And so to continue with our Milanese escapades………….

For the next morning , we’d ordered breakfast to be brought to the room….and by this stage the bell hop cum waiter chap just came and went as he pleased.  

In he walks tray in hand, opens the curtains, and pours the coffee and we’re like – WTF – “get out”, well, “get out please”,

hangover type thing!

So we went back to sleep, awaking much later – but that was ok cos we were “doing” Milan again.

Anon, off we went to get a coffee etc.

We decide on this lovely really pleasant looking little place on a side street – lots of Italians there, so that’s good then, hey.


“Two cappuccinos please.”

And they all start laughing at us!  (a familiar sound that, laughter!)

Much to everyone’s amusement Mr Barista is shouting about cappuccino and whatever… (no comprendo).

We paid,

were served,

we sat,

we drank.

We hadn’t a clue what was so funny.

So I grabbed this hottie beside me (as you do, any excuse)

and asked him what be the story.

He said,

“One never orders cappuccino after breakfast” (well he didn’t say it like that, but, if he could have he would have, the intent was there!)

As it was close to lunchtime,

this is why people were laughing,

at our #ignorance!

I was like well how ignorant are they (humpf).

Anyway, as usual we got over it – WE got over a lot really didn’t we!

Off we went to the Cathedral #Duomo

I was in a strappy tee and my “It aint’ half hot mum” shorts.

They wouldn’t let me in, and me a holy Catholic!

But Oh I was used to it by now….

I had to put on a plastic coat

to cover my shoulders and my knees (what’s wrong with my knees?)

and wear a Mantilla, I looked a right state.


It WAS a lovely Cathedral,


really beautiful.


And we got Mass,

and then smartarse here said – “I think I’ll go to confession, cos he won’t be able to understand me” #smirks #wink


I got roared at,


threatened with ex-communication or something close to it (WTF), scratches head.

I was like Usain Bolt getting out of the place.

God was pissing himself, as per.

I had to say a full Rosary as penance.

So I made him say it with me, making him take his share of the blame.  (What’s mine is yours…)

Next up came the really super duper good bit! Months before the trip, I’d asked the hotel concierge

to book us a slot at the chapel which houses Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper”,

the Church of Santa Maria delle Grazie.

Tickets must be book in advance for a specific time and date as only so many people can go in at a time, I think it’s 8, and only for about 15 minutes or so.


It is divine, it is  more than beautiful, goose-bumps.

I’ll never forget it as long as I live.

It was just stunning.

The detail, my God, the man was a genius.

That was one of the highlights, truly magical!

After that we went to the go to hotel in Milan for all the Supermodels and Fashionistas,

the Bulgari.


We ordered two cocktails,

waiter leaves down bill,

excluding service,

60 euro!

I was sucking mine up through a straw,

And God says “Enjoy that cos you’ll be chewing ice for the rest of the evening”.

We only had the one, but it was nice!

And then, dun, dun, DUN.  We went shopping.


God went to the men’s section, me to the ladies, and no word of a lie,

Every b1tch in the place turned her back on me. #PrettyWoman, yeah Julia, I hear ya!

God followed me over to where I stood, and asap,

they were like bees to honey. Double humpf!


Then this “auld wan” came over, eyeing me sympathetically.

I told her I was looking for black trousers,

and a top,

and she picked out some nice looking stuff and off we went, to the changing rooms.

I tried them on a pair of trousers and suddenly resembled Coco the clown.

They were an Italian 48 – which is a UK 16.  I am a UK size 10!

I finally cracked and started crying.

God called the manager, and all hell broke loose!

The manager took over and things calmed down,

purchases were made, and a serotonin rush was had.

But when we went out to dinner that night

I wouldn’t eat, because “I was too fat”(it gets to you after a while).

The waiter was concerned that madam was not eating, God briefly explained why.

Waiter arrives out with a big ice cream thingy

with sparklers in it,

and two glasses of champagne

and said “Milan says sorry”.  Chubby Monster thoughts were banished with a lick of dairy indulgence.   Milan had saved itself and I went to bed satiated and contented.

Next day,

we went to Lake Como,

in particular to the Villa d’Este.

Villa dEste

It was heavenly.

We drank PIMMS

out on the lawn,

had lunch in the sun,

but more importantly, we laughed.  A LOT.

