Courmayeur, I t a l i a n o

Just another day : drove through a mountain, with a load of rich people, into another country and skied on some of the best bleeding terrain ever imaginable, courtesy, of course of my clients. Cranking loud lashing traX into my muffled, almost entirely deaf lobes, but regularly easing them off at appropriate times in order to eavesdrop, but only for surface value, in order to listen with great amorous intentions at the rhythmic and poetic bouncing beats of fiercely gesticulated fiery Italian conversations . A whole day of exploring new terrains lay ahead- a tremendous rarity in this line of work, so I intended to make every darned last use of it! What a treat, to allow myself to meander on alien tracks, with no time restraints or pressing ironing duties to be done. I was having so much fun googling over Italians + exercising the ability for location cluelessness, that I missed the opportunity to be bought a fine cuisine lunch, but I think I was secretly satisfied with my now frozen avocado + marmite butty, gulped down on a bubble lift whilst piercing wide eyed looks at potential routes I could see far down below. Many hours of drifting from steep to steep later I thought : bugger it, go on Smith, splash out, buy a bleeding coffee you tight wad. So I found this banging café 4000 metres high, where the uniforms seemed to be woolly jumpers with animals on + Italian pop was plunging out to every gorging punter, as I went to order I soon realised : of course, I'm in Italy! "um?. Bonjouuuuuuuuurno?." I blurt with a discreditable over pronunciation "?.um, do you speak English?" Turns out they didn't, but as my fine old friend, Mr Gesticulation showed his sweet face, I was plunging my weary bones onto a hand carved high bench surrounded by ravenous locals with a steaming coffee in no time at all.