Kettlegate and the Taxi of Doom or 'David Tries Italy Episode One'

You might think it strange starting a blog about Italy talking about kettles. Probably a bit rude and uncontinental - oh that’s not a word, it should be! That’s mine, I’ve invented that, hands off! I’m going to be rich!

Anyway kettles. My dad is a huge fan of tea, as am I, and tea is a central part of my family’s lifestyle and I’m quite happy about this. It’s the most British of things a good old cup of tea with a saucer and a jaffa cake, in a mug suitably sized for dunking. I’ve recently discovered there are people who don’t dunk their biscuits in their tea! Isn’t that unconstitutional or something? I know we don’t have a constitution in Britain but if we did, rule number one would be ‘thou shalt dunk thy biscuit’. 

Because of this love of the hottest of tasty beverages however there arose an issue in my household. My dad suddenly became very worried that there would be no kettle in our hotel room. I know, a scary thought for anyone. Therefore, naturally, my wise old father decided that the only logical solution to this problem was to take our home kettle and put it in a suitcase and bring it across europe with us. Of course mum disagreed seeing that with Argos’ extensive range of travel kettles (2), taking a full-sized kitchen appliance cross-continent was stupid. These were not her exact words but this is a family friendly blog! These discussions continued throughout the whole time I returned home from uni until my dad finally relented and was forced to travel to Argos to shell out £14.99 for a travel kettle. The settling argument being mum’s ‘the kettle or me’. A shrewd womanly tactic which won through as I now sit in the rather nice Hotel Petra with the waft of darjeeling finding my nostrils. I did think it was a dangerous one. Words cannot describe how much the man loves tea. He’s like Wallace with cheese, so suffice to say, it was a close shave. *

This, an unlikely, rather humorous episode that can only occur in my family, therefore I’ve devoted the first part of my first Italian adventure to recount this to you. 

So many things I’d like to talk about! I think I’d better start at the beginning with my love for Stansted airport. So many eventful things occurred here! Firstly, (and fittingly) in an optimistic ‘trying new things’ mood, I had baked beans with my all day breakfast! It’s always been a source of annoyance to me (and probably others) that I’ve lived my life bean-phobic. I don’t know why, I think I found the texture strange or something when I was young. But today I tried them and my God they were good. That first forkful of sausage/bean/bacon/mushroom was a delight I wish to repeat and I can see for many years I’ve been foolish. Beans are good, and shall feature in my fried breakfasts from this day forward!

I do like Stansted, it’s set out so well! I always recount (and probably bore) people with my finding it impressive how it separates check-in, passport, control and shops in one big hall. And then there’s the Stansted magic rollercoaster rail thingy! The one that transports you to your gate with views of the runways! It always awakes a childlike joy in me when I get the chance to take a ride in it. I’m a very easily pleased human. My mum however never has a particularly good experience at my favourite airport. Twice her hand luggage was searched for bombs and/or drugs. I’ve never thought my mum looks like a drug pedalling terrorist but airport security clearly think otherwise! Poor mum! She’s lovely really! **

So after two hours of drinking Starbucks and trying on things I can’t afford in the Sunglasses Hut (the  favourite activity of any airport goer) we boarded our plane (me with luxurious foot-space but a worrying emergency door responsibility) and two short Kindle-laden hours later we landed in Roma!

Now to the crux of this blog. Taxi drivers.

An interesting fact I learnt on the Million Pound Drop the other day while me and my friend Jocy relaxed after dinner, was that the word ‘taxi’ is the same in all languages! Well, English, German and apparently Italian anyway. I’m an English student, this puts my nerd radar on red alert and now it’s a favourite fact of mine!

On following the helpful ‘Taxi’ sign in a sea of sexy looking Italian words we found our way into an equally sexy little white Fiat. I’d like to make the point that my dad was too scared to sit in the front with the taxi driver so I had to endure about 15 minutes of British embarrassed silence while having dance music forced into my ears. My dad’s ‘I forgot the passenger goes on that side’ excuse is a tad suspicious don’t you think? I don’t mind, I like being a man, and sitting in the front with the taxi driver on holiday is textbook man-zone. And I don’t usually act the man, I like to use Herbal Essenses ‘Tousle Me Softly’ for instance. And I very much like baking and home interiors. I care not, one day a lucky lady will enjoy soft tousleable hair, tasty cakes and a chic house to enjoy both these things in! So I like being the man at other times, like calling British Gas, and driving without a satnav and sitting with taxi drivers.

This was no ordinary taxi. This was Italy’s answer to Indiana Jones. This was the Taxi of Doom. I noticed on the (thankfully short) trip to the Hotel Petra, that Italian drivers are insane. I hate to stereotype. Alright, the cars I saw, and our taxi driver was insane. He was on his phone, using his opposite hand to change gear, weaving this way and that, complaining in fast Italian at even worse drivers. (I replied with a helpful, agreeable ‘hmmm’ to this) I constantly found myself checking my mirror and stabbing my foot at a brake pedal I didn’t have access to. 

Strangely I found myself thinking ‘So this is what it’s like to have a child’. One day off in the future, I’ll be sitting in an Apple iCar with my young excited child and I feel I’ll go through that experience all over again. Hopefully though my child won’t swear (presumably) in Italian at other drivers and look like Alice Cooper. Thankfully though I am still alive and itching to get out exploring Rome! 

I’m glad I started this blog, I always feel a bit unsettled on the first evening of a holiday. Especially when it’s night. But good old writing, saved the day again! Hope you enjoyed this part one of my Roman holiday! 

Ciao for now!

• I apologise for the in-joke if you haven’t seen Wallace and Gromit: A Close Shave. If you haven’t and you’d like to try a new thing today I’d highly recommend giving this or indeed any Wallace and Gromit a watch.

      ** My mum is actually an extremely lovely human lady whose activities include sending    hilarious texts during football and accompanying me to concerts because of a very cool taste in music!