Sardinia / Sardegna

Last weekend, a pleasant journey to the sunny isle of Sardinia; pleasantly empty at this time of year. It took us a while to find the B&B; directions from the tourist info guy (with only an address) - directions which we promptly forgot. Then questions asked of a crusty old lady by the roadside in a little village. She started yelling that we were completely on the wrong side of the island and we had to drive about 100kms north immediately. M didn't like that answer so we found a delivery driver who gave us convoluted directions to where we were sure to find it. M was nodding and understanding it all - the benefit of speaking Spanish when in Italy... We drove off in the direction indicated, only to cut back on ourselves and see the same crusty old woman as before, looking at us in dismay. She beckoned us over (to tell us to drive 100kms north, no doubt) but M said, "no, drive!" So I did.

Backwards and forwards a few more, around blind bends in villages one car wide (etc) we found the B&B down the end of a dirt track. Went up, knocked on doors (still with key in) - no answer, yelling out - no answer - wandered inside and decided no-one was home. A few hours later when we returned (happily full of belly) we found Mamma and Pappa beckoning us into their one room B&B, with a view out over a green valley. Couldn't get more cliched if you'd tried. I was a bit wary of the whole come and join us routine but Papa especially (okay, so we learnt his name was Mario) gave us a bottle of wine and big kiss (etc) when we left. Ah, Italy!

On the first evening M and I went for a wander in the local "village" to try to find a bar. All we found was a forlorn old dog with a bell around his neck and an old woman staring suspiciously from her doorway. "Buona Sera" we called out, joyfully. She didn't respond - just kept staring suspiciously. And so the cliches kept coming.

We took the hire car up the road and found a little pizzaria where after dinner the owner insisted on giving us a couple of glasses of grappa, 70% proof, (or thereabouts) which lit a fire in my oespephagas. He seemed friendly but a bit daft, drifting off to find a map or some other thing which it was necessary to share with us. We gave him a big tip and then he left us alone.

On Saturday we ended up at a restaurant which apparently is one of the best fish restaurants on the island. Only we didn't know that when we ordered and didn't get a single fish dish (of our greedy four) whist people around us hooed and hared at the huge platters of fish that were being brought out steaming for them.

A few observations on the Sardines and things Sardinian:

- it feels like it's empty
- very few people are about
- there are a few roads that are very narrow and windy
- it's mountainous
- it has gorgeous beaches
- it looks like a place to retire to
- it has overly officious and inefficient airport passport checks (both going in and coming out)
- it closes on Sunday
- it has friendly inhabitants
- it's greener than I expected
- it's got a name kind of like a little fish

More minor irritations

This thing is self perpetuating. The more I think about things that bug me the more they present themselves. Also, paradoxically, the more they amuse me. So here are a few more I remembered:

- people who brush their hair / apply make-up or clip their goddamn fingernails on the tube / bus. (I mean, what sort of an OINKY PORKY PIG are you?)

- vox pops on TV which seek out people to either state the bleeding obvious or prove a self perpetuating theory. Eg. "this is normally such a quiet neighbourhood - you'd never expect this sort of thing here.", or, "he was always such a quiet bloke, who loved his kids and kept to himself" or a version of, "it's really cold / hot / good / bad / ugly / beautiful / black / white" depending on the banality being discussed. Possibly a sub-set of this irritation is the statement whenever a kid dies: "she/he was very popular with all of his/her classmates. She/he had such potential. She/he was on the way to being a footballer / prime minister / brain surgeon / pope etc etc"

- canned laughter (that's pretty irritating too)

I should write down a list of little things I love, to try to counter all this bad energy (man) but that's a list that, surprisingly, is taking longer to compile.

Little things that irritate me

(or, the post in which I reveal myself to be bordering on sociopathic)

Minor irritations, in no particular order:

- people who carry cups of coffee on the tube, especially those purpose built insulated mugs. (What? are you sooo goddamn busy you can't spend five minutes at home to sit down and drink it?)

- people who breathe on me

- mastication noises (with the sole exception of my own)

- [sub set of the above] open-mouthed chewing gum mastication

- [sub set of the sub set above] clacking & popping chewing gum whilst masticating

- people who talk too loudly for the context

- people who talk too softly for the context

- people who, when they get to the front of a checkout queue and are told the total, seem surprised and unprepared at the concept of having to pay for their purchases, choosing this moment to start searching for their wallet / purse

- people who, when they get to the ticket barriers exiting the tube station, seem surprised and unprepared that they will have to produce a ticket from whatever pocket it's stored in so as to exit the station. (They don't move the damn things! You know they're coming! Get your fucking ticket ready you moron)

- people who use Harrods bags to carry around their lunch / gym gear. (Knob ends all)

- high heeled shoes clicking frantically on an escalator. (You want to get somewhere fast lady wear some sensible fucking shoes)

- bottlenecks on busy footpaths; the narrowest section of the busiest footpath is always where (a) a or several retarded organisation/s has located an ATM / bustop / advertising board / market stall and where (b) retarded people choose to congregate and converse in the middle of the fucking footpath

- people who eat hot/greasy/smelly food on the tube/bus etc

- people who drop litter, in particular the plastic wrap and foil liner of cigarette packets

- various versions of get out of the friggin' way:
(a) "the wall" - several people abreast, talking, with all the time in the world (can be either in front or approaching from the opposite direction)
(b) "the single wall" - one person walking in front of you who has some sixth sense that always diverts him/her in your path as you try to pass. (Ingenious, actually - but only ever in front)
(c) "the arm swinger" - someone who (for whatever reason) needs the momentum of one or both arms to propel them on their way so that if you pass too close you will be struck by said arm(s)
(d) "the meanderer" - as per (b) but even more unpredictable; possibly drunk but impossible to pass as they lurch from one side of the footpath to the other.

That's all for now. I'm sure this will become an on-going series as I remember more of the minor irritations which serve to both frustrate and amuse my tiny mind.