I freely admit that l find it hard to relax.... Part of that is my inner angst which is about doing things better next time, AND / OR surviving all the threats in my immediate enviroment.
Being uber competitive and shorter than average height is a curse. Somehow my credits are overshadowed by the goals that l missed while guarding at net and not my brilliant saves .Keeping the demons in their boxes can be a time consuming journey.
Cycling works as a soother sometimes, but add a few competing cyclists and the occassional dirty white van from Basildon then its back to gritted teeth and hatred...nothing personal, but sharing the bitumen with others who would love nothing more than to shaft you delicately into the next world is a pain.
So it was with mixed feelings that our 3 hours had come to an end in the Terme . There was sadness , because had l tried harder to relax it could have been fun too. Perhaps its time to look beyond Billy Nomates as my role model.
The faces in the dressing room seemed relaxed, but they may have omitted the recommended uterine sojurn, and had a surfit of the 'mud goo' instead. l can't blame them, they are only human....one man's meat and all that.
Giuseppe does not have my angst gene either and he was happily swapping experiences with Pat who clearly had been in an alternative universe. lt was her second trip here, and it seemed to have rejuvenated her....perhaps she too had been suffering from 'cold turkey' in Halifax (Nova Scotia) and comes back to Tuscany for another shot of 'goo' as required. l did not have the gumption (aka testicles as big as grapefruit) to ask about THE..UTERUS..she could have taken it the wrong way, and instead of reading this piece you could be scanning my obituary.
So out we went into the sunshine,optimistic and 'looking foreward' to the gargantuan feast that would have to be negotiated that evening. You see what l mean about angst!
The taxi rank had at least 10 cabs sitting patiently...no unruly scuffling for our custom...Our driver stepped foreward, opened the doors and off we went. The journey takes about 20 minutes and initially all we could do was look with wonder at the beautiful rolling hills, whose cypress trees stabbed like exclamation marks at the puffy white clouds made of cotton wool.Then like all ernest students we got onto grammar....we were sharing our ignorance and it was time for some real light to be cast, so we asked our driver. He looked about 40 yrs old , small well trimmed beard ,very slightly greying, with wire rimmed glasses. He could have easily passed for a senior university lecturer, not just in appearance but also manner as he went through the various complications that we had brought to him.
He clearly loved this land, its language and history and at journey's end showed us on his i pad a text book he thought we should consider getting to help with our studies.
What you get is what there is! My thoughts as we got out turned to how my local cabbie might respond to my uncertainties of English grammar... better let that one just fade away painlessly.
School tomorrow, but with my stay over half way through l was starting to feel like an old hand....still true in one way because l was still the oldest student there even though l was also a beginner in what really matters.
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