First off, a rousing Mazel Tov! To Snoop Dogg, who won his court case against the folks at Immigration. I had not thought that the Snoopster was a Dangerous Housewife from King of Prussia too; in fact, I never thought about him at all, until he was denied a visa to enter the UK. Hey, Snoop…I feel your pain, Bro.
According to the London Guardian, Snoop’s grandpop was unfortunately not Italian, so he chose to hire a team of expensive lawyers instead and go head to head with the dreaded Tribunal. And he won! He got a precious visa to visit the UK. I guess the Home Office was shizzolating in their y-fronts. I’m going to ring and invite him round to mine for tea as soon as he arrives. We can form a support group called ‘Yo, We Did It; You Can Get into Britain, Too’.
It was an interesting week; celebrating St. George’s Day, my first stint at Sam Beare, a date, and Quiz Night.
I went to a luncheon with Allison in honour of St. George. I did not know that he was the patron saint of England. I thought they just liked him a lot because of the dragon-slaying thingy. I did point out that England doesn’t have a monopoly on St. George. He is also the patron saint of Genoa, in my homeland. San Giorgio is, naturally, better looking and better dressed (no surprise there) and carries a jug of Chianti instead of a sword. Seriously, would you want to go out with an English bloke carrying a sword with dried dragon blood on it, or a hot Italian who provides the wine? Exactly.
Lunch was bangers & mash, with treacle pudding for the sweet; this was St. George’s favourite dinner. Again, not that I’m comparing, in Italia, for Giorno di Festa San Giorgio they have Clams Casino and rigatoni and meatballs, followed by cannoli.
I know that lots of countries have patron saints, but I don’t think America has one. It’s too bad really; there are never enough celebrations. If we are forced, practically at gunpoint, to celebrate Martin Luther King Day, we could have a patron saint day too. I’m sure Pinkie will back me up that St. Nordstrom Rack would make a smashing feast day.
I had a date with someone new. I’m not sure what happened to British Commando Guy. He rang and texted a few times, then he went on holiday. It could have been ‘out of sight, out of mind’, but most probably he just got captured by some guerrillas in Sri Lanka or wherever. Too bad. I hope they torture him. The new bloke is called Mike. He is very tall (6’2”) and Scottish. There was some serious piss taking from Pinkie about that ‘ethic’ thing. I did ask him to wear his kilt when we met for coffee, but he declined. We did make another date, so I’m sure all the steamy details will be blatantly reported in on my blog in Cyber-world and then discussed endlessly at the Grotto and the synagogue in future.
Oh my God! I did my first stint as a volunteer at the Sam Beare Bookshop. Can you imagine anything more wonderful than being surrounded by thousands of books, all of which you can take home and read for free? You just have to bring them back when you’re finished.
I learned how to operate the till, and various procedures (we wear our key to the till on a plastic bracelet on our wrist and take the key out when we walk away from the counter.) During slow periods, we restock the shelves, filling the gaps. This is not as easy as it sounds; the main section is alphabetical, so you might need to replace two or three “S” authors and a “B” or whatever. We also get to do the eye-catching window displays and the theme tables. There’s a tiny kitchen in the back room so that we can have coffee and biscuits. It is heaven.
My shift was slow but steady. The widowed Jewish cardiologist of my dreams didn’t turn up, but it was only the first day. I did wow the socks off Pia, my supervisor, by recommending a Lisa Scottoline book to a woman who said she liked American mysteries. “I know her” I boasted. “She lives Berwyn, right near me. Her novels all take place in Philadelphia.” (Not really another whopper; I have met her twice at book signings at the Borders in Devon. In fact, the second time I pointed out to her that Bennie, the heroine, was going the wrong way on Wissahickon Pike in the book if she was trying to get to Chestnut Hill.) Just to show how well informed I am, I added, “Her new book, which features Mary, the same character, just shot to Number Three on the New York Times Best Seller List.” She bought all four books that I recommended.
I had double booked myself Thursday night. I had committed to going with Julie to see Scratch at the Prince of Wales, and Cheese Boy was expecting me to do the Quiz. He rang to say that Romeo and Juliet (aka Sandra and Whatshisname) weren’t coming, and neither was the Irish Lad. Pinkie was coming after her shift. So I cancelled on Julie and went to the Ash Tree with Lou.
It was a dreadful night…again. I aced the ‘American’ questions easily, but failed to identify the ‘Italian landmark with 239 steps.’ Hey, I’ve only been an Italian citizen for five months; I was American for – well, it was longer than five months. Pinkie knew that one. I failed miserably on the anagram, and once again, the Boy and I disagreed on an answer. Question: “Which cartoon character’s superior was Colonel K?” Me: “I know this one! Danger Mouse!” Lou, to Pinkie: “Whaddya think? Do you have a clue?” Me: “Bloody hell, Lou! It’s Danger Mouse! I loved Danger Mouse. David Jason was the voice of Danger Mouse.” Lou, to Pinkie: “Could it be ‘Pinkie and the Brain? No? Any guesses?” Me: “Sod you, Lou! Danger Mouse!”
I don’t know what he put down, but the correct answer was, of course, Danger Mouse. We came in next to last.