer cheese and yes, more bread but I managed to escape
those as I was still working my way through my meatball but so was
Nonna, so I didn't worry about it. The meal was beautiful, I really
enjoyed it. The company was warm and the conversation lively.

We left the flat early afternoon and made for Picadilly circus on the
tube. We tried to book seats for Phantom of the Opera that evening, or
any evening, but Thursday and Friday were booked solid apart from a few
'restricted view' seats and we didn't want those. I didn't see the
point of paying thirty quid, a piece, for the theatre and not being
able to see anything. So we gave up on that idea and decided to just
spend the evening down at Maurio's restaurant.

I wanted to shop but Martha insisted we be touriods for the afternoon,
good choice. We went to Buck Palace, down Westminster and along the
river. I never tire of those places. The architecture is breathtaking
and it does indeed, make you proud to be British. I was flagging. I was
so bone weary tired. We' had almost no sleep. Well, let me re-phrase
that. I had had almost no sleep, Martha, on the other hand, slept like
a walrus. I was awake by six, she and Maurio's fifteen year old Nephew,
who was sharing our room, slept until eleven. They had an extensive
repertoire of the snorers orchestra between them and harmonised
beautifully. I think they should record an album. I didn't mind in the
least. Snoring doesn't bother me. Like ticking clocks, I find it
soothing which is amazing considering the decibels those two were
throwing out.

We had a coffee, latte of course, Martha had a slice of apple pie and
cream and I, disappointed by the fact that they had no cheesecake, had
a piece of the richest chocolate and yogurt cake you have ever tasted.
I managed all of two tiny teaspoons. I also had an orange juice which
Matha and I shared because we were very thirsty. When we left the cafe,
I had a sudden spurt of energy. I'd had about four hours sleep in four
days but felt remarkably refreshed. We went down the river and took
lots of photos. We even did the London Eye experience. Last time I
wanted to go on it the cost was thirty pounds. It seemed too much for
what they were offering. Martha said that when it first opened she was
quoted forty-five pounds and they were queuing for three hours. Now the
novelty has worn off a bit and it's down to a reasonable price of
?11.50. I think this is silly business practise. People have a
psychological block on round figure excess. If they dropped the price
again to nine, ninety nine, just below the magic ten pounds mark, I
think they would double their revenue.

We had enjoyed beautiful weather up to the point of boarding the
capsule. As we came out of the ticket office the heavens opened and God
peed good. Okay, we didn't get wet because bladder emptied, he put his
todger away and gave us sunshine again just as we landed. The rain
speckles spoiled the photographs from up there but it was a worthwhile
experience.

We came off the eye and sat outside on the wharf with another coffee.
The rain had cleansed everything. There wasn't a scrap of litter
anywhere to be seen and London was beautiful, she knew it too and
wasted no time in flaunting herself for the tourists. Making our way
into town, we finally got to shop. Yes, more clothes, but unlike my
purchases from Camden, these were very conservative. No excessive zips,
chains or flowing lace tresses.

We got back to the flat, had coffee, it's compulsory, showered and
prepared to go out. We were very tired but Martha assured me that I
would enjoy myself down the restaurant. Every single evening when we
dressed to go out I had the same goodbye from Madonna. It will be my
lasting memory of her. I'd say, "Ciao, Madonna," and she'd smile
widely, wave and always give me the same reply, "Ciao Bella." She's' a
home bird and never wanted to come socialising with us. I thought she
said goodbye to all the female guests that way and thought nothing of
it, but Martha told me, on the way home, that she said that to me
because she likes me. It's one of the nicest compliments I've ever
had.

We went off to one of the best nights ever.