After a leisurely afternoon, we got the boat back across the lake, to the town (memory fails me),

And got pistachio ice cream (yes more Ice cream),

wandered around the markets, and had a really nice meandering stroll before returning back to base camp.

That evening we went to the Opera.

The “wans” in the loo, were pointing at me again, presumably because my nose now matched my hair, red-dot-com.

So when I was walking out

I stood on this wans foot

by accident


and that shut her up!

The revenge of the “only in Milan are you fat” redheaded midday-cappuccino drinking Irish gal.


The opera was lovely,

Puccini.  Afterwards,

we walked back to the hotel,

very rosemantic, and had a nightcap before slipping off to bed.  By all accounts, this had been one of our better days!

Next up for shaving, Turin.

This time we were ready for the taxi and his money munching meter.

We were at the door when the it arrived, but even then he had already clocked Euro 8!

Anyway, off  to Turin, home to this big mad yoke of a building 

called The Mole.

The Mole

Up we went, the view from the top was fab!


has these crazy hills at it’s perimeter,

and off we went, hiking up and away,

and the view over the city was just lovely!


Having worked up a healthy appetite  we headed off to this uber posh restaurant,

all white linen and stuffy waiter,

where we had booked in for early supper.

I, in my stupidity ordered Barolo Risotto!

Barolo Risotto

I couldn’t eat it, it was blood red. Basically it was rice cooked in red wine.  Disgusting, eugh.

I just sat there, stared at it and then tried not to look at it again, whilst, yet again, God was in the giggles.

Afterwards, we went to a nearby chocolate shop which only sold indigenous Turinese choccies.


Turin Chocs

I had half of the box eaten by the time the train got back to Milan,

nom nom.  Smiley Face.

The next day we were going shopping again, so I decided I’d better,

you know,

dolly myself up a bit.

So I did.

And, in the first three shops we went into,

they ignored me!

And in the fourth shop

The guy was giving me sneering looks, which God copped before I did. 

He walked up to him,

he was nearly twice his height (6ft 4″)

and twice the build (big boy like his Dah-dy!).

Says he,

in his deep Welsh voice,

“Is it …

the Hair colour?

hair texture?



skin pigmentation?

or just all round Irishness that you find so amusing?”

Dude, as camp as Christmas,

started screaming that God was being homophobic, and picking on him, whilst frantically waving his arms everywhere. 

High melodrama indeed.

So I went up to what appeared to be the boss,

And said, “Since I came into your shop, this chap has done nothing but sneer at me etc.  Is this how your staff normally behave towards their customers?”

And then,

we were asked to leave.

That’s G***I for you (Thom Yorke had a point).

So we very deliberately went into the Prada shop across from them,

where God made some purchases, and then onto some more shops, but the sneering trend continued.

So we went for coffee,

And had cappuccino, they could laugh all they wanted,

we didn’t care anymore.

Then we went to Ferragamo


by which time my feet we all red and blistered,

from wearing the posh not-made-for-mobility pointy shoes.

Do you know the girl was so nice,

she gave me a dish of cold water to put my feet into. 

I imagine the fact that I was a Ferragamo bag swung it for me.

It was lovely, she was lovely.

She made tea.

Put us sitting down.

And when my feet had deflated a little, I tried on some shoes and sandals,

and got two nice pairs,

still have them:

the shoes are fecked but the sandals are still fine.  RESULT.

And then, we walked back down past G***i,


with all our bags (we had collected my Armani alterations in the meantime, which bulked out the load),

and we stood outside, us and our everyone- but-G***i shopping, and stared in.

Very childish,

but it made us feel good.

When we arrived back in the hotel, with more tales of the Milanese,

they gave us a glass of wine courtesy of the house; well, it was also our last night with them.

Later on, we went out to dinner, and whilst we were eating,

out came this crowd with Violins,

and started playing,

and so on.  Tries to hide head under plate #blushingcentral. 

God had only gone and organised this “romantic last supper”,



and half way through this uber romantic dinner a deux,

the guy beside us started to choke, and one of the violinists had to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre,

kind of ruined the moment, but hey, it could have been worse!

At least we didn’t up adding a corpse to our list of Milanese tragi-comic-experiences.

On the way back to the hotel, we went via a circuitous route to a gelateria

and bought ice creams (yes, again – lickety, lick), and then did the walking in the moonlight thing, which was a really sweet way to bring the evening, and this tale, to a close.






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